Without a Net

by Kimberly Cooper Griffin

  “I know. How you used to torture me, interrupting my Sunday basking with your youthful energy!” Her mother said “youthful energy” as if she were saying “dirty socks”, but she knew her mother was kidding. She had loved it as much as they had when she and CJ had bounded into the room on Sunday mornings after cartoons and cereal, and after their father had left to play golf. She and her brother would snuggle against their mother and the three of them would talk about everything and anything. She missed those days.

  “So, what’s up, my mother? What is the nature of this unexpected call? Is everything okay?” She usually made her weekly call on a weekday, since weekends on both coasts were always so hectic. Meg had already talked to her mother on Wednesday, so the Sunday call was unusual.

  “Everything’s fine, honey. I had to wait until your father went golfing. I know you know his sixtieth is coming up in three weeks. Do you think you can come out for a surprise party?”

  “Mom…” Meg issued an exasperated sigh, “Dad hates surprise parties. He made you promise never again after the last one.”

  “I know!” She had a tone of mischievous glee in her voice. Most people would never suspect her mother of her devious humor, but it was one thing Meg truly loved about her. “Exactly why he will never suspect this one.”

  Meg dropped her arm over her eyes. This was not going to go well. “You promised, though.”

  “Technically, it’s CJ’s idea, so I’m off the hook.”

  She knew the surprise party would happen whether or not she approved. “He’s going to hate it.” She groaned. “Of course I’ll be there.”

  “Excellent!”

  Her mother was probably clapping her hands in the kitchen three thousand miles away.

  They spoke for a few more minutes and then hung up after giving each other hints about what they planned to give her Dad for his birthday. Grinning and tossing the phone aside, she finished undressing and put on her robe to take a shower. As Meg stepped into the hallway, Vi’s bedroom door opened and she stepped out in her pajamas, holding two empty coffee cups in one hand. Vi smiled a greeting at Meg as she shut the door behind her, but not before Meg got a glimpse of a woman lying across the bed reading the Sunday Times. The woman was not Sherri. Vi smiled sheepishly then disappeared into the kitchen. Meg didn’t want to be around if they decided to have morning sex, so she hurried through her shower.

  41

  The dishes were done, the bed was made, and the kittens were asleep. Sunshine filtered hazily into the front room through the gauzy fabric Fiona kept drawn over her window so the riff-raff of the city couldn’t see directly into her living room. She would have preferred to let the light shine in unobstructed, but a sidewalk-level apartment provided too much visibility into a single woman’s apartment. Content with the light she did get, Fiona curled up against the arm of the sofa, prepared to think some deep thoughts.

  The prospect of her uncertain future couldn’t compete with the memory of the hug she’d given Meg, though. An erotic shock surged through her when she thought of Meg’s hands on her back, lightly touching the exposed skin above her tank top between her shoulder blades and the body memory took her thoughts to when she had awoken next to her.

  The soft light of dawn had trickled in through the edges of the bedroom blinds, and she’d been given another rare opportunity to observe Meg candidly. She lost herself in the soft beauty of her face, relaxed in sleep, a slight smile playing across her exquisite mouth. Fiona had wondered what dream was featuring behind her delicate eyelids.

  Her gaze had moved to Meg’s toned arms, and she had remembered how easy it had been to fall into them the night before. She craved to be there again, but in the early morning shadows, she was too bashful to simply slide over and pull Meg’s arms around her. She remained on her side of the bed, staring at Meg’s athletic body lying so near, sprawled out on her stomach with the covers kicked off. Her hungry eyes traced a path along the wide swath of bare flesh between the bottom of Meg’s tank top and the lace band of her bikini briefs. She had imagined her bare belly pressed to Meg’s, and her skin had tingled with intense longing filling her chest. Her eyes moved back to Meg’s barely parted lips, and she had imagined how their lips would feel together. How Meg’s mouth would taste.

  She’d forced herself to roll over and go back to sleep before her eager hands began to wander on their own.

  On her couch, lost in the memory, desire seared through her once again.

  Unbidden, a sense of shame stole into her reverie. She thought about her clinginess and crying, along with her needy request for Meg stay with her. Mercifully, her shame evaporated when she remembered Meg’s tender ministrations and warm embrace. A smile flickered across her face and she was tempted to linger on the memory, but a feeling of uncertainty swept through her.

  A question had lurked in the recesses of her mind as she sobbed the night before, and had waited impatiently near the surface as she slept. The question was a tough one: should she keep the baby?

  Never had she even remotely considered she would find herself faced with this particular decision. She was a lesbian, for Christ’s sake. Lesbians had to go out of their way to get pregnant—it was never an accident.

  For Fiona, the idea of pregnancy was even more remote than for most. Her plan had never contained a partner, let alone a child—though neither option had been intentionally discarded. Her plan was simple and clean: career first, everything else came after. All the details of her carefully planned life had focused on her career. She’d never spent any time on what the “after” would look like. Having never been in a relationship, she sometimes thought it would be easier to skip the partner and kids thing all together.

  There had been times when a wisp of desire swept through her, unexpected—when the ghost of a dream had lingered, or the casual gesture made by an attractive stranger had caught her eye. In those rare instances she had considered love and desire, but it had been easy enough to file the detail away for “after”. Most of the time, though, relationships and desire weren’t on her mind, and it was easy to think she’d get along fine without it.

  Now she was facing something she hadn’t planned, and it was time to figure out what to do.

  Fiona picked up her journal and listed her options:

  1. Adoption

  2. Abortion

  3. Keep it

  It was a short list, but the hardest she had ever had to consider. She forced herself to think.

  Adoption meant carrying the baby to term, and a pregnancy would limit her career plans—at least temporarily. It was the emotional impact of giving up the child once she had it that she struggled with. Having no family left, she knew having a child out there somewhere would be difficult for her. In addition, she wasn’t sure she could distance herself enough to hand her baby over after feeling it move inside her. Adoption might be too hard.

  An abortion was easier for her to envision. A benefit of having avoided introspection was the distance she felt from the presence in her womb. In contrast to the dedication and vigor with which she had pursued her career over the last several years, it was almost no contest when weighing the options. She would get her life back. No looking back. Right? Right…

  But, the more she thought about it, the more difficult it became. Would she always wonder, “what if?” Would she always carry the sadness of could-have-beens?

  Keeping it was another option. Even if it was the hardest of the three for her to imagine. The simple thought of carrying a child was scary enough, but building a life with a child? A child didn’t factor into the kind of life she envisioned for herself. Eighty-hour workweeks. Travel. High stress. But maybe with some practical planning… she could practice law for most of her pregnancy, take six to eight weeks maternity leave, hire a nanny, get a bigger apartment. She had the money for it, thanks to the inheritances from her parents and Aunt Corny. So, a quick diversio
n, and then right back to the original plan. No problem, right?

  There were lots of problems with it, actually. But, it could work.

  One problem with keeping it was that Fiona knew she could never raise a child in the city. Sure, plenty of people did it, but she didn’t want to be one of them—especially if she was going to be a working mother. Letting a nanny raise a baby was bad enough, but children should play outdoors. A child should roam freely, unafraid of predators, unsullied by the ugliness lurking in the cracks and shadows of a city existence. She knew pressures existed no matter where one chose to live, but she knew more of them existed where more people lived, and she wanted to provide the best environment for a kid to grow up healthy, happy, and safe. She thought any child—but especially her child—should have memories of walking barefoot through streams and ponds, hunting toads, climbing trees, lying on their back on cool green grass, and counting the stars on a clear night.

  So where did it leave her?

  Abortion?

  Adoption?

  Keep it?

  Fiona had done well up until that point, but her mind couldn’t grasp the finality of a decision.

  Her phone vibrated. Mike again. She kicked it off the table.

  Anger filled her. Rage churned a hole in her gut. Fuck Mike for his privileged angst! Fuck him for making her feel sorry for him! Fuck him for causing her to rely on her right to choose! She threw her journal across the room and buried her head in her hands. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  She lurched up and retrieved her phone. Six messages in addition to the one she’d already read. All telling her—not asking her—telling her to include him in any decision. To wait until they talked it out. Mike had never been pushy. This change was too much. It was her choice goddamn it! Her choice. Hadn’t she done enough for him?

  Grateful for the freedom to make the choice, she cursed the man who forced her into the necessity of making it. Soon, though, her rage swung around to herself. She’d been a willing participant. What the fuck had she been thinking? It was too much to think about. Fiona curled into a ball on the couch. Her head throbbed, her heart hurt, and her mind spun with the one question she couldn’t answer. She was tired, and she didn’t want to think. She sought the dark, cool comfort of sleep.

  Before the mists of sleep had a chance to claim her completely, however, a plaintive meow broke the silence. Fiona slowly uncurled and looked at the box next to the couch. More kittens’ voices joined the first, and the ensuing chorus was both a welcome relief and a frustrating interruption. She forced herself from the couch.

  Fiona peered over the edge of the box and laughed at the unexpected sight of a perfectly positioned row of kittens, all with their noses pressed to the side of the box, pointy little tails shaking with the effort of their demand for nourishment. Six pairs of milky blue eyes squinted up at her.

  Their little eyes were open! Fiona reached over, and grabbed her cell phone from the recliner. She had to take a picture to show Meg.

  42

  Meg was painting when her phone flashed. The music in her headphones was on loud enough to drown out the sex and drama she’d been subjected to all morning. She would have left after her shower, but it was too hot to wander around the city, so she’d cranked her music and got lost in her painting, instead.

  She picked up the phone to find a text from Fiona. A tingle of excitement unfurled in her stomach. Maybe she’d decided to go watch fireworks with her. She opened the message and was tickled to see a picture of the kittens with their eyes open. She replied.

  So cute!

  A moment later, Fiona texted back.

  The big one is standing on all fours now. He can’t walk without falling, but he’s holding himself up.

  Another picture came through.

  OMG! He’s really standing. Thanks for sending the picture!

  I couldn’t let you miss the milestones. What are you up to?

  Painting. I went for a run, but it’s too hot to wander around outside now. What about you?

  Oh, you know. Pondering the mysteries of the universe and trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

  Well, I’m a phone call away if you need it.

  Thanks. I’ll call you later and let you know if I’m up for fireworks.

  She dropped her phone on the bed, a little disappointed Fiona hadn’t gotten bored hanging out by herself. She totally understood, though. She faced her painting again. The creative flow she’d found earlier wasn’t filling her fingertips anymore. She pushed one of the headphones away from her ear and immediately heard the rhythmic thumping of Aunt Vi’s headboard. God. Again?

  She couldn’t handle it. She covered her paints and brushes, picked up her phone, and left the apartment. She’d rather hang out at the coffee shop than be in a room next to the Energizer Bunny.

  43

  Half an hour later, Fiona sat on the sofa with a pile of sleeping kittens in her lap, the white one in her hand. She studied its perfect little body, sprawled out, sleeping soundly in her palm. She could tell they had grown a little in the two short days she’d been caring for them. She ran her finger over the kitten’s back and picked up the tail, letting it drop. Stubby little whiskers poked from beside the kitten’s soft nose in neat little rows. The tiny pink nose was like cool velvet, as she rubbed it lightly against her own. The little puffs of kitten breath didn’t have a smell. It would change, she knew. She remembered her childhood tabby, Groucho. His breath had always smelled a little like rotten fish.

  Fiona picked up her phone to take a close-up picture of the kitten and nearly dropped it when it rang in her hand.

  “Hello?” She spoke quietly and nuzzled the kitten.

  “Hi, it’s Meg. How are you doing?”

  “I’m taking a sanity break with the kittens right now.” Fiona was happy to hear Meg’s voice. It was a nice break from her own dark thoughts.

  “Oh, are you feeding them? Do you need me to call back later?”

  “We’re finished. I have them piled in my lap, giving them some snuggle time, while I selfishly soak up a little of my own.”

  “Sounds comfy.” The smile in Meg’s voice was nice. “I’m sorry to intrude on your thinking time.”

  She held back a scoff. “I could use the break.”

  “Well, I got a call-back from one of the foster people, Teri. She said she can take the kittens on Tuesday.”

  What? Fiona felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

  “Fiona? Are you still there?” Meg sounded concerned.

  “Yes. Sorry.” She tried to hide the sadness trying to squeeze her chest.

  “You’re upset, aren’t you?” Meg asked quietly.

  “Yeah. Stupid, I know.” She tucked the phone against her shoulder and rubbed the tears springing to her eyes.

  “No. It’s not stupid. I’m gonna miss the little guys myself.”

  “I’ll bet you’re not crying about it.” Fiona produced a weak laugh and a sniffle at the same time.

  “I guess not, but you have lots of reasons to blame it on. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sad, too.”

  Meg always seemed to say the right thing. “You’re so sweet. I’m fine. Just thinking things over. Hearing your voice helps.”

  “Will you call me later?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to ask her to come over right then. She’d spent enough time thinking. She wanted to not think for a while.

  “Then, later, ‘gator. Call me if you need me in the meantime.”

  “I will. After a while crocodile.”

  Fiona impatiently wiped a tear from her cheek as she dropped the phone on the cushion beside her and studied the tiny white kitten in her hand. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t keep them all. Hell, she didn’t even know what to do with the baby. But, how was she going to let someone take these precious little things away? It ma
de her heart ache to know she would have no idea what would become of them after they left.

  Her phone vibrated on the cushion beside her. Expecting a text from Meg, she let out an impatient puff of air when she saw Mike’s name on the display.

  Fi. Please. I’m sorry for being so insistent. I don’t know what else to do. Can we talk?

  This message sounded more like the Mike she knew and her heart softened a little for him.

  We can talk. But give me a little time to think. So later, okay? She texted back.

  That’s all I ask. Thank you.

  Fiona dropped the phone again and gave the white kitten another kiss and placed it in the box where it continued to sleep, oblivious to the world around it. Then she did the same with the kittens in her lap. When she lifted the last one, the black kitten, the one she secretly called Cardboard, she felt more than heard a tiny rumble. She put it closer to her ear. An uneven and faint purring was coming from the little guy! She listened for a few minutes before she put Cardboard in the box.

  Fiona went into the restroom to wash her hands and to splash water on her tear-stained face. Looking at her face dripping with water in the mirror, she froze. She wiped her face and looked deeply into her own eyes. They were the same hazel eyes she’d seen in the mirror the last twenty-six years, yet they seemed new to her. It wasn’t the shape, or the color, or even the faint laugh lines. The difference was, there was a certainty in them she had never seen before.

  She knew what it meant.

  She was going to keep the baby.

  And it had nothing to do with Mike. It was about her entire life. Her life plan was officially set back to square one, yet suddenly she was filled with relief and a sense of lightness she hadn’t had since she was a kid. It was like when she had kissed Tammy behind the Pottstown public library sign—when she had known for certain she liked girls. She knew for certain about the baby now. It was fucking scary, but she was keeping it.

  All of the confusion left her as she stared into the mirror. Having the baby was the beginning of her new life plan. Strike that. No more life plans. Having the baby was going to be the beginning of whatever came next.