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“Buzz them and let them know I’m bringing the baby myself.”
She winks at me. “Such a mama.”
My absolute favorite thing to be, I think.
“Whit,” Laurie calls my attention back to her, and I look over my shoulder but continue walking. “Full moon tonight.”
“Perfect.” I force a big fat fake smile.
I work four tens, so typically, I’m home by seven thirty for Nora’s eight o’clock bedtime. She’s used to Gram and Pop reading to her and tucking her in on my once-a-month twelve-hour shifts on Fridays and Saturdays, but this is a switch she’s not prepared for.
My ten-hour shift is turning into twelve, five of which I spent helping in pediatrics, as they were even more understaffed than we were in emergency. While I was rocking five-month-old Peter so his mother could go home and grab an overnight bag and pick her husband up from work. I called home on FaceTime. When she saw the little one asleep in my arms, she was just fine with me staying. Nora loves babies just as much as she does her schedule.
“I want you to have a baby for us, Mommy.” She yawned.
Kal and I haven’t discussed kids other than him mentioning he’s not good with babies and is glad Nora is older. At that time, it didn’t bother me. In fact, all I’ve prayed for since Bianca Paul passed away is to give Nora the best life I can and be able to take care of Pop and Gram when they get older.
Whenever I talk about saving for retirement, they say they have “no use for money,” so every cent they’ve ever made has gone into helping others, their whole lives lived in service of Gods people. One day, they won’t be living in the parsonage; a new pastor will. Raising Nora and making sure she feels the love all kids should feel and taking care of my grandparents are a given. They raised me. Heck, I begged them to let me stay with them for the summer when I was five years old because my mom was incapable of being a mom.
My mother, Amy, is and always will be all about herself. My dad, Dion, still works all the time to give her everything she wants, and she wants a lot. When I lived there, he gave her flowers every week, bought her gifts, took her on weekends away—I’m sure he still does—not that she probably remembers half of them. She’s either drunk or popping a pill. He was devastated when I didn’t want to come home. Mom, not so much.
Life was very confusing, to say the least, with Amy as my mother, so I became very good at reading people and situations, and, oh yeah, I also became very good at eavesdropping.
I remember Dad came and picked me up for a long weekend. He and I went to a batting cage, and then we picked up Mom to go get ice cream with us. That night, I was upstairs, sitting in the hallway, and heard her tell him that my inability to make friends was because I was different and that I’d have a better chance at happiness in Walton. I also remember overhearing my Pop and Dad exchanging words about the situation. Dad told him that he took his vows seriously. He said in sickness and in health was part of those sacred vows, and he thought my mother was ill in a way you couldn’t see, mentally.
My grandparents took care of me, loved me like she couldn’t, and I’ll take care of them forever.
Holding baby Peter the first half of my shift made me want more. Maybe not give birth to a child, but I really want to adopt. Give love to kids like me, like Nora, who couldn’t get it from the people who had brought them into the world.
I lived with hurt in my heart for years because I hated my mother for not loving me until Nora came into my life. After Nora, I felt sorry for her.
Walking out the door after work, I dig in my bag that’s full of things, like hand sanitizer, wet wipes, barrettes, ChapStick, tissues, scrunchies, a couple of emergency Beanie Boos. I pull my keys out and hit unlock twice for good measure, and then I dive back in to grab my phone.
Crossing the parking lot to my car, I’m kind of shocked at the number of missed calls and messages there are from Kal.
Kal:
Good afternoon.
Kal:
Again, good afternoon.
Kal:
I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me.
Really? I think.
Kal:
Jesus Christ, Whitley. That hick’s been in town for less than a week, and already, he’s causing a division!
I cringe at the use of JC. For me, it’s more offensive than the use of see you next Tuesday. But calling John Paul a hick? I can’t help but laugh at how absurd that is.
Pope’s an athlete through and through and he hasn’t changed much. In high school, his hair was always super short on the sides and back and not much longer up top. His face was always clean-shaven. Now, he has a trim five-o’clock shadow, and his hair is still short on the sides and back but longer on the top.
Bianca had always tried to get him to leave it longer, but he’d always convince her to cut it for him. She’d love how he has it now. That thick, dark, almost-out-of-control mess of waves is truly gorgeous.
