“As if a letter could convince me to give my baby to a stranger,” she tells Liam.
He shrugs, reading.
It’s predictable: full of statistics and status. A husband who is an engineer. A master’s degree in nursing. A list of charities supported and countries travelled to. Marla is annoyed at how much time this couple seems to have, how quickly they can earn unfathomable amounts of money and the things they do to unload it.
“They seem nice,” Liam says.
“No, perfect. In a bad way.”
“Let’s look at another one.” Liam offers her a binder with sparkly writing.
Marla shakes her head. She chooses a sketchbook with pictures glued inside and little stories underneath: the child who was adopted two years ago, eager for someone to play in the sandbox with. He has made a card for his future sibling, painstakingly glued pieces of tissue paper and tinfoil in the shape of a heart. Plans for a playhouse the father is building for his son. The open adoption they have, with visits to the birth mother every month, who is called Mimo by the child. There is another letter from the adoptive mother’s parents, who live on a farm. Pictures of all their grandchildren riding ponies. Marla sees her child there and stops breathing for a second. It is overwhelming how right it feels, and she slams the book shut.
Marla sobs, her tears spilling onto the cover of the sketchbook, afraid she will make this choice.
“Hey, you’re really thinking about this, aren’t you?” Liam hands her a tissue from the box on the table.
She wraps her arms around him, probably getting snot all over his jacket. “It’s easy to keep your baby,” she says. Easy to be selfish.
“None of it’s easy.”
She thinks about the baby being here right now, in this room. Not a baby, a little boy, gluing pieces of tissue paper in a heart shape. He is hunched over it, knees on the floor, black hair in his face. He raises his head to look at her, a soft smile on his lips. But he’s not looking at her. Marla’s not there.
Marla sets the sketchbook on the coffee table gently, trying to breathe calmly, but it’s impossible not to make sounds she doesn’t want to hear. Liam places Marla’s hands on her lap and walks to the door. “I’ll be right back,” he says. She can hear him calling for Cynthia in the hall.
Her baby is a rock inside her, sleeping. Oblivious. Will another mother play with his hair? Sing Liam’s cello songs to him? Marla had thought about pulling her son in a red wagon to the little lake on Nose Hill and bringing a bag of bread so they could feed the ducks. And Gavin. How could her child not know Gavin? But she can’t stop thinking about those kids at the farm and how happy they must be.
She pushes her bump from side to side, wanting to feel something. There: a kick. Marla doubles over, her fingertips searching for little elbows and feet. It’s the worst feeling, because the baby doesn’t know yet, but also the best. She’s doing this for them both. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to him. “I don’t think I’m going to be your mom.”
13. HONEYDEW
GAVIN BELCHES as he shuts the door before he sees Dani and Marla at the table, smoking. He rips the cigarette out of Marla’s hand and stubs it out. “Don’t be an idiot. That suffocates your baby.”
Marla’s eyes are red like she’s been crying. “I know.”
Dani rubs her back and leans over to put her own cigarette in Marla’s mouth. She looks Gavin up and down. “You look like crap.”
Gavin feels like crap—bloated, angry crap. All he wants to do is crawl into bed for the rest of the day. Alone. He ignores her. “What’s the matter?”
“… decided … adoption,” Marla says.
Gavin doesn’t move. “Because you’re a quitter.”
Marla stares blankly for a second. Gavin tallies it up: the drugs, the whoring, the shitty place. Marla is like Candace, maybe exactly like her.
Marla wipes her hands on her jeans. “Actually, I feel proud of myself. Something I wish for you too.”
There is no way that Marla is going to make him feel bad, so he digs into her. “At least I’m not a coward.”
“That’s the kind of thing people say when they’re afraid.” Marla keeps her fingers on her belly, brushing at her skin so soft, and he wants to take it all back, tell her that she’s right, he is afraid and now that someone else knows he might not have to feel that way anymore. But Dani’s glaring at him.
“Stop being a dick, Gavin.” She helps Marla up and adjusts her hair, using the reflection on the microwave. They put their shoes on.
“Where are you going?” Gavin asks.
Dani shrugs. She leans down and puts her hands on his jaw so he’ll look at her. “Getting some pills.”
“Failed again?”
She grins at him, and he feels her fingernails sharp on his skin. He shakes her off and doesn’t look up until he’s sure they’re gone. Liam was right. She and Marla can have each other. Gavin pulls a chocolate bar out of his pocket and eats it.
Peter’s Drive-In is a mess on Friday night with line-ups ten deep in front and cars idling down the block waiting to order at the two drive-thru windows. Marla worries she won’t be able to get a picnic table, but then she sees Liam waving to her, there already, wearing the vest like he said he would. Finally, after looking through endless books, they’re meeting their first couple.
“I haven’t seen them yet.” Liam pats the tabletop. “Sit up here. You’re easy to spot.”
“Listen, I wanted to apologize for before, for being dishonest. I’m going to make that up to you.”
Liam helps her up. “Thanks, Marla. It’s not easy to say that.” He smiles at her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I was selfish.” They hug, then he glides to the window like a dancer, leaning back to let kids pass, then resuming his incredible posture. She thinks about him naked, his back arched in pleasure, his perfect alignment interrupted.
She texts Gavin: meeting a couple. nervous.
“Hi. I mean, excuse me. You’re Marla, right?” A black-haired sprite of a woman has materialized holding a big purse. No fingernail polish. Practical shoes. Hair done with a curling iron, but like it’s her first time.
Marla nods. “Hi.” She’s not sure whether to get off the table, but before she can attempt it, Cassie is hugging her, her purse bumping on Marla’s back. Marla looks around for a man.
“This is Hank.” He’s even better in person, blond with shaggy hair and wide-set eyes. He looks like he just walked off a beach volleyball court with his beefcake arms and his muscle shirt, like he never gets cold. Marla checks for sand on his knees.
“Um, hi. I’m Marla.”
Hank grins and shakes Marla’s hand up and down and all around. “Nice to meet you.”
Marla can’t believe her luck. She thinks about telling Naomi at work about the major hunk who’s going to raise her son—she’s so lucky!—but then Marla remembers she doesn’t work at the diner anymore. For the first time Marla considers what will happen after she gives birth. She could get her cast off and have her old job back. Or she could get into that program and go to massage school.
Liam returns balancing a milkshake tray waiter-style and carrying a white bag. He sets it all on the table and shakes hands, smiling.
They sit, and Marla squeezes herself onto the bench. Cassie doesn’t eat. “I’m sorry, I’m just really, really nervous.” She sucks noisily on her straw and picks fuzz off her skirt.
“Don’t be.” Liam sets a burger in front of her.
Hank eats half his burger at once. “Cassie just wants this so bad.” Cassie gives Hank a crestfallen look. “I mean, we both really want this for each other and our relationship,” he says.
There’s an awkward silence. Eventually everyone looks at Marla, at the baby she will bestow on whoever wins her private lottery. Marla pictures the adoption ceremony, the baby wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and Cassi
e tripping over an IV stand and apologizing. And Hank carrying a jock bag of sports equipment and asking everyone to play some soccer or do lunges in the hallway. Except Cassie would be picking fuzz off the baby blanket.
Towards the end of supper, Cassie asks a lot of questions about the pregnancy. “You’re feeling nauseous, right? I mean, that’s supposed to be a good sign. Not like barfing all day though, right? I mean, do you still have to? I’m sorry—that would be really hard.”
Marla smiles and smiles, but she can’t shake the idea that she doesn’t feel anything at all about this couple. Sure, it would be nice to give a baby to two people who really wanted one. But not these two people.
When the mosquitoes come out, they all rise and shake hands. Cassie gives Marla a tentative hug, and Hank grins.
As soon as they’re gone, Liam shakes his head. “I can’t see it.”
Liam gets her. She knew it all along. “I know, right? I mean, Cassie looks like she would drop a baby and then stand over it on the floor not knowing what to do.”
“What about Hank?”
“He seemed alright. But Liam, I want someone tough who can make everything okay.”
“I know.” He gazes at her in the twilight while cars inch forward in the drive-thru line-ups and teenagers smoke and posture. “Are you going to get the amnio?”
“I read they can cause miscarriages. I’m going to see what my next ultrasound says. I’m getting them all the time now.”
“That makes sense.”
Marla picks at the remains of the fries. “So, we’ll look at more books next week?”
Liam sits almost close enough that people might think they’re a couple. “Yeah.” His arm brushes against hers, and then he reaches for her hand. “I’m glad we decided to do this. I feel really good about it.”
“Me too. As long as it’s some other couple.”
“You got it. How’s Gavin?”
“Okay, I guess. He’s working with someone Dani knows.” She thinks about how he was this morning, and his angry thing with Dani’s dealer. About being honest. “Actually, he’s been an ass. He and Dani are fighting.”
“About what?”
“Relationship stuff.” She feels a raindrop. The sky looks ominous. “I should go.”
Liam stands up. “I can drive you.”
“It’s fine. The bus is right over there.” Marla doesn’t want to tell him she’s practising being alone. She scoops all the garbage into one of the fry trays and throws it in the bin.
“Wait,” he says, and she closes her eyes because she wants it so bad.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe we could get coffee somewhere.”
Even if it’s not really a date it will feel good just to be with the one other person who knows exactly how she feels. Marla leans into his chest, and he holds onto her. “Yes,” she says. “I’d love that.”
Gavin has all these plans for what he wants to say to Marla, how he can convince her she’s just not thinking straight. He waits in the kitchen for what feels like hours, watching the flicker of light from Dani’s TV on the lawn. She’s probably laughing down there, eating pills, nothing wrong. He tries to meditate, but all he can conjure up is E. tucking his stringy hair behind his ears, fucking Dani. The look on her face when he comes in her. When Gavin opens his eyes, the sky is dark.
He knows Dani’s down there, not going anywhere. He stomps down the stairs to give her lots of warning.
She’s microwaving pills with the bass pumping. Fucking junkie. “Happy now?” he asks her.
She grins and shakes the bottle, but Gavin doesn’t smile. She tilts her head and pouts. “Are you here because you’re done being mad?” Her mouth is red like candy. Like a circus clown. She slides a bottle of beer along the table towards him, and he steps out of the way to watch it hit the floor and break.
She lets her hand fall from the microwave door handle, and suddenly her body is tighter, her eyes more alert. “That was fun, but now I’d like you to leave.”
He shakes his head. “I want to know, what were you getting from me? Was it just money?”
“Asshole. You can have it. I have enough.”
“Yeah, I know how you get your money. I’m just a pity trip, fucking a deaf guy?”
“Yeah, that’s what it was.” She holds a pretend pencil to write on a pretend notepad, licking her lips and biting them, making slow mouth shapes. “I’m deaf, but I can read lips. All I’ve ever wanted.”
Gavin feels it, that white-hot blast of rage. It’s ugly, filthy, like this room, and Dani in it with her bathrobe and her lips and her pills. He reacts, not even trying to push it down, just moving. Forcing it out.
He sweeps the table with his forearm, sending an ashtray into the corner where it smashes, spilling cigarette butts and powdery ash. Dani doesn’t back up, she comes right at him, scratching and punching.
Gavin grabs her by the shoulders and throws her down. He feels good doing it, strong. It’s easy, and he thinks he should have done it before. No more cowering, no more fear. Just action. The puppy barks.
Dani springs up with the bat from under her chair. She wields it, waiting to swing, waiting until he gets closer. “Don’t fuck with me, Gavin.”
He hesitates for only a second, but that’s just fear eating at him, the fear that he can’t do anything, the same fear that he is over having. Gavin darts forward, full in, and rips the bat out of her hands. He throws it into the wall, making a sizeable hole. He holds her arms by her sides. “You think I’m funny?”
“Let go of me.” Her face is shiny, and in her eyes is a new look, like she’s taking him seriously for the first time. He feels her breasts against his chest, her breath coming fast, and knows exactly what would make him feel better.
“It’s just business,” he whispers in her ear.
She whips her head around, trying to brain him. She goes to bite him, but that can’t happen. He uppercuts her jaw shut so her teeth clack together.
“You motherfuck—”
He kicks her legs so they buckle, and together they fall to the ground. It feels hard under his hands. Gavin’s heart is banging in his chest, so loud he can almost hear it, but it doesn’t seem important.
This is hunger and momentum, that’s all. Inevitability. He’s got her bathrobe up around her belly, and she’s reaching for the pizza boxes beside the TV. Probably has something in there. He leans over her and scatters them, crumbs and bits of dried up meat flying all over. Gavin feels her holler, but no one can hear her.
It’s better than sex is, just the right kind of dirty without any vulnerability, in this room with its fluorescent lights and its makeshift furniture. It’s cheese smell. She’s crying.
“Don’t you cry,” he tells her. He’s being yanked out of the moment; it’s a trick she has, a trick to make him give up. Her nostrils flare. She can feel it.
It can’t be like this, he thinks. He’s in charge. He thrusts harder, and Dani laughs at him, her mouth curled up and her breath hot on his skin. She bangs her head into his nose, and the room wavers. She scrambles out from under him, and he kneels where he was, waving his hands until he can see her. The air in the room has changed again, everything brighter and smaller and completely over.
She spits blood on the floor, then wipes her face. “I got those pills from a doctor, asshole, because I loved you. I finished with E. the night Candace came.” She’s holding the bat above her head, her arms steady. No emotion.
Love. Her eyes tell him she’ll do it—she’ll bash her best friend’s brother to death in this basement. Her lover. But that’s not what he is anymore. “Dani,” he whispers. His tongue feels thick, his mouth shape all wrong. She will never understand because there are no words.
“Get out,” she says.
He stays down. “Do it,” he says, arms behind his back.
“My p
leasure,” she says, and swings.
It turns into a date when Marla veers down the street with Liam’s umbrella and the hot chocolate he bought her to take him to the flea market. She feels strong, full of love for him instead of just need.
Marla sorts through rip-off brands, jostled by deal-hungry regulars, tourists, and children, until Liam puts his hand on her waist and keeps it there. She pays a dollar for a jazz record for Dani, then they eat Ukrainian sausages and drink imported pop in the six-table cafeteria that smells like every morsel of street food in the world, sharing their table with a family of four. It’s too noisy to talk, but not so crowded that Marla can’t feel the way Liam’s body is relaxed or see the crinkle in the skin beside his eyes when he laughs.
When Gavin comes to, the only movement in the room is a record going around and around the turntable. There’s a twenty-dollar bill stuck to his face, and many more on the floor. Dani is gone.
His head is throbbing, but from the size of the lump, he knows she could have hit him much harder. He hates her pity. Inside he is drowning and sick and wrong, a fucking coward. Gavin sees his own face above hers, the way she’s crying, how Dani looks when she’s afraid and how it felt good to make her that way, finally seeing himself for what he believed himself to be all along: an animal.
Gavin buttons his jeans and scoops up all the broken glass with his fingers, wiping the beer with his shirt, the blood. The hole in the wall gapes at him. He can feel the bass from the stereo and it beats like his heart, going too fast. He should get out of this basement. Gavin takes the money and breaks a lot of stuff in his room because he’s afraid that if he doesn’t smash something, he will have nothing to hurt but himself. He shreds the handbook and hurls the pages against the wall but they float down in an infuriating way. A sheet of paper drapes over a baby crib he was building with fancy wood. He kicks it apart board by dowel then collapses onto the shreds on the floor. So many little pieces.
A Handbook for Beautiful People Page 19