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‘Her name is Heather, and her husband is Kevin. They live in Elizabeth, New Jersey. He’s got a permanent injury and they have three children already. They’re not prepared to have a fourth. Grace…’ Tina pauses, and my fingers tighten on the phone.
‘Yes?’
‘This might not be as simple as it first sounds.’
I tense, because I don’t like the sound of that. But is any adoption simple? We’re talking about a human being, not a business transaction, as much as I sometimes would like this to resemble one. ‘What do you mean, Tina?’
‘It’s just… a fourth child,
a couple that’s together. It’s not the usual adoptive scenario.’
‘So you think there’s a risk of her changing her mind?’ I’m in finance mode, analyzing, assessing; deciding if this investment is worth the potential loss, even though I know it doesn’t work like that. It can’t.
‘There’s always a risk.’ Tina hesitates. ‘And, to tell you the truth, Heather has shown some definite uncertainty about the situation.’
Definite uncertainty. Talk about an oxymoron, and yet this whole situation feels like one. Two mothers. One baby. Someone is losing out. ‘How much uncertainty?’ I ask, as if Tina can give me a percentage.
‘She says she’s decided, and she and her husband have both signed the paperwork, so I can’t really say. I just feel I have to warn you. It’s… a delicate situation.’
‘Why didn’t she get an abortion?’ As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize they sound callous, cold, but in this day and age, it seems like the obvious solution.
‘I’m not really sure. Maybe she realized later than she felt comfortable with for terminating a pregnancy, or there might be a… faith element. I believe she’s Catholic.’
‘Huh.’ I haven’t known any real Catholics. I know people who grew up Catholic, but they talk about it the way you talk about being Italian or from the Midwest. A part of you, yes, but not really relevant to who you are now or the decisions you make.
‘And,’ Tina adds, ‘it’s not an easy decision to make in the best of circumstances… every woman feels differently about these things.’
‘Of course.’ The last thing I want is for this Heather to get an abortion, which I suppose she could still get, legally anyway, if she’s due in May. This situation might be delicate, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I don’t want to be one of those tragic people on the internet forums, waiting years, the nursery gathering dust and mildew like something out of a horror film. ‘So what happens now?’
‘Heather and Kevin want to meet you. Soon, if possible.’
‘Okay.’ My mind races. I can squeeze in a lunch appointment this week, but evening would be better. Yet as I’m thinking this, I know I’m being utterly ridiculous. A baby is not an accessory to add to my life, or an appointment to squeeze in my calendar. I know this, and yet…
‘My schedule’s a little crazy this week. Could they do next week?’
There is a tiny pause, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I feel it, along with a rush of shame. What am I thinking? This is the most important decision of my life, the most important deal I’ll ever make. Who cares if I annoy Bruce Felson or one of the other partners by taking a sudden personal day? ‘Of course I can meet them whenever it suits,’ I say quickly. ‘Any time at all. Do they want to come here, or should I go there? Wherever…’ I’m babbling, because whatever it takes, I’ll do it. I have to.
‘I’m not sure what they’d prefer, but I’ll call you back when I’ve spoken to them,’ Tina promises. After we’ve said our goodbyes I stand there, my phone in my hand, my heart beating hard as I stare out at the city.
For the first time since I decided to go down this route I feel a tiny, treacherous flicker of doubt. Of fear. It surprises me, because I’ve moved forward with such decisiveness, such certainty, and yet now that it’s all happening, I I feel a little lost. I want to feel excited, and I do, of course I do, but I also feel afraid.
I swallow and feel the stirrings of true panic. I’ve been having panic attacks since my dad’s funeral, usually at night, when I’m trying to go to sleep. I’ll be lying there about to drift into much-needed unconsciousness when all of a sudden it’s like a gun has gone off in the room, and every muscle tenses as my heart starts beating wildly and there is a metallic taste in my mouth.
I feel so alone in those moments, the loneliness like a weight bearing down on me, and the more I think about it the worse it gets, until I feel as if the dark is suffocating me, strangling me, and my breath bursts out of me in ragged gasps that echo through the room.
It stops after about an hour or so, usually with the help of alcohol or work or both, but it leaves me sweat-soaked, shaking and exhausted. I can’t have a panic attack now, at the office. I can’t lose it like that in the one place where I am most in control.
‘Grace?’ My assistant Sara knocks on my door. ‘You’ve got a meeting with Starling Corp in five.’
‘Right, thanks.’ I’m almost tempted to cancel the meeting, because they’re a tech company that looks good on paper but I suspect has some pretty big holes they’re trying to hide. Less than one percent of companies looking for venture capital get it, and at my level I still have to weed out the ones that won’t work. When I’m partner, something I’m hoping is very soon, I’ll be signing off on the deals, not searching through the dross looking for dubious gold.
When I started at Harrow and Heath I hit the jackpot in my first year, finding All Natural, the organic everything company that went big at the start of the tech boom. It was lucky but it also set me up for an impossible task, to try to beat my record from the start. I got funneled into tech and emerging social media right away, the ultimate boys’ club, although Bruce Felson still keeps trying to steer me toward the make-up and style companies, because I’m the firm’s only female principal.
In reality I don’t actually like either the tech or the style all that much. I pass a lot of the glamour companies on to Jill Martin, the only other woman who is near my level. I don’t think she likes them either, but I pull rank when I have to, and she started a year after me. We pretend to have a female solidarity thing going but we both know it’s pretty fake.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, willing my heart rate to slow. I cannot have a panic attack now; I simply cannot. And I don’t want to back out of the adoption process because I’ve committed to it. This fear I feel right now will fade. And at the end I’ll have a baby. A family.
I open my eyes and drop my hand to stare out at the choppy river, the steel-gray sky. When I make partner, I won’t have to work so hard. I’ll have stopped needing to prove myself, and so I will be able to take weekends off like Bruce does. I can go on vacation more than ten days a year; I can go home at seven and not ten or later. I can have a life.
