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Heather’s expression closes right up. ‘No, he didn’t. Why would he?’ There is something dignified about her response, about her lack of pretending. ‘Since we’re not keeping this baby. The less he knows, the better. Otherwise it just hurts.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur, although I’m not exactly sure what I’m apologizing for.
‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry.’ Heather blows out a breath. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean… it’s just this has been difficult for us, but I know we’re doing the right thing.’ She tries to give me a reassuring smile, but it wobbles. ‘For us and for you. I really do know that. So…’ With determination she injects a false note of brightness in her voice. ‘What would you rather have? A boy or a girl?’
‘Oh, um…’ I am thrown by the sudden change, Heather’s willingness to ask a question I’ve been too hesitant to ask myself, much less answer. ‘I’ve been picturing a girl,’ I admit almost shyly. ‘Boys are so different, I’m not sure what I’d do with one.’
She laughs a little. ‘Me neither, although Kev would like a boy, I think. A son.’ Then, realizing how that sounds, she backtracks quickly. ‘I mean, he would have, you know, if…’ She starts again. ‘We have three girls and we love them. Of course.’ She shakes her head, annoyed with her babbling, and I smile.
‘I know you do.’ Of all the things I might wonder about Heather, her love for her family is not one of them. She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t love them all with the same, heart-stopping love I already feel for this unknown little person. That much I get.
‘It’s probably a girl, anyway,’ she says. ‘Seems like that’s all we make.’ She shakes her head again. ‘This is so weird. I don’t know what to say that sounds right.’
‘I know, I don’t either.’ And then, because for a second we feel close, bound by our shared confusion, I touch her hand lightly. She smiles at me, and I see gratitude in her eyes, and I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
‘So do you want to find out?’ Heather asks. ‘The sex?’
‘It might be fun. Make it more real.’ I try for a laugh. ‘This feels pretty surreal to me. I can’t believe I’m actually going to be a mother in a few months.’ Just saying the words sends an uneasy thrill rippling through me. A mother.
‘At least you won’t have to deal with the recovery while you have a newborn. Milk coming in, sore down there…’ She shakes her head, frowning, and I realize she’s thinking how she’ll have to deal with it. Without the newborn.
‘A bonus of adoption, I guess,’ I say lightly, and she nods, not looking at me. I want to get back to that brief moment of solidarity, but it feels like it’s already gone.
‘Heather McCleary?’ A nurse in hot pink scrubs appears at the doorway, smiling and holding a clipboard.
Heather struggles up from her seat and after a second I take her arm, and she gives me a quick, uncertain smile.
The nurse’s gaze moves questioningly between me and Heather, although she doesn’t ask who I am. Friend? Customer? What if she thinks I’m Heather’s partner, her wife, a clear case of opposites attracting? She’s probably seen it all.
We’re led into a room with a lot of beeping machines and an examining table. It’s surprisingly dark, the lights dimmed, everything hushed, and I stand in the doorway as that same visceral reaction I experienced in the lobby takes hold of me once more, even stronger this time. This is where death happens.
‘Ms. McCleary?’
‘Mrs.,’ Heather corrects, sounding strident. She turns to look at me. ‘Grace?’
‘Yes.’ I draw a deep breath into my lungs and will myself to take a step into the room.
Heather is already clambering up onto the table, and the technician sits on a stool next to her, both clearly waiting for me.
‘Sorry.’ My voice sounds tinny, and I clear my throat. ‘Sorry, I…’ There’s nothing I can say. I sit down in the chair on the other side of the examining table, and breathe in deeply.
Heather lifts up her shirt to reveal her baby bump, which looks flaccid and fish-belly white, and for some reason I recoil a bit at the sight. It’s so… intimate, so other. I think of my own flat, toned stomach and I don’t know whether to feel glad or sorry for it.
The technician squirts clear gel on Heather’s belly and then prods it quite forcefully with a metal wand. That can’t be comfortable; I see Heather wince. I want to ask if it could hurt the baby, but it must not or the technician wouldn’t be doing it. I stay silent.
‘Let’s have a look at Baby,’ the woman murmurs, and Heather and I both turn to the blurry, blobby image that has suddenly appeared on the black screen. ‘There’s the head,’ the woman continues, and Heather smiles faintly and nods. I squint, trying to see what they both see, but all I can make out is a moving Rorschach test. ‘And heart, stomach, kidney, liver…’ Nope and nope, nope and nope again. I feel completely unqualified. How am I going to take care of this baby, if I can’t even see it on the screen?
‘Arms and legs… fingers and toes…’ The technician spares me what I fear is a withering glance and then leans over to point out all the digits on the screen.
And then, all of a sudden, I see it. It’s like the optical illusion where you blink and suddenly the old
crone becomes a young woman. You see something that was definitely not there before at all. Right in front of me on that screen is an honest-to-God baby; he or she is sucking his thumb. I see it, and I feel a leap of excitement inside, a sensation like the turn of a kaleidoscope, the sudden burst of colors.
‘Do you see it, Grace?’ Heather asks softly, and I sniff and nod. I am feeling far more emotional than I expected, but that’s my baby on the screen.
‘It’s amazing.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ She turns her head toward the technician. ‘Grace is going to adopt this baby.’
