Like Sweet Potato Pie

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  “I’m Hannah,” she said, her brown eyes sparkling as she shook our hands one by one. “It’s so nice of you all to come. Are you family or friends?”

  “Family,” said Becky firmly before we could respond. Cheeks white and pink with cold, bright pink scarf tied firmly around her neck. “All of ‘em.”

  I felt my breath catch in my throat, shallow-breathed. The way I’d felt when Faye asked me to be her bridesmaid.

  My eyes found Adam’s from across the room, and he gave me a brief smile before looking away. I smiled back then glanced away, too, catching my fingers together to hide the emptiness I felt. Remembering his voice over the phone on Sunday afternoon, as I stood at the kitchen window looking out over lifeless trees.

  “I’m sorry about the way I acted, Shiloh,” he’d said. After I’d skipped church and spent the day praying, putting my final résumé together and even packing up a few boxes. “I just wasn’t expecting you to move back to Japan so suddenly. Not in a million years.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, too,” I replied. “I guess things sometimes work out differently than we expect.” I wanted to say “hope” instead of “expect,” but I refrained.

  “I wish you the best. Of course we’ll be friends. It might be a little awkward for a while, but we can do this.”

  “Thanks, Adam.” I stood there holding the phone, thinking of a thousand words I wanted to say but couldn’t. And hung up the phone as a dull chill settled over the house. I felt ready to move suddenly—ready to pack up and leave this portion of my life behind me for good.

  I’d accomplished what I’d come for in Virginia—to settle my past and deal with Mom’s house. To restart my life. And now it was time to go.

  “What a wonderful and supportive family you have,” Hannah was saying to Becky, and I looked up, surprised to find Adam’s eyes still on me. They bounced away quickly, as did mine. “You’re a lucky couple, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen so many family members at a meeting like this!”

  Tim looked around at all of us, and down at Becky, then slid his arm around her. “I know,” he said mistily. “We call it blessed.”

  Tim Sr. swallowed hard and blinked, and Jeanette reached into her purse for tissues.

  As if on cue, Hannah opened her arms in a happy gesture. “Ready?”

  Tim grinned. “Let’s git this show on the road.”

  We followed Hannah up to the counter and showed our IDs then crowded in the elevator in two trips and stopped when the lighted number dinged overhead. We walked up corridor after corridor until we came to the sterile neonatal unit, softened by pictures of the little patients pasted on snowflakes. Then we washed our hands in a long sink and put on clean medical scrubs, all of us.

  “We can’t go in all at once, so maybe Tim and Becky can call you in separately,” directed Hannah in her scrubs, looking nonplussed as if she did this all the time. “We’ll let them go first and start from there.”

  We plastered ourselves to the neonatal window, peering in over the rows of tiny babies, doll-like, sleeping in miniature cribs and incubators. Tubes and poles and monitors lighting up with numbers lined the room. Walls decorated with little lambs and angels in soft pastels, a sharp contrast to the room’s startling, hard lines of white and silver.

  I put my arm on Todd’s shoulder and watched a tiny girl with pale brown hair squirm in an incubator, red-faced, almost too small to be real. Courtney, perhaps? My heart fluttered. She flailed fists, hooked up to so many tubes my hands clenched in sympathy.

  But of course not. The hospital wouldn’t release a child in such precarious condition.

  We fell silent, watching as Tim and Becky entered in their scrubs, looking around with nervous eyes. They followed Hannah through the maze of cribs, and she paused to speak to several nurses on duty. Nodding and gesturing.

  Then Hannah smiled and stepped forward, motioning with her arm.

  We rushed to the next window, still trying to see, and one of the nurses gathered up a little bundle from the far corner of the room. Something wrapped in a pink blanket.

  She lay the bundle in Tim’s arms, and a hush fell over all of us.

  There lay Courtney. Skin the color of chocolate, soft black curls covering her tiny head. Her eyes, so full of black lashes, closed in drowsy half sleep. They flickered open, and she blinked, showing the darkest baby eyes I’d ever seen. Tiny pink rosebud lips. She turned slowly from one face to the other and then up into Tim’s upturned face as if trying to understand.

  I tried to read Tim’s face, his parted lips and down-turned brow, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from Courtney. Looking up, up—a long inquisitive gaze. She blinked her eyes and squirmed. The she reached out and, as if in slow motion, wrapped one tiny brown hand around his bony white finger.

  Tim looked at the baby, then at Becky, and then turned to all of us with a kind of weepy astonishment on his face. He passed a trembling hand over her forehead and through those soft little curls, as if afraid she might break.

  I waited for someone to say, “She’s black,” but no one did.

  Only Jeanette whispered, “Lands, that’s a pretty child if I ever seen one.” And Pal murmured back his agreement. “So little.”

  I couldn’t see through my tears anymore. All my makeup had run into a puddle on the floor probably, or onto my crisp white dress shirt. Adam moved a step closer, and we stood there together, side by side with Faye, unable to tear our eyes away from the glass.

  “Would you like to feed her?” One of the nurses held up a bottle, her voice wafting through the open door.

  Tim and Becky exchanged glances, and Tim reluctantly (and awkwardly, new father-like) passed the blanket to Becky. Courtney still clutched Tim’s finger, until finally, one by one, the little fingers released.

  Becky stared into her face for a moment in awe, tears dripping, and sat down in the rocking chair the nurse indicated. She expertly turned the bottle the correct way, flat part of the nipple down, and gently offered it as Courtney reached out.

  We watched as Becky rocked, smoothing the baby’s cheeks with her free hand. Passing her fingertips across the fuzzy curls in a kind of awe, nuzzling the baby toes that poked out from the end of the blanket.

  Becky nestled her carefully so as not to jostle her still-floppy neck, face bent close. Voice low and soft. Singing. Becky was singing.

  Becky’s going to be a mom. I knew it. I could feel it. It burst in my heart so strongly I wanted to shout it down the corridor, waking everyone just to tell them the news.

  Macy Alyssa, I wanted to whisper. Your daughter. The name you chose, flipping through Barnes & Noble baby-name books. It was for her.

  We huddled in the hall as Tim and Becky bid the nurses good-bye. The door closed, shutting the sound of monitors and baby cries behind glass. The squeak of the rocker and whir of machines. Leaving us all in the sterile fluorescent glow of the hallway, spotless white, smelling of soap and antiseptic.

  We peeled off our scrubs, nobody really knowing what to say.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Becky cast a last glance over her shoulder to see Courtney, wiping her eyes, but the closed door and basinets obscured the crib.

  Tim still leaned with both hands at the window, deep in thought.

  “You okay?” I put a tentative hand on his arm.

  “Huh?” He looked up briefly, trying hard to get back the goofy, carefree smile that usually lined his face. “Oh, yeah. I’m good. I jest …” He looked back through the glass and sighed, fingers tensing. “I ain’t sure if I can do it.” His voice sounded strained.

  I caught my breath, feeling the hallway freeze into a hard cube of white. Motionless. “Why not?” Memories of skinheads and Southern sin poured back against my will.

  Tim turned to me, and for the first time I saw his watery eyes, all rimmed with red. He played with his jacket lapel, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed a couple of times before speaking.

  “I dunno if I can give her away a
s a bride.”

  Chapter 35

  You can thank me now.”

  “Thank you? For what, Kyoko?” I’d just plopped down at the computer, Skype ringing for me to answer it. Scarf still wrapped around my neck, and eyes sticky with tears.

  “Go ahead. Just thank me.”

  I gathered Christie on my lap and scratched behind her ears, grateful for something warm and soft to squeeze in the otherwise hollow silence of the room. Even if she did gnaw on the mic first and then the chair back.

  “Um … okay. Sure. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Well … what did I just thank you for?”

  “Solving your mystery. Your riddle.”

  “What mystery?”

  “The seeds. Something that they all had in common with you.”

  I leaned back in my chair, thinking hard. Seeds. Something in common. Adam. “My Christmas present?”

  “Seems like you’ve put so much thought into it,” Kyoko snapped. “What is it now, February?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. You have no idea what’s going on here. We just—”

  “Save it! You’re hopeless.”

  “But I’ve been taking good care of the bonsai he gave me.” I let out a shuddery breath, reaching up to stir the tender baby leaves with my finger. It smiled down at me, one swollen pink bud fat with life.

  “Adam gave you a bonsai?”

  “A crab apple. It’s beautiful. It’s just getting leaves, and—”

  “You didn’t tell me he gave you a bonsai! Do you know what that means?”

  “What?” I pushed the bonsai back and turned my head away to keep from looking at it. From remembering.

  “Giving a bonsai tree as a gift is a gesture of respect and a harbinger of good fortune,” said Kyoko as if quoting.

  “A harbinger of … what? Come on. That sounds like something you’d see on a chopstick wrapper in a Chinese restaurant. And besides, I don’t believe in luck or fortune anymore. Good or bad.” I cocked my head. “How do you know all that about bonsai anyway?”

  “Well, I got one.”

  “From who?” I leaned forward. “Kaine?”

  “Nope. Guess again.”

  Kyoko made me feel like pulling my hair out sometimes. “Dave?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Guess, Ro! Really. You’ll never figure it out.”

  “Then why are you asking me to guess?” I snapped, shoulders sagging from the day’s emotion. “Just tell me!”

  She sighed. “Okay, spoilsport. Theo.”

  “Theo? Who’s Theo?”

  “Hello! Book-publisher Theo? The one who wanted to see samples of your ‘Southern Speak’ journal, Ro! Do you even listen to a word I say?”

  “Of course I do! I just …” I drummed my fingers on my cheek, trying to recall. “Didn’t you tell me he has a cleft … something? Cleft lip?”

  “Cleft chin, Ro! A cleft chin!” Kyoko snarled. “Big difference! And yes, that’s the right Theo.”

  “He gave you a bonsai?”

  “Okay, so it was a virtual bonsai, but it could have more than virtual significance.”

  I put my head in my hands. “How did we get into this conversation?”

  “Beats me.” Kyoko fell silent. “Oh, right. The seeds.”

  “The seeds!” I sat up straight. “What do they all have in common?”

  She paused for emphasis. “Ready for this?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  “They’re rare.”

  I just sat there. Christie squirmed in my lap, licking my cheek, and then tried to bite the microphone again.

  “Uh … you’re sure?”

  “Tropaeolum majus doesn’t come in that shade of blue most of the time. And your moth vine is really weird. They’re rare. Get it?”

  “They’re rare,” I repeated, wrinkling my brow. “As in … they’re expensive?”

  “No, bonehead!” Kyoko shouted. “As in YOU are!”

  “I’m what?” Then suddenly it hit me. “You mean he’s trying to say that he thinks … that I’m …?”

  “Yes, O thou of slow wit! Does it always take you this long to catch on to things, Ro? Seriously! Romance is wasted on you, you know that?”

  My eyes hovered over the computer screen and out into space as I let it all sink in, feeling the air seep out of my lungs.

  “He thinks you’re one in a million. Rare. Unique. That’s what he’s trying to say in his plant way of speaking. You’re really lucky, Ro. That farmer might not stop traffic with his looks, but he’s all right.”

  I pounded the desk with my fist and let my head drop. “He’s not a farmer! And we’re not … anything. I don’t know how to break it you, but we’re done! I’m leaving. Did you check your e-mail?”

  Kyoko hadn’t heard me, blabbing something about love and youth. If I didn’t stop her now, she’d slip right over into the Pretty In Pink trap, and we’d be talking about the ‘80s again. Please, no! Anything but that!

  “Becky’s almost a mom,” I blurted, squeezing my trembling fingers together and trying not to look up at the bonsai with its pink unfurling bud. “I think she’s going to have a baby really soon. Maybe even this month.”

  That did the trick. “What did you just say?”

  “Becky and Tim. I think they’re going to adopt.”

  “What? Ro, that’s really great!” Her voice turned sweet. “Let’s just hope she’s as redneck as they are.”

  “I don’t know yet. But I imagine she’ll pick it up really fast.”

  “Before long she’ll be the expert, living around Mr. and Mrs. White Bread.” Kyoko snickered. “No offense, believe me! They’re great. They’re just … really funny.”

  “Well, it’ll be tough for little Macy to turn into White Bread Junior,” I said carefully. “She’s African-American.”

  Dead silence on the other end of the line. “Um … Kyoko? Still there?”

  I heard something thump. Then something crash, like a chair toppling over into a pile of books.

  “Kyoko?” I leaned forward, nearly dropping Christie off my lap. “Hello? What’s going on?”

  No answer, just more banging, and something that sounded like … laughter? I jiggled the microphone and clicked the volume up as far as it would go. “Answer me! Are you there?”

  “I’m—I’m here! I’m just …” Kyoko gasped for breath. Then broke off into another hysterical belly laugh, guffawing so much I turned the volume down.

  “What’s so funny?” I glared.

  “Nothing,” she wheezed, chair squeaking as she wept with laughter. “It’s fantastic! Brilliant! I just have to say that that God of yours has one crazy sense of humor, Ro!” She broke off again in another round of laughter.

  “Why? Because of an interracial adoption?” I scowled, not seeing the connection Kyoko obviously found so funny.

  “No, because nobody on earth could have planned something that wild. Tim and Becky with … Don’t you get it? It’s awesome! It’s … wow.” I heard Kyoko pull tissues out of a cardboard box. “If that’s the kind of stuff He does, count me in!”

  “What are you saying?” I started to think Kyoko was the one who’d lost her mind. “You don’t mean you … believe in God?”

  “Me?” Kyoko laughed again. “God? You’re funny, Ro-chan.” She pulled out another tissue.

  “No, I’m serious.”

  She paused. “Hey, I think I liked you better when you were rude and arrogant.”

  “Sorry.” I leaned back slightly, letting the mic go limp. “I had to ask.”

  “Hmmph. Just don’t try to foist anything on me, okay?”

  “I’m not foisting anything, Kyoko. Any more than you try to foist your weird music on unsuspecting souls like me.”

  “You just don’t have a high enough appreciation of art to grasp the raw, unbridled glory.”

  “Ditto.”

  Silence shook the line for a few loud seconds. Then Kyoko’s voice: �
��I can’t … Oh, Ro, you did not!” She laughed out loud. “That was pretty clever, actually. I have to admit.”

  “Just think about it, okay? Read the Bible or something.” I felt grumpy. “And then you can come complain to me.”

  “Why, so I can become a religious nut job like you?” Kyoko’s voice sounded surprisingly tender.

  “You could do worse.”

  “It would be hard.” She breezed me away with a chuckle. “But first I need Tim and Becky’s address.”

  “What for?” I sat up straighter. With Kyoko, I could never be too careful.

  “To send a baby gift, of course. C’mon, what do you think I am, a heel? They’re nice! I’ll help them celebrate.”

  “Nothing too dark or scary. No blood, no monsters, no aliens. No creepy anime comics stuff,” I warned. “Nothing with skulls or weird bands or smelling like incense. Promise me.”

  Silence.

  “What’s wrong?” I drummed my fingers on the desk.

  “Doggone it, Ro-chan,” said Kyoko in a pitiful voice. “What is there left to send?”

  I’d just stood up and was clicking the screen off when Skype beeped again urgently.

  “Kyoko?” I reached for the mic again in surprise. “What’s up?”

  “Is this for real, Ro?” Kyoko shouted. “Tell me the truth! Now!”

  “The truth about what?”

  “There’s this little blurb on the Yomiuri insider feed that says you might be coming back to Japan? To Osaka? Am I reading this right?” Kyoko’s voice had turned into a cosmic roar. I could imagine the books flying off the shelves, curtains whipping. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Sit down, Kyoko.” I sighed, sinking back into the chair. “This is going to take awhile.”

  Chapter 36

  Macy Alyssa Donaldson arrived at Tim and Becky’s house on Friday afternoon, a mere four days after their first introduction. We snatched up our cameras and rushed for the front window, where the sharp crunch of gravel under Becky’s car heralded their arrival.

  “They’re here!” cried Becky’s dad, taking the front steps two at a time, video camera pressed to his eye, just as Tim cut the engine and we poured out onto the front steps in coats and hats, sharp gusts stinging our cheeks. An iced tree dripped overhead, its thin glass branches clattering together like muted tambourines.