Jubilee stood alone inside the bounce house, Baby dangling in her hand—and for a second it seemed like she understood the full weight of what had just happened. It seemed like she understood what Paige had done. But then she tried a few tentative jumps, and a large smile spread across her face, revealing a mouth full of mismatching teeth. She jumped higher and higher, spinning in circles.
“Mama!” she shouted. “Dis’ is so much fun! Come in! Come jump!”
Jen pictured it.
She—a full grown woman—slipping off her shoes and crawling inside. All the mothers in their expensive clothes, pausing from their conversation to stare at Jen’s large bottom as she went in. She would be a hot, sweaty mess in two seconds flat. She would probably sprain something, like her back, and Camille would need to call the ambulance, and Jubilee would never be invited anywhere again.
“C’mon!” Jubilee yelled, tossing Baby into the air and catching her in both arms.
“I’m too big,” Jen called. “The bounce house is for little girls.”
It wasn’t true, of course.
The bounce house could have held her, even with the extra pounds she seemed to be carrying on her body these days.
Jubilee looked disappointed.
Thankfully, it didn’t last. She was having too much fun jumping around like a maniac to pout for long. Jen watched—a spectator of her daughter’s joy—her muscles slowly unwinding. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe Jubilee’s first birthday party would turn out a success.
Please, Lord, let it be true. Please, please let this be a good day.
But then the birthday girl marched through the backyard, telling everyone to go into the living room because it was time to open the presents. The hope expanding in Jen’s soul burst like a popped party balloon.
She tried to trick Jubilee into thinking it was time to go, but Jubilee was no fool. They hadn’t had any cake or tea yet. They hadn’t decorated the dolly-and-me T-shirts. Jen had explained at least a dozen times this past week that they would get to decorate dolly-and-me T-shirts. Jubilee really wanted to decorate dolly-and-me T-shirts. And if they left now, Jen was certain Camille would take the early departure very personally.
So they ended up in the giant room with a cathedral ceiling and canvased pictures of the family in coordinated outfits, watching Paige sit on her throne—a plastic, blow-up pink princess chair that probably fit her best two years ago. All her party guests sat crisscross on the floor while the mothers stood behind with their phones out, capturing the birthday girl as she opened whatever present they’d purchased.
None of them seemed to be having a minor panic attack at the last-minute change in party plans. None of them seemed to notice that Jen was. So far, all the presents had been American Girl, and all the girls wanted a good look. Camille had the bright idea of passing them around so everyone had a chance to see.
Eject! Eject! Eject!
But it all happened so fast. Paige tore through her presents, and suddenly they were being passed around. And Jubilee was sitting far away, out of Jen’s reach, growing visibly frustrated. Because to her, this wasn’t taking turns. This was loss after loss after loss for a girl whose life had been defined by it. Here, look at this toy. Oh, but you can’t have it. None of these are actually for you. Nothing is ever actually for you.
It was horrible.
And Jen’s underarms were beginning to sweat.
And Jubilee let out a frustrated growl.
And a mother standing beside Camille stared for an extended moment.
“Jubilee,” Jen called softly, hating the way her voice shook as she did. She crooked her finger. “Come stand by me.”
Jubilee shook her head, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest.
Camille handed Paige the Barbie-shaped box Jen had wrapped earlier this morning. Jubilee had danced around her with her matching Barbie in hand while Jen cut and folded and taped.
Now Jubilee sat up straight as Paige tore off the paper. When the Barbie was revealed, there was a moment of nothing. No ooh. No aah. No, Oh, this is exactly what I wanted!
Jubilee knocked into a girl behind her as she scrambled up to her feet and barreled through the circle of party guests. She dug inside Jen’s purse with overeager hands and pulled out her matching Barbie. “Look, Paige. Dey match!”
Paige Gray—the mutinous monster—looked at her mother and said, “I already have this.”
“Honey, there’s no such thing as too many Barbies.”
“But I have this exact same one.”
“Paige, say thank you, sweetheart.”
Paige looked at Jubilee with heavily lidded eyes. “Thank you.” Then she tossed the Barbie into the pile of glittery pink paper wrappings and opened the next gift. It was an American Girl rabbit and hutch that had Paige jumping up from her seat, hugging it to her chest. “Oh, I adore rabbits!”
Jubilee threw her Barbie.
It nearly hit Aaishi in the back of the head.
“Jubilee!” Jen yelped, hefting her into her arms with a strength born of adrenaline just as Camille caught Jen’s eye. She at least had the good manners to look stricken. This was, after all, her fault. Opening presents was not a part of the schedule. Opening presents was not something Jen and Nick had prepared Jubilee for. They wouldn’t have RSVP’d yes if they had known Paige would be opening presents.
“Is everything okay?” Deb asked, touching Jen’s arm with cool fingers.
“Yes, it’s fine. We’re…we’re going to use the bathroom.”
She began to walk Jubilee toward the kitchen, rubbing her back and swaying, trying to calm her daughter before her whimpers turned into wails and everybody stopped and stared. She needed to get Jubilee away from all the stimulation—away from all the presents. She needed to calm her down before this escalated any further.
But the farther away they got, the more Jubilee began to panic.
By the time Jen had her inside the nearest bathroom, the door shut and locked as though the extra security measure would serve as a sound barrier, Jubilee’s noodle body had gone into full-throttle thrashing, and Jen’s heart beat so frantically she thought it would burst through her chest like that gruesome scene from Alien.
“I no wanna go!” she screamed. “Don’t make-a me go!”
Jen had to restrain her.
She had to restrain her feral daughter in Camille Gray’s bathroom while everyone stood outside and listened. As Jubilee screamed and jerked and spit, Jen sat behind her on the bathroom floor, wrapping her body around her daughter’s and holding tight. She rocked her back and forth, back and forth until Jubilee stopped fighting and her screams turned into sad, pitiful moans.
Jen continued to hold her. She continued to rock her.
Trapped inside Camille’s bathroom.
Utterly and completely alone.
Twenty-Eight
“That was intense.”
“That was insane.”
“I’ve never seen a child act like that.”
“Do you think something’s wrong with her?”
“It was like she was possessed.”
Camille ignored the gossiping mothers and their hushed, solicitous tones as she cleaned up the wrapping paper. No doubt the conversation would turn to her marriage as soon as she walked out the patio doors. No doubt that if this had been six months ago and someone else’s marriage, she would have jumped into the fray. She did it at PTA meetings. She did it at birthday parties. She’d even done it at Bible studies.
Gossip cloaked in prayer requests.
She balled up a scrap of thick, glittery pink paper with a matching glittery pink bow. All that effort, crumpled into a halfhearted ball and stuffed inside a trash bag. And all these presents, carefully selected and much too expensive. Soon enough, Paige would get tired of them all. They’d end up in a trash heap or donated t
o Goodwill. In ten years, her youngest would move out. Go off to college. Probably resent Camille as much as Taylor resented her. And Camille would be all alone. Her life would turn into one long, never-ending weekend without the children.
And without them, who was she?
A cold shudder moved down her arms as she finished picking up the last of the scraps. The party guests and several mothers were outside again. Not all of them cared to gossip. They’d already had their tea, and Paige had blown out the candles. The girls had finished decorating their dolly-and-me T-shirts. The time was five to three. Five minutes until the end of the party. And yet nobody seemed poised to leave.
“I really wish Madison wouldn’t have seen it. She’s so impressionable. Did you see the way she was hitting and kicking her mother?”
“Madison would never do that.”
Oh, shut up! Shut up, all of you.
The girl had a meltdown. Right then, Camille wanted to have one herself. She wanted to tell them all to stop their judging when it had been Camille’s fault. She’d seen the panicked look on Jen’s face when she told her they would be opening presents. She just hadn’t cared then. She’d been too annoyed to care. After all, it was Paige’s party, and Paige was distraught because her father left. He left them all. And couldn’t Jen see that? Couldn’t the woman cut her some slack?
She thought Jen was overreacting. She thought Jen was making a mountain out of a molehill.
But she wasn’t.
Camille tied up the trash bag and set it in front of the dishwasher. She dialed Jen’s number while tapping her finger against the countertop. Her wedding ring sparkled up at her like a cruel joke.
The phone rang in her ear.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then voice mail.
She hit End.
“Camille?”
Camille turned around.
It was Pamela Trentwood, the worst of the gossipers. She had three children. A girl-boy-girl combination, just like Camille. But her husband wasn’t quite as successful, her house wasn’t quite as big, and her daughters weren’t nearly as sought after. From the second Camille greeted Pamela at the door, Pamela had slathered on the sympathy, like she secretly relished it. Well, Camille secretly hated her.
“Would you like me to put on another pot of coffee?” Pamela asked, tapping the side of her empty cup.
No, actually. I’d like you all to leave. It’s three o’clock, can’t you see? I’m almost positive I said the party would end at three.
“I don’t mind,” Pamela said.
“It’s fine. I can do it.” Camille reached for the stainless-steel canister on the counter, where she stored the coffee beans.
Pamela set her cool hand on Camille’s elbow. “It’s been a fabulous party.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ve always thrown fabulous parties, but I think you’ve outdone yourself this time. I’m sure you wanted to make it extra special for Paige.”
“I’m sure I did.”
Pamela raised her eyebrows.
Camille pulled out the grinder and plugged it in. She dumped in some beans and hit the power button.
“It’s too bad that girl caused such a fuss,” Pamela said over the loud noise. “I hope Paige isn’t upset.”
“I doubt she is.”
“I love your hair, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Camille let go of the button and began searching the cupboards for another filter, hopeful she wouldn’t find one.
“My sister chopped her hair off when she got a divorce too.”
Camille stopped her searching. “What was that?”
“I was just saying, my sister did the same thing. After her divorce. I think a lot of women do it after a breakup.”
“There hasn’t been a breakup. We’re not getting a divorce.”
“Oh, but I thought…” Pamela’s face crumpled with forced confusion—an impressive feat, considering all the Botox she had injected into her forehead. “Didn’t Rebecca see him with that other woman?”
* * *
How did the party go?
The question belonged to Dixie McLaughlin on the adoption Facebook page, and for the past half hour, as Nick bathed and lotioned their daughter, Jen sat in front of her computer, staring at it with burning eyes and a hollowed-out chest. She offered a bare-minimum response, and the replies were rolling in.
Oh, sweetie. That’s terrible.
We’ve all been there.
You aren’t alone.
How maddening! People just don’t get it.
Warrior on, Mama. This gig isn’t for the faint of heart.
No. No, it wasn’t. This gig was for women like Dixie, who had not one, but two children from Africa. Another daughter adopted from foster care, as well as a sixteen-year-old foster kid with a newborn baby. All living under her roof. Not to mention goats, chickens, and a llama. Jen had one kid. One. And she couldn’t seem to handle her at all.
Her phone began to chirp.
It was Camille again. The sight of her name on the screen had Jen unwrapping another Dove chocolate and stuffing it in her mouth. She tucked it into the pocket of her cheek and sucked hard.
She should have hit the Eject button as soon as Camille told her about the presents. But that would have seemed psychotic and extreme. Jen didn’t want to look psychotic or extreme. In the end, she cared more about what Camille Gray thought of her than she did about the well-being of her child.
And now Jubilee would have to pay.
If her daughter was excluded before Paige’s party, how much more would she be excluded now? Her throat tightened at the memory of all those appalled mothers—all those wide-eyed, staring children. Every single girl in Jubilee’s class had witnessed the fit.
Except for Nia, the transfer student with beads in her hair.
Nia hadn’t seen it because Nia wasn’t there.
Nia wasn’t invited.
Why wasn’t Nia invited?
Jen’s thoughts turned dark and judgmental.
She sent Camille to voice mail, hit the caps lock, and began shout-typing.
WHY CAN’T ANYTHING BE EASY?
She and Nick had prayed and prayed about this party. They worked so hard to prepare Jubilee, so ever-loving hard. But none of it mattered. The party had gone the opposite of well. It went as horribly unwell as a party could go. So unwell, in fact, her brain was already starting to suppress it. She couldn’t remember what she said when she carried Jubilee out of the bathroom on that long, mortifying walk to the front door. She couldn’t remember if she’d apologized. She couldn’t even remember if she grabbed Baby. Her brain was shoving it down—deep, deep down—to a place she didn’t ever want to visit again. But she knew how this worked. It wouldn’t stay there forever. For the rest of her life, it would pop up at random, unexpected times like a mortifying jack-in-the-box, making her burn with embarrassment. Making her entire body shudder.
WHY CAN’T ONE BLASTED THING GO RIGHT?
With each typed word, each slam of her finger against a key, her anger bubbled. It was always there now, lurking right under the surface like a crocodile waiting for its next prey. Jubilee would spill her milk. The crocodile would snap. Nick would leave his socks on the floor. The crocodile would snap. Her thoughts would scream and rant and rail. An internal fit ten times the size of Jubilee’s.
And then her mother’s voice would come—familiar, reprimanding.
We do not cause scenes, Jennifer.
I CAN’T DO THIS. I CAN’T BE HER MOTHER.
You were never supposed to be a mother at all.
The whispered thought came like a cruel slap across an all-too-tender face. She closed her eyes as a hot tear tumbled down her cheek. She closed her eyes just like God had closed her womb. He closed her womb because He knew
she wasn’t fit for this particular job. But she hadn’t listened. She barreled ahead. Couldn’t get pregnant? Couldn’t sustain a pregnancy? No biggie. She and Nick would adopt. This was God’s plan, she told herself. But what if it wasn’t? What if He was trying to tell her to stop and she didn’t listen and now here the three of them were?
Her lips trembled. Her hollowed-out chest was caving in.
You were never supposed to be a mother at all.
Jen swiped at her cheeks and put her fingers back on the keyboard. She typed familiar words into Facebook’s search bar. She went to a site she hadn’t visited since she and Nick were matched with Jubilee. As soon as they got that precious referral picture from their adoption agency, Jen didn’t need to visit this site anymore. Jen had a daughter. But before then, when she had no face to pin all that yearning on, she went with heart-shaped googly eyes. She went with a bleeding wanting heart.
Now?
Her heart felt dead. And somehow raw.
Second Chance Adoptions.
There was a little boy at the top of the page. Vincent. Six years old. Originally from Haiti. Home for three years. In need of a new family. A second chance.
Three years.
Jen hadn’t even hit the six-month mark yet. Get through the first six months, people said. Things get so much easier after the first six months. Six months was getting closer, and Jen was only sinking deeper.
Six months.
While these people—the people who adopted Vincent from Haiti—had struggled for three years. Fought for three years. And still, they lost. Now he was here, smiling widely on the screen, tempting her in a way she never thought she would be tempted. She didn’t want this struggle to be her life. She didn’t want this to be her life at all.
Well, maybe it didn’t have to be.
She closed her eyes, blood whooshing in her ears.
What would happen once Jubilee got too big to restrain? What would happen if she started to sense Jen’s resentment? What if Jubilee ended up exactly like Brandon? She pushed the question down—deep, deep down—and stuffed another chocolate in her mouth.
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