Everyone eats except Marla. Her burger is greasy and thick and full of relish. Yesterday she would have eaten two.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Dave asks.
“Are you going to be sick?” Liam asks.
“No,” she says.
“Look at me,” Dave says, and Marla does. “I’m so proud of you.”
Marla shakes her head. “They’re coming this afternoon. I’m scared.”
“You will nail this,” Dani tells her. She puts the baby in Marla’s arms. “You’re strong as hell.”
Elise holds her knees. “You can still change your mind,” she says, and Gavin almost nods.
“Oh, no,” Dani says, shaking her head. “Don’t start.”
“I just never thought you would have a baby, honey,” Elise says. “What if you don’t have another?”
“What kind of comment is that?” Dave asks her.
Liam gives Marla the eyeball, the one that asks if he should get everyone out of here. She shakes her head. No.
Everyone talks at once but it is easy to ignore them with her baby in her arms, a baby who will grow and who Marla will visit once a month so she can hear about new words and be given sloppy kisses and macaroni birthday cards, and then be sympathetic about the bossy friends or the annoying brother, and much later, be worried but proud at the decisions this woman will make about where to go and who to be with and how to live her life. The baby stirs in Marla’s arms, opening her soft lips, and she is so right and beautiful that Marla feels inside herself a surge of confidence that everything is going to be just fine.
Everyone else is struggling: she sees grief, people poised on the cusp of huge emotions. She can help them. “I’m glad you’re all here. We need your support.”
Dani nods. Elise starts to interject, but Dave hushes her.
“Our baby has a beautiful family.” Marla bites her lip and keeps her eyes on her daughter. “She’s going to meet them today,” she whispers.
It’s Gavin who starts it, snapping his fingers repeatedly like the kids at the open mic. Dani does it too.
“What are we doing?” Dave whispers to Elise.
“Quiet clapping,” she tells him, tears in her eyes. “For our daughter who’s doing a courageous thing.”
Everyone reaches their hand out to Marla, on her shoulder or her head or her leg. Marla feels their warmth, the bones in their hands, and the weight of their arms. She leans her head down onto her baby’s and sends all the tender feelings she can summon into the little person in her arms, wrapping her in an invisible blanket of love.
When Cynthia arrives, Marla sends everyone away to the cafeteria. Gavin knows it’s half an hour before Hannah and Josh are supposed to be there.
“Are you sure?” Dani asks.
Marla nods. “Just me and Liam, okay?” She repositions her daughter in her arms, taking the little knitted hat off so her entire face is visible. Then she shuts the door.
In the elevator, Gavin feels hot air on his back. Dave and Elise look alarmed, and Gavin turns around suddenly, dropping his crutches, worried there’s a fire.
Inexplicably, Kamon is yelling, his face strained and red. Dani laughs. “We’re doing an experiment. Kamon, it’s true! He couldn’t hear you at all!”
Gavin feels like he might cry. “You’re a great mom,” he says. “He’s lucky to have you.”
Dani shakes her head. “No. I’m lucky to have him.”
Gavin nods, his throat tight. Even Dave and Elise look impressed, but the fragility is overwhelming. “Let’s get Kamon some pop,” Dani says, and everyone nods, grateful.
They sit at a plastic table in the cafeteria. Gavin wonders if other people would be able to guess how they know each other, or why they’re here.
“Are you staying around town?” Dave asks Gavin.
“Yeah. I think so. I’m meeting some deaf people, volunteering.” His time with Justin feels silly and far away now.
“Super,” Dani says.
“What about you, Dani?” Elise asks.
Kamon pulls on her arm. “I’m done, Mommy. I want a donut.”
Dani shakes her head, then rolls her eyes as Kamon glues himself to the display case with the baked goods inside. “I have Kamon with me two afternoons a week unsupervised now. Maybe I can have him overnight when I get my own place.”
“That’s so good,” Gavin says, but it feels hollow. Everyone jumps. Kamon has knocked over the post and chain that shows people where to line up to pay.
Dani touches Gavin’s arm, and he feels his heartbeat quicken.
“I have to take him outside. Come and get us after, okay?”
Gavin nods, deflated, watching her walk out the door. Dave sips coffee, and Elise fiddles with her phone. Gavin’s glad they can’t see the elevators here, or the doors, because two people are going to walk into this building with an empty car seat and leave with Marla’s baby.
Hannah and Josh are exactly on time. She’s wearing a print dress, nothing fancy, just summery and comfortable, not showing too much skin. Josh’s wearing belted black shorts and a fitted golf shirt, carrying a bouquet of flowers. Not an overly big showy bouquet like Marla hates, but a nice, appropriate bunch of flowers. Hannah has a diaper bag.
“Marla, honey, you look beautiful.” Hannah smiles, her arms open in a hug aimed at Marla before she sees the baby. “Oh,” she says, clasping her hands to her heart. “Oh.”
Marla holds her daughter tight, and Liam leans down to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay, however you want to do this.” Cynthia stands beside the bed, with perfect posture, like a sentinel. Everyone is looking at Marla.
Josh puts his hand on Hannah’s back, and they stand like a couple getting married who were just told no one could find the music for their first dance. Stalled.
Marla thinks of Kamon and Cynthia and Gavin. Foster families she had and packing up her stuff in grocery bags. Dave being proud of her. The teary smile breaking out on Hannah’s face and the way her shoulders settle as her whole body moves forward. Marla’s arms shake. Her child is the heaviest thing she has ever held out to someone else, and when Hannah takes her daughter in her arms, Marla becomes weightless.
“She’s amazing,” Josh whispers. He strokes the baby’s head with his fingertips. Hannah’s tears roll down her face and puddle into the receiving blanket. She tries to speak and can’t, and Marla’s heart surges. These people love her baby just as much as she does.
Liam gets Hannah the chair, and the baby starts to whimper. Hannah shushes her, patting her over a shoulder in a practised way, but the baby fusses, her fists clenched. She stands up, jiggling. “Shhhh, honey. It’s okay. I’m here.” She glances at Marla and stops. “We’re all here.”
Marla’s body seems to grow smaller with each breath, as if her ribs are caving in. She forces herself to inhale, be open to this moment, because she wants to remember it forever. She smiles, and it hurts. “What will you call her?” she says, just to hear words come out.
Hannah smiles like only new mothers can. “Beatrice,” she says, her eyes on Josh. “Beatrice Angel.”
“Beatrice,” Marla says, trying it out. The name feels stiff and old.
Hannah looks upset. “You don’t like it?”
Marla wants to like it. She wants Hannah and Josh to know she is going to be a great birth mom and not a pain in the ass. She swallows. “I love it. It really suits her.”
Hannah reaches for Marla’s hand and squeezes. As she leans forward, baby Beatrice audibly fills her diaper. Everyone laughs, and Marla starts breathing normally again.
It takes all four of them to coordinate the wiping and positioning and repositioning necessary to change the diaper. Marla keeps her hand on Beatrice’s head, looking in her eyes as she kicks her chubby legs. Then Liam picks her up.
Cynthia clasps her hands, the room suddenly all busi
ness. “I’m so glad she’s awake for this moment.” She nods at Liam.
Marla feels her stomach hit the floor. She watches Liam’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows, the look in his eyes as he holds his daughter in his arms. “I’m glad to be a part of your life,” he tells her. “I promise to do my best.” She blinks at him, and he smooths the black hair on her head, lost in emotion. He passes their baby to Marla and sits on the bed beside her, curling around her. “I hate goodbyes,” he says, his voice breaking.
Cynthia says things about adoption being the most beautiful gift and how strong everyone is and how thankful, but Marla stops hearing her. It feels like time has ended. Marla holds her daughter’s soft weight to her chest, feeling her breathe. It is the simplest thing. Everything from two people in one embrace. “There’s no one I love more than you,” she whispers. Her ears hurt from holding the tears back, so she lets them go. “I’m keeping this moment forever,” Marla says, and taps her heart. “Right here.” It’s sweet and horrible and perfect. Marla realizes their daughter won’t remember any of it.
She stands with her baby, Liam with his hand on her shoulder, and Cynthia nodding. I can do this, Marla tells herself, kissing her daughter on the forehead. And she can. Marla sets baby Beatrice in Hannah’s arms, telling herself it’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay. “I know you’ll take care of her.” Marla’s nose drips, and she wipes at it with her arm.
Hannah passes the baby to Josh and holds onto Marla like they are the only two people in the world. “I promise,” she whispers. “Thank you, Marla. She means everything to us.” Marla hugs Hannah for a long time.
Josh brings in a car seat they had the foresight to leave in the hall. As he buckles the baby in, Hannah gives Marla a little box. Inside are two silver chains, each with a heart. “One for each of you,” Hannah says. Marla kneels to put the tiny chain around her baby’s neck. She kicks her little feet, oblivious. Happy.
Marla takes Gavin’s handbook from her bag. “This is for Beatrice,” she says. “We all worked on it.”
Hannah takes it with reverence. Liam and Josh are shaking hands, and Marla knows it’s almost over. Cynthia passes around papers to sign.
The proud parents stand at the door, smiling down at the car seat. Marla can’t see her baby’s face anymore.
“Goodbye,” Marla says, and they nod and smile and walk out the door.
18. SHRINKING
MARLA GIVES THEM a twenty-minute head start, then packs her bag.
“What are you doing?” Liam asks.
“Going home. I can’t be here now.” She feels dead, as if everyone predicted the world would end, and then it really did, but just for them. There are diapers on the windowsill and flowers to pack up, useless stuff. In the bathroom, she takes a handful of pads, the squeezy bottle they gave her, and an extra pair of panty-hose underwear. And some soap. She stuffs it all in her purse, which she drags down the hall to the nurses’ desk, Liam following.
Marla’s name is on the big white board. In the second column where the nurses have written the names of the babies born, the space next to Marla’s name is blank. She takes the cap off the marker and writes, Beatrice Angel. “That’s her name,” Marla says to the shocked nurses. “I’m leaving.”
They tell her several things about hospital policy and discharge times and postpartum depression and liability, and Liam sighs, holding her bag. “I’ll let you know if there’s any crying or whatnot,” he says, his voice falsely upbeat. She squeezes his hand, proud that he can take insensitive bullshit and make it okay, even today.
A nurse offers to wheel Marla out of the hospital. “No thank you,” Marla says, thinking that she already looks wrong not carrying a baby on her lap. Her baby’s in a car going home. She doesn’t even know what her baby’s bedroom looks like, what colour crib or cradle she has. Marla hits the elevator button and tries not to be weak. Liam says nothing, which is exactly what she needs.
Downstairs, everyone is waiting in the cafeteria. They stand up abruptly, not moving, no one smiling, like a doctor just told them Marla didn’t make it. Everyone’s eyeing her bag.
“I’m going home,” Marla says, and they all talk at once.
“But you’re so pale.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“You should be lying down.”
Marla can’t seem to take her eyes off a stack of plastic trays on a table. “Look, I’m glad you’re all here, but I’m done.”
“Do you want us to come over?” Elise asks.
Marla shakes her head. She doesn’t want to talk at all.
“I’ll drive you home,” Liam says, and Dave and Elise nod.
In the car with Dani and Kamon in the backseat, Liam admits that he can’t stay. “I’ve got my students tonight.”
Marla nods, staring out the window. So it’s over. She doesn’t have the energy to protest.
“Do you want me to come back later?” Liam asks, and she wants very badly to say yes, as if she could have Liam and only Liam for whole days without interruption while she gets used to the hole inside her.
“Are you going to move in with her?” Dani asks.
The reality is messier, much more. Marla is tired of hearing so many voices. “I’ll be fine. Just take me home.”
At home, Dani makes Marla tea and takes Kamon with his dog to the park. Marla sits by herself in her empty house. Dani’s done a good job of cleaning up, but it still smells kind of soppy. The basement is now off limits, so Kamon and Dani are sleeping in the living room. The landlord said he couldn’t get any contractors in until next month at the earliest.
Marla looks in her closet and finds all her baby gifts stacked beautifully and smelling brand new. Every good and right thing.
Marla howls, clutching the baby things to her and yet dropping them in her haste, her hands over her ears as if she could put all that noise back into her head.
Marla’s made a horrible mistake. She picks up the phone and dials.
Cynthia answers right away. “I thought you might call.”
“I can’t do this,” Marla says, out of breath.
“Remember what we talked about? It’s time to be strong.”
Strong. Marla hates that word, and hates Cynthia for saying it. Like she should just fall out of love because anyone can decide to do that. Cynthia tells her all the things she said she would, about how prepared Marla is and how she chose Hannah and Josh because she had faith in them. She tells Marla to surround herself with people. Marla hears about half of it. Cynthia makes an appointment for Marla to come in next week. Fucking Cynthia.
Marla collapses on her bed, pounding her fists into the pillow. She screams into its softness, feeling her hot breath come back at her. It hits her that she’s laying on her stomach again. Because there’s nothing in there at all.
angry
Marla, honey, we couldn’t be prouder of you.
hard to feel anything good
You are generous and strong and we love you
thanks for being there
Always
That night, Gavin dreams the room is flooding, only it’s not an ordinary room. There’s asphalt where the floor should be, and Gavin can’t be certain it’s not a mall parking lot. Water laps at the bedframe, and Gavin knows it will not float. He glimpses a concrete island with brambly bushes growing into the water, but it is hazy like there is too much cloud cover. Through the wispy wet, Gavin can see Marla there, with her baby, but he’s too far away to collect what she says. Gavin steps off the bed and can’t touch bottom. It’s like before. He holds his breath until he breaks the surface, swimming.
In the middle of the night afterpains twist and rip through Marla’s belly. Dani rubs Marla’s back, but it aches like the baby’s coming all over again. The puppy whines, and Marla wakes up Kamon with her groaning. He wanders over from the couch rubbing his face
and trailing his blankie. “Mommy,” he says.
Dani takes him in her arms. “Kamon, Marla’s sad and her tummy hurts.”
Kamon’s round blue eyes are full of sympathy as he wraps his arms around her. “Don’t cry, Marla. Don’t be sad.” Little boy arms and little boy smell.
“Do you want me to call him?” Dani asks.
Marla feels a wave of relief. “No. Just give me the phone.”
Liam answers on the second ring. He’s been crying too. “Marla, I can be there in ten minutes. Do you need anything?”
“Why are we crying without each other?”
It takes him a second to answer. “I don’t know, babe. I’m coming now.”
“Bring Gavin, please. I need everybody.”
Nose Hill bouquet:
horsetail
fairy bells
yellow lady’s slipper
prairie crocus
buffalo beans
northern buttercup
wild blue flax
silverweed
Found wet newspaper to wrap flowers in. Nicest ones by water. Lots of nodding thistle on south side, waving five/six feet tall. Three dog walkers: two black labs, one Shepherd cross, and a greyhound. Orioles and kestrels. Sky clear.
Liam stays to make tea, bring Marla her slippers, and cook tortellini. While Liam is at work, Gavin plays Scrabble with her. He takes walks when she naps and brings her wildflowers.
When she wakes on the third day, her breasts feel like rocks. They hurt, and they’re leaking.
She runs a bath and sits there, dripping. Crying.
The door opens, and Liam enters. “Look—porn star boobs,” she says.
“You’re beautiful, Marla. Can I come in?”
She nods. He just saw her give birth, after all.
“Do you think this happens to women who have a stillbirth?”
Liam sits on the edge of the tub and strokes her hair. “Probably.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Of course.”
Marla wants to ask if Liam misses the two of them together, if he misses Marla. “What should we do?”
A Handbook for Beautiful People Page 26