You Were Meant For Me (14 page)

LOST AND FOUND

Some months ago, I reported on a most startling incident that happened in our fair city. A newborn was found in a subway station in Coney Island and the Good Samaritan who found her, Miranda Berenzweig, had begun adoption proceedings. I covered their early days together, the mother and child who'd come together by chance and were building a new life in tandem. But now, in a series of events far too unbelievable to have ever been invented, I learned that my story provided the clue that led the baby's father—her real and true parent—to come forth to claim her; it is his remarkable and tragic tale that I want to tell this week. . . .

Evan read the column from start to finish; then he read it again. There was a reference to the baby's mother; according to Geneva, she had “died under tragic circumstances,” though what those circumstances were was not described. But the rest of it—what the fuck?

Miranda had told him that Geneva Bales had been sensitive and respectful throughout the whole process of writing the piece. So why had she written
this
? Was she using Miranda and Celeste in some weird way, to further some impossible-to-decipher plan of her own? What kind of person was she anyway?

Ignoring the cooling dumplings that sat in the microwave, Evan tried Miranda again. The phone rang once, twice—Jesus, he really hoped it didn't go to voice mail this time—and then
she picked up. “Listen,” he said. “There's something you need to know.”

Miranda listened to what Evan had to say; she did not interrupt him and she did not offer any comment. Finally he had to ask, “So what do you
think
?”

“About Geneva? I don't have any clue about why she would do a complete turnaround like that.”

“I just don't get it,” he said.

“Neither do I. But I can't even think about her, or her motives, now. I'm going to lose Celeste. Don't you see? Jared Masters is going to take her away from
me.”

H
ot, sweaty, and above all frustrated, Jared unknotted his tie and threw it on his bed, where it landed on top of the two other ties, shirt, and now-wrinkled seersucker jacket he'd already had on—and rejected. He'd changed three times; what was wrong with him? It wasn't like he had to impress anyone. The DNA test had conclusively proved that the baby girl was his, and the background check had gone smoothly. Now he was on his way to bring her home.

He looked at the pile of clothes on his bed with disgust. The weather report said the high today would be ninety-two. He didn't have to wear a tie at all. No jacket either. He glanced down at his crisply pressed blue shirt and khakis; he looked fine. He
was
fine. Just nervous, that was all.

When the results of the DNA test had confirmed his paternity, he'd kind of freaked out. Yes, he wanted to see his little girl and do right by her, but was he up to the job? He couldn't
ask his black friends—Gabe or Tyrell, Shawn or Darius—because he knew they would have told him he was an idiot to have even asked for the test in the first place. A single dude raising a kid on his own—why? And he was ashamed to ask the white friends he knew from his prep school or college days; he did not want them to think he was conforming to some racial stereotype, fathering a child he knew nothing about.

But he'd decided to ask Athena, whose opinion he really did respect. And if he went through with this, he'd need her to cut him some slack at work too. So for all kinds of reasons, he realized it would be good to have a sit-down with his boss.

Jared had pulled some strings to book a table at Ambrose, one of Harlem's hippest new restaurants, ordered a very expensive bottle of wine that wasn't even on the wine list, and launched into the story. Athena sat quietly sipping from her glass until he'd come to the part about the test results.

“You're one hundred percent sure that she's yours?”

Jared nodded; he still wasn't sure whether he was elated or devastated by the news.

“And her mother was that skinny little blonde you used to bring around?”

He nodded again; he'd brought Caroline to Athena's holiday party one year, and she'd met him at the office a few times.

“I could tell she was trouble,” said Athena. “From the get-go.”

Jared shifted miserably in his seat. Why had he thought Athena could help him? She'd been jealous of Caroline. He could have predicted that one. But he didn't have anywhere else to turn, so he took a tentative sip of his own wine—not as good as it should have been given what it cost—and waited.

“I don't see you as dad material,” Athena said. “Not at all.”

“So you think I should let this white woman keep her?”

“Her mother was a white woman,” Athena said. “You have a thing for white women, remember?” She drained her glass, and he quickly moved to refill it. “But if she'd been around, you'd be raising this kid together, and there would be some kind of balance. If you leave her with . . .”

“Miranda,” he supplied.

“She'll grow up with a white mom and only a white mom, and she won't have any balance. It will be one-sided.
Lopsided
. She won't know who she is, where she came from. Not really.”

“So you think I should petition to take her. Keep her.”

“She's yours, Jared. You didn't want it or even know it, but now that you do, there's no forgetting it. If you turn your back on her, you'll be ashamed of yourself. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day, the shame will come. Regret too. And when
that
happens, it's going to bury you.”

*   *   *

Jared
scooped up his keys, wallet, and shades before heading outside. It was hot as blazes, but thinking of Athena's words—
it's going to bury you
—he could remember the sick, icy dread he'd felt when she'd uttered them. She was right. He hadn't planned on being a dad, but that's what he was. Time to man up, face the music—or whatever the hell cliché fit.

The transfer was scheduled for noon at the family court building in Brooklyn; that's where Miranda Berenzweig had been ordered to surrender the baby. He would not be meeting her though. At first she had said yes, but then she'd done an about-face, insisting that the transfer be handled exclusively through the family court system; she would not be present. He was stung by the refusal—wasn't she even the least bit curious
about him?—but he decided not to dwell on it. Things could have been way uglier between them; he was being let off easy and he knew it. Although Miranda had initially planned to fight for custody, in another abrupt turnaround, she had decided to give up the baby without going to court. Had she contested his claim, he would have almost assuredly won, but he would have paid heavily—in time, in anguish, and in money. Now he was freed from all of that. The baby—his baby—would be coming home today.

The morning was already oppressively hot. Jared headed for the downtown subway station, settling his shades over his eyes to protect against the glare. The platform was even hotter and more oppressive than the street, but the train came quickly and he gratefully stepped into the air-conditioned car. The one thing Miranda had agreed to—had actually suggested—was that he hire Supah, the nanny who'd been taking care of his daughter already. So there would be some continuity in her life. He'd also lined up a nighttime sitter, a Barnard student named Olivia, who lived nearby on 110th Street. She told him she was premed and wanted to become a pediatrician; how perfect was that? He did not expect to need her every night, but he did promise her work two or three nights a week.

“You're bringing home a brand-new baby girl and think you'll be stepping out three times a week?” said Athena when he told her about his plan.

“Is there a problem with that?” Jared bristled. Now that he'd confided in her, Athena had felt entitled to dispense her advice freely, whether he asked for it or not.

“It just seems like you might be wanting to spend your off hours getting to know her, that's all.” She bustled back into her office; he scowled at her retreating form. But then he thought
of how she'd helped him turn the small second bedroom in his apartment into a nursery, competently ordering all the furniture and equipment—who knew such a tiny person required so much
stuff
?—and his annoyance dissipated. She was a good person, a good woman. That he had about as much desire for her as he would have for a manatee was a source of ongoing disappointment—to both of them.

Walking from the subway station to the family court building on Jay Street, Jared felt the anxiety whirring around his head, a nasty, insistent buzz. He said he wanted this—he
did
want this—but what did he know about raising a baby? Not a damn thing. He hadn't even been able to settle on a name for her yet. Celeste, while pretty enough, was what Miranda had chosen. He thought he should start fresh, so it was either going to be Lily, his mother's name, or Caroline, for the baby's own doomed mother. As he reached the elevator, the choice was obvious. He'd call her Lily Caroline Masters. Her initials would be LCM, and when she grew older, she'd have sheets or fancy stationery with this monogram; his mother would have approved. The decision seemed to calm him, and when he went first down the hall and then around a corner to the room whose number he'd been given, he felt a fluttering of something like anticipation as he laid his hand on the knob.

*   *   *

Her
face. Jared could not stop looking at his daughter's face. After meeting the judge and the caseworker and signing a shitload of papers—so many that his hand began to ache—he strapped her into the car seat that Miranda Berenzweig had not wanted back, and took her in a taxi uptown. The baby's large brown eyes looked steadily into his, and he found he was transfixed, drawn into the gravitational pull of that gaze.
Her face did not look like the face he'd first seen in the photograph anymore. She did not look like him, or Caroline, or anyone else he could point to. Instead she was entirely herself: a stranger, although not entirely strange.

There was traffic on the West Side Highway, and as the taxi moved along in syncopated lurches, the baby squirmed and began to make small sounds of irritation—
Eh, eh, eh
. “It's okay, Lily,” he said and gave her his finger to hold. “We'll be going soon.” Clinging to his finger, she quieted. Then the traffic eased and the taxi was able to move faster, shooting up past the familiar streets: Seventy-second, Seventy-ninth, Eighty-sixth. Lily opened her mouth in a wide, excited grin, and she kicked her feet furiously. “Speed demon,” he said and placed a hand on her head. Her hair was black, but as silky as her mother's had been.

The sense memory of Caroline was suddenly all over him, crowding out everything else in the cab. She'd had such lovely hair, fine and glistening in the light, or falling in tendrils around her face when she pinned it up. Then there was the powdery smell of her, combined with the faintly citrus scent of whatever perfume she wore. The feel of her nestled within the protective curve of his arm, his hand big enough to span her throat. Her mouth, and the sticky, slightly strawberry taste of her lip gloss, her girlish body, so lithe and lively under his. Her tiny, perfect breasts, the faint line of down that ran along her torso to her pubic bone—the memories were an ambush, an assault. And then, as quickly as they had enveloped him, they were gone—thank Christ. The driver was turning into the exit lane and heading toward his apartment. “Hang tight,” he said to Lily. “We're almost home.”

He moved anxiously around the apartment, trying to get
Lily settled. It felt a little weird to have a baby—especially his baby—in the place. She seemed okay. A little confused maybe, but she wasn't crying, not really. He carried her into the room that Athena had assembled: canopied white crib and matching dresser, pink and white curtains, sheets and quilt, rug shaped like a large pink and green bunny on the floor.
Eh, eh, eh,
said Lily.
Eh, eh, eh.
Jared felt a rising thrum of anxiety; it seemed that this was not a happy baby sound. Just as he was trying to figure out what he should be doing about it, the intercom sounded, and minutes later, Athena was at the door. She was wearing some voluminous caftan thing, trimmed in fringe, and long, dangling earrings.

“I thought you could use the welcome wagon,” she said. He saw then that her arms were laden with shopping bags; a couple were from the Fairway on 130th Street, and another from Bedelia's, an upscale baby shop in the neighborhood he'd never have even noticed had she not pointed it out.

“This is so nice of you.” He followed her into the kitchen, where she began unpacking the bags.

“There's something else too.” She gestured to the floor, where a bag from Barnes & Noble sat. “Open it.” Inside were several parenting books.
Bonding with Baby.
The First-Time
Daddy's Manual.
The Single Guy's Guide to Successful Fathering.

Jared flipped through
The First-Time
Daddy's Manual.
It seemed daunting. He closed the book. “Thanks. I'm sure I'll be needing these.”

The intercom buzzed. “Are you expecting anyone else?” Athena asked. He shook his head when the buzzer sounded again. Jared poked his head out the window. There, on the street below, were Gabe, Tyrell, and Shawn; when he buzzed them in, he saw Darius was there too.

“What are you doing here?” Jared said as they trooped into the apartment. Lily took one look at Darius—who had a full beard—and started to wail.

“Athena told me and I told the guys. We just wanted to say hi to the new addition,” said Shawn. “Jesus, she is loud!”

“Here, give her to me,” Athena said.

Jared couldn't decide whether to be angry with Athena or grateful. Hell, it would have come out anyway. And he was glad to see his friends.

“The rest of you all know Athena, right?” Jared asked. They nodded. Athena smiled but focused on getting Lily to stop crying. She changed her, walked her, rocked her, and soon the wails turned to whimpers and then the whimpers trailed off. “I think she's asleep,” Athena said. “But I can't be sure.”

“Her eyes are closed,” Jared said, flooding with relief. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

His friends meanwhile had discovered the food Athena had brought and began setting it out on the table, along with a big sheet cake whose pale pink frosted surface was embellished with the words
World's Greatest Dad
in looping chocolate script. Gabe turned on the television and began channel surfing until he found a tennis match; when Lily woke up, the guys all took turns passing her around and the novelty alone seemed to stave off any further wailing.

They ate all the food, including the entire cake, and polished off two bottles of wine that Jared produced from a kitchen cabinet. He declined to have any himself—considering he was going to have to deal with Lily by himself later, it didn't seem like a good idea—but he was happy to be with his pals and was buoyed by their company. And it seemed like Gabe
and Athena were really hitting it off; the two of them had moved off from the group, and Athena was looking at him with that bright, focused gaze that she tended to use on Jared. Why hadn't he thought of setting them up before?

It was after nine when everyone left. Athena had shown Jared how to change the baby, and tomorrow, Supah would be here, and she'd help him too. Maybe this dad thing would work out okay. Lily was already drowsy when Jared set her gently in the crib. She stretched her arms up, as if trying to touch the ruffled canopy over her head before curling onto her side to sleep. Jared left his door wide-open and the fresh-from-the-box baby monitor was set up right next to his bed, so that the sounds of Lily's breathing were amplified and piped into his sleeping brain.