A Proper Young Lady

by Lianne Simon

  I’m desperate to tell her the children are mine, but cannot find the words—or perhaps the courage. So I lean close and kiss Melanie’s forehead. “Whatever else happens, the children will always be ours.”

  “Are you really gonna let me stay forever?”

  It’s you I long to be with. I dare not admit my guilt aloud, but my hand caresses hers.

  Melanie’s eyes grow tender, her cheeks crimson.

  Am I capable of blushing? I lean close again and kiss her on the lips. “Yes. Forever.”

  Melanie

  The old highway drones on beneath us as the miles slide past. Autumn colors flash by the window. Late October paints the hardwoods in festive hues, leaving the pines a drab green under the clear blue sky.

  Dani remains quiet, her body slumped against mine, head resting on my shoulder. In the cool darkness of the Escalade, heat radiates from the girl. Along with the scent of fresh-cut lilacs.

  Even with a fever, you smell like flowers.

  Rarely during the turmoil of my childhood did Dani ask to be held. Yet I did so whenever she got sick. I squirm around in the seat to find a more comfortable position. For her. And for me. Then slide my arm around the girl.

  I wipe at the sweat on Dani’s forehead. Pale violet eyes drift open and closed again as she nuzzles closer.

  My hand wanders down to my abdomen. At sixteen weeks, not much shows except the weight I’ve gained. Something twitches under my fingers—one of the babies kicking?

  When we arrive at Victoria Springs Manor, Cooper lifts Dani in his arms like some Viking warrior rescuing a fallen princess. I close the limo door and follow them down the hallway.

  In her bedroom, I coax Dani awake long enough to help her into a nightgown. “You sure you don’t want a doctor?”

  One side of her mouth curls up. “I’m sure Mum’s already spoken with Dr. Hawthorne.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Perched on the edge of her bed, Dani breathes through her mouth. Tired eyes slow-blink twice. “Um. Yes. Ask Jake to bring me some tea, please—Darjeeling with honey, lemon and a spot of whiskey. She closes her eyes and slumps back against the headboard.

  A fresh pot of hot water waits on the kitchen counter, along with a small decanter of amber fluid, a honey bear, and a sliced lemon. But no Jake. I find the right canister, steep the tea for five minutes, then load the stuff on a silver tray and carry it upstairs.

  Dani’s eyes flutter open as I’m pouring tea, so I help her sit up and watch her while she sips the steamy liquid. She sets the cup on the nightstand without finishing more than half and lies down again. When her breathing slows, I walk downstairs to the solarium and kick back with what I hope is a good book.

  An hour later, a shadow crosses my vision. Ethan perches on the edge of the chair across from me. His eyes radiate suppressed anger. “Mind if we talk?”

  I place a bookmark in Golden Boy and set the paperback aside. “Okay.”

  “Outside.” Without waiting for a nod, he stands and walks to the door.

  Yes, officer. She fell into the pond and drowned. So sad.

  Come on, Melanie. Don’t be paranoid. I follow Ethan down the path into the dark shade under Dani’s old walnut tree and join him on the bench.

  The sun sets even as we sit. Deep red and purple drift across the garden and paint the house with shadows. Branches rustle and creak in the late October wind. Wispy clouds scoot across the darkening sky. I shiver at the chill in the Ethan’s eyes.

  The guy’s face softens into an awkward smile, but his eyes betray a deep sadness. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to be short with you. None of this is your fault.”

  What’s wrong? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He pulls an envelope out of his pocket and taps it against his knee. “Shortly after the clinic fertilized your eggs, I got a letter from Dr. Pierson saying I had azoospermia. Last week, my doctor confirmed that a supplement I was taking kept me from producing sperm.”

  “Then you’re not the father?”

  “No. And I really wanted to be.”

  “So who is?” My hand wanders down to my baby bump. The air becomes thick as molasses.

  Breathe.

  The dude stares past me, like he’s gone mental or something. “Does it really matter? They’re not mine.”

  Yes. It matters! My middle finger twitches, anxious to stand in front of the guy’s nose. But a proper young lady doesn’t flip off her best friend’s fiancé. And he’s not being a jerk so much as a guy who just found out the kids aren’t his after all.

  Ethan’s attention finally returns to me. “We’ll continue to provide for you and the twins. Help find them a good home.” His desolate eyes wander away again. “I’ll leave it to Danièle to work out the details of your severance.” With that, he strides off toward the manor.

  I wait for the ground to swallow me, but only silence infects the darkness. For a fleeting moment, I wish he actually had drowned me. Then I trudge back to the house.

  My book lies where I left it, but I no longer care to read. Or do anything else. So I sulk in silence up the grand staircase and down the hallway to my room. Away from people. Where my dreams can die alone.

  I hang up my dress with the others. Well, Dani’s dress. Like most everything else I wear, the Welles paid for it. I dig around in my bottom drawer till I find the pajamas Mom gave me years ago.

  Dressed in my own clothes, I crawl into bed and pull the quilt up to my chin. Hope I get to sleep before the tears start.

  Danièle

  Ethan’s musky scent drags me out of fevered dreams. His hand brushes wet hair from my face. My fiancé bends down to press a tender kiss against my lips. “Sorry you’re not feeling well, babe.”

  Pressure throbs behind my eyes. I squint at the room’s brightness. “When did you arrive?”

  “Here? About an hour ago. I flew in to D.C. earlier this week for some meetings. And my doctor’s appointment. My return flight leaves tomorrow, but I wanted to drop by and see you before I left.”

  “You went to a specialist?”

  “Yeah. The urologist thinks a supplement I was taking caused the problem. Apparently it was contaminated with steroids. So we’ll start over—find another egg donor and surrogate after my sperm production’s back up.”

  Start over? “All right. I don’t mind having more children.”

  “No. Just one or two from my sperm. I explained to Melanie that we don’t want hers.”

  I rub at the pain in my temples. “You did what?”

  “No big deal. We’ll give her a handsome severance package. And she can put the babies up for adoption.”

  “No, Ethan. They’re my children. I tried to explain that. The clinic extracted sperm from my gonadal biopsies.”

  His face darkens with anger. Ethan drags a chair close to the bed and sits. Seconds pass as my heart murmurs discontent. “Yours,” he says, finally.

  “Yes.” With that confession, the last of my fear departs, leaving only my throbbing headache. I no longer care to meet anyone’s expectations. Not even his.

  Some of the tension leaves Ethan’s face before he meets my eyes again. “I love you. I can accept that you’re intersex. But you and Melanie having a baby together? With me the odd one out? Sorry, but no. Just no.”

  I push myself upright, but the world spins me down again. “I’m keeping my children, Ethan. And Melanie will have access to them. Neither of those is negotiable.”

  Ethan kisses my cheek—once, twice. “You’re sick, babe. Think it over when you’re better.”

  I pull off the sapphire ring he gave me and press it into his palm. “No, Ethan. I love you dearly, but I’ll never give up my children. Or their mother.”

  After he leaves, I stand, but only for a moment before nausea and weariness drag me back to my bed and into darkness.

  Melanie

  Memories of a younger Dani haunt my dreams—a fair-haired tomboy with a dusty black top hat can
ted off to one side, and her father’s moth-eaten tuxedo jacket worn over flannel pajamas.

  I arrange a lace handkerchief over my head for a veil. My mother’s white pinafore stands in for a wedding gown. The scene amuses our parents—kids playing house and all—and once in a while, Dani’s father acts as a pastor for our ceremony. The grownups all clap when the groom kisses her bride on the cheek.

  One day, when nobody was watching, Daniel kissed me right on the mouth and slid his hands around my waist. He gave me a silver locket afterward, a promise that we’d be husband and wife someday, and not just for pretend.

  They never asked why Dani was always the groom and me the bride. Daniel’s being a boy was our cross my heart and hope to die secret. At least till Mom discovered the two of us on one of our pretend honeymoons.

  Dad spanked me good for that one, and the Welles family took Daniel to some stupid intersex specialist. Talk of removing his budding breasts panicked the boy into swearing he was happy as a girl. His family moved away then and disappeared, leaving me only pleasant memories of Daniel’s love and an antique locket with his picture inside.

  Whispers in the night rouse me. Glad to be awake again, I push myself upright and brush a damp strand of hair away from my face. A bead of sweat rolls down my nose. Heat and the shadow of nausea remind me I’m still pregnant. But with whose baby? Not Ethan’s. Even that tenuous link to Dani—an excuse to remain near her—has crumbled. She’s content to be a girl now. Best for her if I’m not around, and better for me if I never see the babies, or anything else that reminds me of Daniel.

  I flip on the light, get up, and go to the bathroom. On my way back to bed, I hear a soft tap on my door. I freeze and hold my breath.

  “Will you forgive me?” whispers Dani’s frail voice from the hallway.

  “Well, yeah.” You’re sick, girl. You should be in bed. My hands clench at my sides as I struggle to keep from running to her. I still gotta go. Me being here only brings us both pain.

  Her voice drifts in again, soft and plaintive. “Please unlock the door.”

  I take off my necklace and click open the antique locket. Daniel’s picture grins out at me.

  Time to admit he’s gone.

  After I kiss the boy’s photo, I place his silver heart on the nightstand, turn off the light, and wait till Dani’s soft footsteps drift away into the night. Rest in peace, my love.

  I roll on my side then, and pull up my knees, but the restful sleep I yearn for escapes me. My closed eyes see only the tenderness on Daniel’s face when he promised me his love forever.

  Chapter 17

  Melanie

  Victoria Springs to the Richmond airport by car takes almost two hours. Mr. Welles woulda let me travel by helicopter, but I’m in no hurry to be anywhere except away from Dani.

  I frown at Jake when he picks up my suitcase. “I think I can manage,” I say.

  “Miss Melanie, y’all don’t want poor old Jake to get himself in trouble, now do ya?”

  “No. Guess not.” He’s always been kind to me. I try my best to smile for him.

  I found the old gentleman at the motor pool that morning. He agreed at once to give me a ride, but called Mrs. Welles in spite of my begging him not to. She asked me why I wanted to leave, but my words kept getting all jumbled up. Only tears found their way out. She hugged me and wished me well before asking Jake to see me safely on my plane.

  Jake leads me to the airline counter. After he purchases my ticket, and we check my bag, he asks if I’d prefer a wheelchair.

  I reply with my best icy scowl.

  He grins and waves me toward security. At the last instant, I turn and hug him. “Thanks, Jake.”

  “You take care, Miss Melanie.” He tips his hat and smiles.

  When boarding starts, I cut to the front of the line—one advantage of being pregnant.

  Mrs. Welles didn’t want me to go, but at least she got why I had to leave. Even I could tell that from her eyes. She insisted on paying for a seat in First Class.

  Somebody’s nosy grandmother sits beside me the entire flight home. Chubby and short, with poofy white hair and pointy glasses. Bet she keeps a flock of plastic flamingos in her yard.

  I turn my head toward the window, but she doesn’t take the hint. “Are you from Atlanta, dearie?”

  No need to be rude, so I shift in my seat to face her a little better. “No, ma’am. Florida.”

  Her eyes latch on to my baby bump. “Is your husband meeting you at the airport?”

  I grimace and place my left hand against my belly to show her my ring finger. “I haven’t got one.”

  “But you are going to marry the boy, aren’t you?”

  Isn’t torture illegal? Who are you, anyhow? “What boy?”

  “Why, the father of your child, of course.”

  I think about explaining the surrogacy and all, but I’m not sure she’d get it. None of her beeswax, anyhow. “I don’t know who he is.”

  “Oh, my. You’ve slept with that many different men?”

  “No. Only one.” Except his post is small, and he hasn’t got any sperm, so he can’t have children. And we never really had sex—not like grownups do, anyhow.

  Her look accuses me of being an idiot. “Well then, dearie, I would think he’s the one.”

  Daniel? How I wish he’d come back to me. “Then I guess I’ll have to marry him, won’t I?” I fold my arms across my belly, turn away from her, and shut my eyes.

  We land a few minutes ahead of schedule.

  Dani left a voice-mail, but I’ll only start crying if I try to explain things to her. She wouldn’t like that any better than me. I compose twenty different texts, but don’t send any of them. We went five years without talking before. Might as well let the emotions fade before writing.

  Concourse C—Concourse B—Concourse A—the electric walkways at the Atlanta airport stretch on forever. I wander past the displays of African sculpture, plop down on the floor, and rest my head against the wall till the nausea passes.

  Southerners might be known for their hospitality, but not one of the other passengers makes room for a pregnant girl trying to board the train.

  Concourse T? No way. You’re not allowed to throw in random letters. Baggage Claim should come next. And who checks their stuff anyhow?

  Well, me. ‘Cause my stupid suitcase won’t fit into the overhead compartment and is too heavy for me to lift that high. So I trudge all the way to Baggage Claim, plop down on a bench, and wait for the luggage from my flight to come around on the carousel.

  Beatrice and Fred live in Duluth, about an hour north of the Atlanta airport. My sister jokes that rush-hour on Friday starts Thursday night and ends Saturday morning. No way am I gonna ask her to pick me up at the airport. A MARTA train goes most of the way to their townhouse, though, so I walk to Ground Transportation and check my options before calling her.

  “Hi, sis. Would you ask Mom to pick me up at the Doraville station?”

  “I thought you were in Virginia. What happened?”

  “They don’t want the babies. Ethan claims they’re not his.”

  “I can’t believe Danièle threw you out.”

  A wave of heartache washes over me. “She didn’t. I left on my own.”

  “Wow. I am so sorry. Where are you?”

  “At the airport.”

  “All right. I’ll be outside the MARTA station in an hour.”

  “Thanks.”

  The schedule says forty-one minutes to Doraville, so I walk back to the food court and buy a sandwich and a bottle of water.

  On the train my thoughts wander across the past five months and find only desolation. I don’t want the babies now. Whoever their father might be. My sister will love the children like they’re her own.

  Depression overwhelms me at the thought of being alone, though, with somebody else raising my kids. Okay, so I’ll want to keep them myself the moment I see their tiny faces.

  Tommy might let me stay with him. Even wi
th the twins. I almost call, but some spark of hope remains that Dani will yet change Ethan’s mind.

  Not gonna happen. Besides, the guy won’t want me around, so I’ll never see my babies.

  I pull out my cell again and stare at the screen. Do I love Tommy? Would I marry him to keep my kids?

  No. He deserves better. And I left my broken heart on an antique wooden dresser.

  The train slows to a stop. End of the line. I wrestle my suitcase onto the platform and bump it—one step at a time—down the stairs.

  Outside the station, Beatrice waits in her old Honda. When I’m halfway across the parking lot, my sister hops out of the car and runs to hug me. She presses a fingertip against my baby bump. “What’s it like to be pregnant?”

  “Great. Now that nausea leaves me alone most of the time. It’s awesome to feel the babies move inside me.” I hug her again.

  While Beatrice shoves my bag into the trunk, I open the back doors and hug the boys in their car seats. Little Greg squeals and kicks his legs. Joey kisses me on the cheek, like a true gentleman. Another wave of sadness hits. How will I ever give up my babies?

  The fifteen mile drive takes close to an hour. “Is traffic always this bad?”

  My sister rolls her eyes and thumbs the garage door remote. “Not when I’m home.”

  I unbuckle the little guys while Beatrice takes my suitcase into the townhouse. Joey explodes out of his seat and disappears through the door without waiting for his younger brother. I lift Greg and carry him in after he starts crying.

  My sister takes the boy from me and kisses him on the forehead. “How would you like to help Joey build a fort?”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah. Aunt Melanie’s gonna sleep in your room tonight. Is that okay?”

  “Can I be a superhero?”

  “You can be anything you like.”

  “Sweet.”

  Beatrice puts him down, and he bounds off.