Inconceivable! (51 page)

“Do you know how Tigist is doing?” I hugged Mamush.

“Still in the clinic, but she is stable. Alemtsehay wanted me to tell you she’s been feeding Tigist herself while you’ve been away.”

“That’s a relief. I’m sorry, Mamush. This is my husband, John. And of course, you remember Bernard.” Good old Bernard still had to travel with us, even though John abdicated.

Mamush extended his hand, and John hugged him. “Nice to meet you, Mamush. Show me where we get our bags.”

Mamush drove us straight to the orphanage. When we arrived, Tigist was asleep, snoring loudly. The IV was gone, and her skin felt cool. Still, they’d kept her in the clinic for observation.

“She is doing much better,” Alemtsehay said, wiping her hands on her apron.

John bent over the low bed. Then, he got down on his knees and lifted Tigist’s right hand. He stroked the back of it.

“She casts a spell, doesn’t she?” I put my hand on John’s shoulder.

“Can we take her with us?”

“I don’t know. Alemtsehay, what do you think?”

“Ask Desta. She will decide.”

John rested his lips on Tigist’s forehead before we left. Desta must have heard we were here. She met us on the front porch of the clinic building.

“John. It’s so nice to meet you. What do you think of our little Tigist?”

“I think she needs to come with us. Is that possible?”

“We can probably arrange that. But how long will she stay with you?”

“As long as we’re in Ethiopia,” John said.

“And how long will that be?” Desta glanced at me.

“We’ll stay as long as someone needs us,” John replied. “I know you’re short-staffed here. I want to make sure Tigist gets the care she needs. Hatty’s willing to do it and so am I.”

“Come to my office. We need to sign some papers before I can let you take her.”
More paperwork? God help us.

I cuddled against John on the tiny sofa in the cottage, the rough fabric grating against my legs. Though we had none of the luxuries of Langbroek Palace, I felt completely at peace, truly at home. Actually, there was one remaining luxury: Bernard and whichever guard would come every few months to relieve him. We might have to fold our own clothes, but we wouldn’t have to worry about pickpockets.

“Does she always snore like that?” John nodded toward the bedroom where Tigist’s breath noisily pushed in and out of her throat.

“Yes. We probably won’t sleep tonight,” I said, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. The sun was already gone, and evening ushered a nice breeze through the cottage.

I heard John inhale deeply. “Is the condition in her throat a lifelong problem?”

“I don’t think so. The doctor at the orphanage said she’ll outgrow it. In the meantime, she needs someone to feed her or she’ll keep aspirating the formula. That’s what causes her pneumonia.” I sounded like Hatty Meinrad, M.D.

“And that’s where you come in, making sure she has the bottle in the optimal position each time she drinks.” John squeezed my arms as he usually did when he was offering to give me a massage. I repositioned myself to let him work his magic.

“How did you ever learn to do this? You were a king-in-waiting, so weren’t you on the receiving end of most massages?”

“True. But when you’ve had so many massages, you figure out how to do it.” He dug his strong fingers into the tight muscles of my shoulders.

“How long are we staying?” With my back to him, I felt more comfortable broaching the topic.

“I wanted to ask you the same thing,” he said as he kneaded my back.

“I don’t know. I suppose it hinges on the health of the little snore machine in the other room. I know she’s not mine, but I can’t take her back to the orphanage. My need to protect her isn’t something I can just set aside.”

“I understand. She’s so precious. And did you see the way she pulled the spoon to her mouth when I fed her dinner? Then she grabbed my finger with such strength. It surprised me given her size and health problems.”

I heard a sparkle in his voice. It had been MIA for months. In the span of a few hours since we arrived, Tigist had captured him with her long Venus flytrap eyelashes and sweet smile.

“So, what do we do?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer.

“I’m here with you now. Isn’t that enough?” he said, stroking my hair in the tender way that had become so known to me during our marriage.

As he removed my clothes, I released my expectations. I let go of my ideas about the way things were supposed to be. We made love by doing what pleased ourselves and each other rather than optimizing sex for procreation. Our passion and inventiveness (let’s give this position a whirl) reminded me of the early days of our marriage, the time before infertility joined us between the sheets.

After we finished, I rested in John’s arms.

“You know, we’re completely untethered. At the risk of tarnishing my tough girl image, I have to admit I’m a little scared. You’re out of a job, man. I guess I can keep writing for The Guardian. But what are we supposed to do now?”

“You make it sound like we’re penniless. We’ll always have access to my family’s resources.”

“I know. It’s just that we don’t have a plan. For the first time. Ever.”

He stroked his chin, deep in thought. “I can grow a beard. You keep submitting your columns and finish your degree. We’ll figure it out”

“I like it. Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

ilda, we’ll be there, I promise! I wouldn’t miss walking you down the aisle for anything!” I said into the phone.

I nearly LOL’d every time I thought about me and Tilda strolling toward the front of the church together so I could give her away. Her boyfriend became her fiancé Monday when he handed her a stack of printed bills his boss was co-sponsoring with Assemblyman Aalders. A platinum diamond ring sat on top of the papers.

“I can’t wait to see you and meet Tigist!” Tilda was practically squealing. We now had full custody of this darling baby, even though she wasn’t legally our daughter… yet. John was the one who suggested we take her to a children’s hospital in London during our trip to Toulene for Tilda’s wedding. A team of doctors planned to evaluate her so we could take whatever steps were necessary to prevent the recurrence of pneumonia.

“Do you remember how I told you that not getting pregnant made me feel like a complete failure?”

“It was that day you came to my office.”

“That’s right. I still feel that way sometimes. But then I remember pregnancy wasn’t my goal. What I wanted was to be a mom. And I’ve got that now.”

“Yes, you do. I love you, Hatty. Now, get yourself to Toulene so I can squeeze you and Tigist.”

“I will. Hey, I’ve got to go. The connection’s breaking up. Love you! Talk to you soon!” I said as the static increased. The line went dead.

I walked into the living room where John was reading a book to a wide-eyed Tigist who sat in his lap. Standing in the doorway, I watched as he took her finger and rubbed it on the soft fur of the bear in the book.

Tears stung my eyes as I saw the ways in which John and I were becoming parents. It didn’t happen in a single moment, like we once thought it would, in a hospital with a baby meeting us, and the world, for the first time. Instead, the transformation was incremental, measured in teaspoons of mashed peas, ounces of formula, and milligrams of teething biscuits.

Tigist’s eyes were heavy. Her head drooped to the side as her loud snoring cranked up. I reached for her, and John shook his head. He stood, careful to keep his balance, walked past me, and laid her in the crib in our bedroom.

When he returned, we sat on the couch.

“Tilda said your dad is issuing a decree stating the royal family will cover the costs of all infertility treatments for couples who exceed the coverage limit under the federal healthcare program. Is that right?”

“Yes.” John flipped on the television, filling the room with Ethiopian Orthodox hymns.

“How did you manage that?” I picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. “Tell me.”

He smiled. “I told my father if he didn’t step up on this issue, we’d release the photos of him and Louisa to
Xpress
tomorrow. I also said if he expands infertility coverage, we’d delete all the snapshots.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not getting rid of those pictures.”

“Of course not. But he doesn’t have to know that.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t want you to have any more reasons to visit Leisel de Vries in prison.”

“Damn it. Why can’t anyone keep a secret?”

“Because we’re royals. At least, we were.
C’est la vie
, baby.” He pulled out a deck of cards and began to deal. “Want to play?”