Somewhere Out There (41 page)

“I haven’t gone to bed before eleven in forty years,” her dad said with an awkward laugh, and Natalie knew that her mother had told him who Natalie had gone to see. “Of course you can come.”

Ten minutes later, Natalie parked in their driveway, where she texted Kyle and told him where she was, and that she’d fill him in on everything that had happened as soon as she got home. He quickly texted back, “Are you all right?” and Natalie answered, “Yes,” even though she wasn’t sure this was the truth. She’d remained oddly calm as the situation with Jennifer unfolded, but now, there was a buzzing ache inside her chest, and the tips of her nerves felt raw and exposed.

Natalie tried to ignore her discomfort as she tucked her phone back inside her purse and made her way to the front door. Her mother opened it before Natalie had a chance to knock. “Hi, honey,” her mom said. Her face was pale and her expression pinched, and Natalie knew her mother wouldn’t have slept tonight if Natalie didn’t tell her how things had gone with Jennifer.

“Hey, Mom,” Natalie said as she entered the house. She hugged her mother and held on a moment longer than she usually would. When she pulled back, she took off her coat, set her purse on the entryway table, and looked around. “Where’s Dad?”

“In his study,” her mother said. But as she spoke, Natalie’s father appeared in the long hallway and walked toward them.

“Hello, Nat,” he said in his usual low, resonant tone. Natalie greeted him with a hug, too.

“Let’s go sit in the living room,” her mom suggested. “Can I get you anything?”

“A shot of vodka?” Natalie said as they all made their way to the other room. She was only half-joking. The soothing balm of alcohol might be just what she needed.

“Oh,” her mom said. “Okay . . .”

Natalie put her hand on her mother’s arm. “I was kidding, Mom. I’m fine.”

“I just finished a glass of wine,” her mother said. “Would you like one?”

“No, thanks,” Natalie said, deciding that a drink wasn’t what she needed after all. “I can’t stay too long.”

The three of them sat down on the large sectional, and her parents stared at her, waiting for Natalie to begin. “So,” she said. “Brooke and I went to Jennifer’s house tonight, but she wasn’t home from work when we got there. Her husband, Evan, invited us in to wait.”

“Is he . . . was he your biological father?” Natalie’s father asked.

“No,” Natalie said. “He’s someone she met later.” She paused. “He seems to really love her.”

“That’s good,” her mother said as she drew a large pillow into her lap. Her fingers worked at straightening its messy blue fringe. “How was your . . .” She stopped and then started again. “How was Jennifer?”

Natalie wondered how best to explain the way her birth mother had reacted to seeing her daughters, then decided that a succinct description of the afternoon’s events was the best route to take. “She was shocked, of course, and more than a little upset. Part of me wishes we hadn’t sprung ourselves on her like that.” Her parents were silent, their eyes glued to Natalie, waiting for her to go on. “Her husband helped calm her down, though, and we were able to ask her some questions.”

“What did you ask?” Natalie’s mother said, keeping her voice low, as though she wasn’t sure she really wanted Natalie to answer.

Natalie went on to describe the brief conversation, and everything Jennifer had said about loving them when they were babies and wanting nothing but the best life for both of her daughters, knowing that with how screwed up she was, she couldn’t give that to them. Her parents listened intently, their spines held straight and their heads high as they waited for the one thing from Natalie she knew they really wanted to hear—now that she had met her birth mother, what would happen next?

“She doesn’t want a relationship with us,” she told them. “She seemed pretty fragile, actually. I don’t think she could handle it. She said it took a lot for her to get over the shame she felt about giving us up, all the mistakes she made, and I guess seeing us now . . . the thought of getting to know us better, or having us in her life at all, was too much for her.” The buzzing sensation in her chest grew more intense, and Natalie’s eyes grew wet. “Brooke had a harder time hearing this than I did, I think. But still, it was hard.”

“Of course it was,” her dad said. His tone was solemn, and his words were sincere.

Natalie shrugged, trying to appear more detached than she felt. “It’s probably for the best,” she said. “But I’m glad I at least got to meet her. I feel like I understand why she did what she did now, and how it affected her, too, so that’s good. I got some closure.” She looked at her mother, who hadn’t yet spoken in response to hearing that Natalie wouldn’t have any kind of ongoing relationship with Jennifer. “See, Mom?” she said, powerless to keep the quiver from her voice. “You don’t have to worry. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Her mother’s expression melted from its frozen state into one of compassion. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She got up and came to sit next to Natalie. “She has no idea what’s she missing.”

There was so much love in those words, so much truth in her mother’s eyes, Natalie’s grief rose up from roots so deep she hadn’t known they were there. No matter the rationale behind it, no matter how much it made sense, the weight of Jennifer’s blatant rejection finally hit her, and she began to cry. Hot tears and jagged sobs racked her body until her mother—the only true mother she’d ever had—held her tight, and Natalie knew that she’d never let her go.

As soon as Brooke entered her apartment after Natalie dropped her off, she kicked off her shoes and undressed, taking a moment to stand sideways and naked in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Her breasts were larger, and her belly was certainly rounded, though not quite as much as she’d thought it would be. At her latest appointment with her obstetrician, a follow-up after her trip to the ER, Brooke had asked if her baby girl was growing at the right rate. “I feel like I don’t look big enough,” Brooke said, and her doctor smiled.

“Every woman carries her pregnancies differently,” she said. “Some show right away, others don’t. If you remember I told you, your uterus is tilted toward the back instead of the front. Don’t worry. You’ll pop out any day now, and suddenly, you won’t be able to see your feet.”

Brooke thought about this as she ran her hand over the swell of her stomach, wondering if Natalie had shown from the start of her pregnancy with Hailey; she made a mental note to ask her sister about it the next day. And then she thought how happy she was that she had a sister she
could
ask these kinds of things. Especially after today, seeing their mother, she couldn’t imagine a life without Natalie in it.

Throwing on her most comfortable pair of fleece pants and a tank top, Brooke plodded out of the bathroom and climbed into bed. Curling onto her side, she pulled the covers up over her shoulders and under her chin, wondering if Natalie was home yet, and if she had filled Kyle in on what happened at their birth mother’s house. However much she tried not to think about it, Brooke couldn’t help but go over and over everything Jennifer had said, dissecting it for something that would take away the sting of the fact that she didn’t want anything to do with her daughters. Brooke understood that Natalie was right—if their birth mother wasn’t capable of handling emotionally charged situations, then it was better if they stayed away from her altogether. Brooke had seen, as much as Natalie had, how skittish Jennifer was when she talked with them.

She said she gave Brooke and Natalie up because she loved them. Because she wanted the best for them. Shouldn’t that be enough? Wasn’t that what Brooke really needed to know? Still, her heart pounded as she remembered standing in front of her birth mother on that back deck, begging Jennifer for something she clearly didn’t have in her to give. But then something dawned on her. Maybe what she and Natalie needed from her was something their mother never had in the first place.
Maybe,
Brooke thought,
in walking away, she gave us the most important gift that she could.

•  •  •

The next morning, Brooke woke up around nine, not remembering when she’d finally managed to fall asleep. It was Wednesday, and she didn’t have to work until the following night. When she rolled over and checked her phone on the nightstand, Brooke saw a text from Natalie. “You doing okay?” it read, and Brooke quickly typed her answer. “I think so. How about you?” A few seconds later, Natalie’s response came back: “I bawled my eyes out on my mom’s couch last night, which helped. I’m better now.” Her words were followed by a long line of Xs and Os, which Brooke copied and sent back. It felt so good to have someone check in on her, someone who knew what she was going through well enough to be concerned.

Once she’d showered and dressed, Brooke took her prenatal vitamins along with a quick breakfast, then decided to get in her car and head toward Northgate Mall. Her head still felt foggy and her chest ached a bit after the tears she’d cried the night before, but the more she replayed what had happened with Jennifer—the more she thought about her birth mother’s seemingly inherent inability to parent—the more motivated Brooke felt to do everything she could to prepare for the experience herself. The fact that Jennifer didn’t have it in her to be a good mother didn’t mean that Brooke was destined to the same fate. There were books she could read, classes she could take. She had her sister to help her along the way.

But today, the best thing she could think of to do—the quickest route she could take toward increasing her confidence that she could raise a child on her own—was to make a list of everything she would need to buy in order to take good care of a baby. She wanted to be prepared.

After finding a parking spot near Target, Brooke entered the store and grabbed a cart, thinking that even on her limited budget, she’d be able to buy a few things for the baby. She headed toward the baby section, a department she’d never spent time in before, determined, at the very least, to find an outfit for her daughter to wear home from the hospital. She imagined a frilly pink dress with white lace edging, white tights, and tiny black patent shoes.
And a matching headband with a bow,
she thought. She wondered if her daughter would have any hair when she was born, or if she’d be bald, like other babies she’d seen. She wondered if she’d recognize Ryan in their daughter’s face right away. She thought about the night she’d last seen him, standing next to her car, offering his support, his many texts and voicemails since then, and she suddenly thought how resentful she would have been if
her
father had wanted to help take care of her and Brooke’s mother refused him. If he had wanted to be a part of her life and was deliberately shut out. She was being unfair, she realized, and decided that she would call Ryan later that night and talk with him about the role he might play in their daughter’s life, not wanting to deny her child what Brooke had been denied herself. She would make it clear that she wasn’t interested in resuming the more intimate side of their relationship. For her own peace of mind, she needed to prove to herself that who she was—the life she built on her own—was enough.

On her way to the infant and toddler clothing department, she passed a wall covered with a variety of cribs, changing tables, and car seats, and decided to take a look. She ran her eyes over the many items from which she had to choose, realizing she should have searched the Internet for some kind of baby-readiness checklist before she decided to shop. She really had no idea where to start. She didn’t know the difference between a crib and a bassinet. And why would Target carry a bedside Co-Sleeper? Hadn’t Brooke read stories about women rolling over and accidentally suffocating their babies in the middle of the night? Maybe that was the reason for a Co-Sleeper, so the baby would be within easy reach but not on the bed with her. Did she need them all? She couldn’t believe how expensive some of the cribs were; she’d paid less for her junky, high-mileage first car. Her pulse began to race, and she worried she’d made a massive error in judgment thinking that she could do this on her own. If she couldn’t even pick out a crib, how was she going to do everything else? How was she going to change diapers, breast-feed, or figure out how to get her baby to stop crying? How would she choose a daycare or know when her daughter should start eating solid foods?

“When are you due?” a woman’s voice asked, jerking Brooke out of her thoughts. She turned to see a tall, elegant-looking black woman standing next to her. She was pregnant, too, likely further along than Brooke, since her stomach looked as though she’d swallowed a basketball. Her stance was wide, and her right arm was angled so her hand was pressed against her lower back.

“April,” Brooke said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Toward the end of the month.” She glanced down the aisle behind her, shocked by the multitude of products sitting on the shelves. There were bottles and bibs, pacifiers and what appeared to be fifty different kinds of infant socks. How would she ever choose the right ones? She looked back at the woman. “How about you?”

“February sixth,” the woman said. “I’m not sure I can hold out until then.”

Brooke smiled, uncertain how to respond. Did all pregnant women just strike up conversations with each other? Was this something she’d need to learn to do, too? She was good at chatting with customers for her job, knowing how to charm them to work toward a better tip, but in most situations, Brooke was the one to stand back and wait for others to talk with her.

“Is this your first?” the woman asked, and Brooke nodded. “I thought so,” the woman said. “You have a bit of the wide-eyed, what-the-hell-did-I-get-myself-into look.” She grinned, and Brooke felt her cheeks flame red, wondering if her ineptitude was really that obvious.

“Excuse me,” she said, and she hurried away from the woman, heading into the baby clothing department, where she was confronted with even more choices than what she’d just seen in terms of car seats and cribs. There were overalls and shirts and pairs of tiny jeans. There were things called “onesies” and sleeping sacks and bodysuits. Dresses. She wanted to find her baby a dress. That’s all she needed to get today. Everything else, she would figure out later.