A Mother's Goodbye

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘The time feels right,’ I said, shrugging again, as if I wasn’t taking this life-or-death seriously.

  ‘But… but…’ Jill practically spluttered. ‘You’re about to make partner. This could derail everything.’

  ‘Why?’ I challenged. I felt defiant then, as if I could take on the world, or at least Harrow and Heath. I’d just ordered two boxes of newborn diapers off Amazon, and had even dared to subscribe to a box a month. Every step I took, whether buying diapers or folding a onesie, made me feel more hopeful, more certain. This was what I wanted, and it was happening. ‘They can’t keep me from being partner just because I have a child,’ I told Jill firmly, determined to believe it. ‘That’s sexual discrimination.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘They wouldn’t say it was because of that, but they’d still do it. You know how this business works, Grace. It’s still a boys’ club no matter what PR they try to spin.’

  ‘Well, I’m not telling anyone at work,’ I said, already regretting that she’d found out and that I’d admitted to it. ‘Anyone else, anyway.’

  Remembering it all now, I think I should have lied to Jill, but what can she do? Tell Bruce? I feel cold at the thought. She wouldn’t, I tell myself, but I know she would, if she could just find a way to do it that didn’t make her look like a tattle. The real question is, would Bruce keep me from being made partner because of it? After all my work, the years I’ve put in, I can’t believe he’d be so cavalier about a piece of gossip from someone who he must know is envious of me.

  I force myself to dismiss my worries about Jill and scroll through my contacts, deciding I am not too drunk for an impromptu phone call. I ring Ben. He answers on the fourth ring, which makes me think he was debating whether to take the call.

  ‘Grace?’ He sounds cautious.

  ‘Hi, Ben.’ I do my best to sound sober. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Um, fine.’

  ‘I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I just wanted to share some news.’ I slur a little, and I realize I’m drunker than I thought. I also shouldn’t have called Ben. He’s got to be wondering why on earth I did.

  ‘Oh?’ I hear him moving, shutting a door. ‘Yeah? What?’

  ‘Two things, actually.’ I try to enunciate. ‘I’m about to be made partner at Harrow and Heath and…’ I take a deep breath, my chest bursting with pride and happiness. ‘I’m adopting a little girl.’

  ‘Oh. Wow.’ Ben sounds pleased. At least I think he does. ‘Grace, that’s really good news. I’m so happy for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I feel the sloppy grin spreading across my face, but with it comes a sudden, piercing sadness. I don’t want to be sharing this news with Ben Foley, of all people, a person I haven’t seen in years; someone who I know doesn’t care about me any more. I want to be sharing it with someone who loves me. I want to be sharing it with my dad.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say abruptly, and I disconnect the call without waiting for his reply. Then I throw the phone across the room; it lands on the soft, cream-colored area rug and bounces harmlessly, which is less than satisfying. Part of me wanted the screen to shatter.

  I miss my father. He’d have been so happy for me. I picture him cuddling my little girl, how he’d drape her over his shoulder while she burped, rubbing her back in slow, rhythmic circles, an expert grandfather from the get-go. I can see it so clearly that I can’t believe it isn’t going to happen, that it isn’t going to be real.

  He’d have been such a great grandad. He would have taught her Pinochle, slipped her sweets, always been patient and ready to listen. He’d have taken her fishing, the way he did with me; the three of us on Cape Cod, Dad building the world’s biggest sandcastle, having barbecues on the beach, toasting marshmallows. Arms around each other, proud, cheesy grins in place, for the photos of those key moments – first day of school, piano recitals, graduation.

  I can see it all, and I want it so badly, it’s like a physical ache reverberating through every part of me. I don’t want to be alone in this, and yet I am. I always am.

  I sit there, drunk, half-dozing, trying to fight the tidal wave of sadness that threatens to drown me. I don’t want to feel sad now. I’m about to be made partner, to meet my daughter. I’m about to finally have everything I want. Why do I have to feel so lonely now?

  Because happiness hurts when there is no one to share it with. I picture that on some inspirational poster with a picture of a kitten in a wine glass, or on a paperweight or a mug. Not exactly words to inspire.

  Eventually I fall asleep; I feel myself slip into unconsciousness, like being tugged underwater, and it’s a relief. I don’t want to think any more. I awake suddenly, minutes or hours later, to my phone buzzing on the carpet where I threw it.

  My mouth tastes horrible and my eyes feel glued together. I stumble out of the chair and fumble for the phone. When I glance blearily at the screen I see it’s 6 a.m. and Tina is calling me. My heart feels frozen, a block of ice in my chest. My fingers tremble as I swipe to take the call.

  ‘Tina?’ My voice comes out in a croak.

  ‘Sorry to call you so early.’ She sounds tense and grim. ‘It’s Heather. I just got a call from the hospital. She’s gone into labor.’

  ‘Labor… but she’s only…’

  ‘Thirty-four weeks. It’s early. Very early.’

  ‘Dangerously early?’ My stomach plunges.

  ‘That’s impossible to say. But I thought you might want to go to the hospital.’

  ‘Does Heather still want me there?’ I know she said yes to me being there for the delivery, but this feels different.

  ‘She asked them to call me.’ Which isn’t exactly a yes. And if I don’t show up at work today, the day I’m meant to make partner… I push that thought aside. The choice is obvious, overwhelming.

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’

  I yank on jeans and a top, brush my teeth because that is a must, and run a comb through my hair before I hurry downstairs. I don’t have time to rent a Zipcar, and I curse myself for not having bought a car yet – I thought I had time.

  I end up taking a cab to the hospital, which costs a fortune, not that it matters. I thrust a bunch of bills at the driver and jump out, my heart racing as I search for the maternity ward. Hospitals still remind me of death. But not this time. Please God, not this time.

  At the reception desk a nurse calmly tells me that she can’t give out information about a patient, thanks to the HIPAA laws. I try to explain who I am, but she’s not having it. She points to a plastic chair and, like a schoolteacher, tells me to sit down and wait. I obey, and then I call Tina.

  ‘No one’s telling me anything.’ My voice is shaking. ‘And they won’t let me see Heather. Do you know what’s going on?’

  ‘No,’ Tina says, her voice calm and soothing. I wonder if she ever gets upset. ‘But I’m coming over right now.’

  I spend an hour on a plastic chair, my hands tucked between my knees, rocking back and forth. People must think I’m strung out on something, but I can’t keep still. I can’t focus. I listen to the blood roar in my ears and my heart thud, thud, thud. That’s all I can manage. My mind is a numb blank, which is better than the terrible fears seething just below the surface. I know they’re there, swirling and swarming, but I won’t give into them. I can’t.

  Tina comes at eight o’clock, and she gives me a quick hug that I desperately need. Then she talks to the receptionist, and somehow she works magic I don’t have, because she comes back to tell me that Heather’s waters broke, and she went into labor early this morning.

  They tried to keep it from progressing but the baby was in distress and so they’re doing an emergency caesarean section right now. Every word feels like a thrown punch. I blink, too dazed to process it all.

  ‘But the baby, she’ll be all right?’ My teeth are chattering. I’m so terrified I feel sick, as if I might actually throw up right there on Tina’s Easy Spirit clogs.

  ‘Neonatal care is amazing,
Grace,’ she says steadily. ‘And thirty-four weeks is still a good gestation. I’m sure she’ll be fine.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ I hang onto it like a promise.

  ‘As sure as I can be. Of course there are risks—’

  But I don’t want to hear about risks. I can’t handle more fear.

  We wait. An hour later my phone buzzes, and I see that it’s Bruce. Dimly, I realize I never called in sick. Dully, I take the call, moving out to the hallway so I’m not told off for being on my phone.

  ‘Bruce?’

  ‘Grace.’ He sounds serious. I take a deep breath.

  ‘I’m sorry that I’m not—’

  ‘Grace, look. I’ll cut to the chase. You didn’t make partner.’

  I blink, absorbing this coolly stated fact, his tone touched with impatience, as if this is nothing more than an irritation to deal with before getting on with his day.

  ‘Just because of today…?’

  ‘Today?’ Bruce sounds confused and even more impatient, and I realize he probably doesn’t even know I’m not at work. It’s only a little after nine. So this has nothing to do with me not showing up. ‘It was a hard decision, but the partners feel you haven’t discovered any truly substantial investments since All Natural, and that was six years ago now.’

  Damn All Natural. I knew having a big hit when I was new would bite me in the ass one day. I just didn’t expect it to be this hard.

  ‘That’s not exactly true,’ I begin, wanting to mention the social media deal from six months ago, but I know there’s no point fighting it. When the partners decide, they decide. It’s over. ‘Was there any other reason?’ I ask woodenly.

  ‘Well…’ Bruce blows out a breath. ‘We did feel that you’ve been a bit distracted lately… it seems you have a lot on your mind?’ He pauses, as if he’s waiting for me to confess. I feel cold.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not distracted. Why would you think that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bruce backs off hastily. ‘It’s just a feeling. Personal issues maybe…’ He trails off, again waiting for me to fill the silence.

  A suspicion is growing in me, an awful, sickening suspicion. ‘Did anyone else make partner?’

  Bruce hesitates, and then I know. I can’t believe it, but I know.

  ‘Jill,’ I say, even though it seems unbelievable. She’s not even a principal yet. ‘Was it Jill Martin?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bruce sounds guilty, and he damn well should.

  Jill. Jill stabbed me in the back. She must have told, or at least hinted, that I was planning to adopt. I was Mommy-tracked and I don’t even have a baby yet. Harrow and Heath have wanted a female partner for a while now, to look more PC, and they picked fucking Jill.

  I disconnect the call without saying goodbye, even though I know it’s unprofessional. I didn’t make partner. I see my future with awful clarity; I’m going to be shunted to the sidelines, downgraded to the grunt work of searching through companies that will never so much as break even. I’ll either stay at that depressing mid-level or I’ll have to leave and start all over somewhere else, put in my time, my blood and sweat, prove myself again and again and again and still maybe never make the grade. I’m swamped by disappointment, and yet another part of me doesn’t even care. What’s my job compared to my daughter?

  ‘Grace?’

  I turn to see Tina coming down the hall, and she doesn’t have a good look on her face. It’s a sympathy face, and my fingers go slack and my phone falls to the floor. This time the screen shatters.

  ‘No…’

  ‘The baby’s healthy,’ she says quickly. ‘Jaundiced and the lungs are underdeveloped, but a good weight. Four pounds, six ounces.’

  ‘And Heather…?’

  ‘She’s fine. Tired, I’m sure.’

  ‘Have you seen her? Have you seen the baby?’ My little girl. Somehow I can’t say the words, as if I’ll jinx it.

  ‘No, not yet.’ Tina hesitates, and I resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

  ‘What? What is it? What are you not saying?’

  ‘It’s only… the baby’s a boy.’

  ‘A boy…’ I blink, trying to get my head around this new reality.

  ‘And Heather… Heather is saying she’s not sure any more.’

  I stare, uncomprehending, refusing to believe. So Tina clarifies it for me.

  ‘She’s saying she might want to keep the baby.’

  Part Two

  Thirteen

  GRACE

  Seven years later

  ‘Come on, Isaac.’ I try to smile, my voice as upbeat as I can make it as I stand by the front door, a pair of sneakers in my hand. ‘Put your shoes on. We’re going to be late.’

  Isaac drags his feet along the carpet and lets out a theatrical sigh, his bangs sliding into his face. I keep meaning to take him for a haircut, but somehow I’ve never got around to it.

  ‘Do I have to go?’

  ‘You know you do, bud.’ I try to pitch my voice between sympathy and cheerfulness, but it’s hard. I dread these visits as much as Isaac does, although I try not to show it. ‘Come on.’ I ruffle his hair and he ducks his head away from me, something that’s only started recently. My little boy doesn’t want cuddles anymore. ‘Maybe we’ll stop for ice cream on the way back.’ I’ve resorted to bribery, but that happened a while ago when it comes to dealing with Saturday afternoons.

  ‘Okay.’ He takes the sneakers and I try to relax. I’m always tense on the fourth Saturday of the month: the day we visit Aunt Heather.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Seven years later I can’t help but still think it. A closed adoption, we both agreed on it, way back when. Easier, cleaner, safer, simpler, no matter what anyone might spout about making an open adoption work, how everybody wins.

  When Tina told me that awful first morning that Heather might have changed her mind I felt both winded with shock and yet also completely unsurprised. Hadn’t a dark, frightened part of me been waiting for this, bracing for it? My response was to go into action mode, treating it like a work crisis because that was the only way I could deal with my fear.

  ‘I need a lawyer,’ I snapped at Tina.

  ‘I can recommend someone, of course, but I’d suggest you give Heather a little time. This is a fairly normal reaction…’

  I shook my head, scrabbling for my phone after I’d dropped it on the hospital floor. The screen was badly cracked but it still worked. ‘I’ve got someone already.’ I’d engaged a lawyer when I’d started this whole process, but I’d hoped I wouldn’t need her until the official adoption took place, until I was in court, my daughter in my arms, everything needing only to be signed and sealed.

  ‘Grace…’ Tina placed a hand on my arm, but I shook her off. I felt like she’d become the enemy. Maybe she’d been that all along, and I just hadn’t realized. She would be telling Heather her rights, reminding her she could change her mind whenever she wanted. I was done with Tina.

  ‘Why do we have to go?’ Isaac asks as he fumbles with his shoelaces. He asks the same question every time.

  ‘You know why, Isaac.’ Years ago, I explained who Heather was, but I’m not sure Isaac really understood. I still don’t think he understands; the McClearys are so different from him. From us. And I admit, I haven’t pressed the point too much. Going to Heather’s house once a month is all the blood money I’m willing to pay.

  Seven years of visits, barely missing one, because I felt I owed it to Heather. I made her a promise when Isaac was only three days old, when we were both strung out on emotion and fatigue, everything feeling fragile. I promised, and Heather had a lawyer seal the deal.

  As we wait for the elevator my neighbor Eileen opens her door and gives us a smile. I swear she waits by her door for the sound of ours opening. Her eyesight’s nearly completely gone now and her husband is bedridden.

  Sometimes Isaac visits with them, plays Chinese checkers and comes home with old-fashioned, boiled sweets in sticky wrap
pers. Sometimes, when I remember, I try to drop off something, some cookies or one of the gossip magazines that I know are Eileen’s guilty pleasure, even though she can barely see the pictures now. We’ve come a long way from the days when I didn’t know her name. As for Eileen, Isaac is almost like the grandchild she never had.

  ‘Going out?’ she asks, as usual, and Isaac looks away from her without saying anything. Gently I put a hand on his shoulder and steer him back to face her. He’s an introvert, always has been, quiet and shy, like I was when I was young.

  ‘Yes, we’re going to visit some friends in New Jersey,’ I say. Although Eileen knows Isaac is adopted, I haven’t explained about Heather to her, or anyone. It’s too complicated, too unwelcome, and I know I’d just moan and bitch about it anyway, which doesn’t feel fair.

  ‘Have fun,’ Eileen chirps. ‘Come see me when you get back, okay, Isaac?’

  Isaac nods and we step into the elevator. He lets out a gusty sigh and slumps against the wall, scuffing his sneakers on the floor. He’s shot up this year, and I notice that his jeans are about an inch too short. When did that happen?

  Last week we had his seventh birthday party at The Gaga Center. I hadn’t even known about gaga, a form of dodgeball, before Isaac became interested in it at school. He went to a Hebrew Montessori until this year, when he started at the all-boys Buckley. The party was with boys from his old school and just one from Buckley, Will, who is Isaac’s new best friend. His mom Stella is mine; Will and Isaac clicked on the first day of school, and so did Stella and I.

  With work, I don’t see her as much as I’d like to, but we keep in touch via WhatsApp and texts, and occasionally we even manage a night out – girly cocktails, or a sappy movie. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good girlfriend, someone who I’m not in competition with, because truth be told there’s no way I could beat Stella in the mommy stakes and so I don’t even try. I just soak up her cheerful energy and humor. She is a stay-at-home mom with a husband who makes millions, two sweet boys and a list of charities she volunteers for as long as my arm. I don’t even feel envious, because Stella’s too nice for that. At least, I don’t feel it that often.