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“Was it hard to give your daughter up after you’d carried her for nine months?” His expression was openly curious.
“Yes. Very hard.”
Matt nodded as if I’d proven him right. “But you did it anyway, because you believed it was the right thing to do, so it was in your situation.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
He shrugged off my gratitude. “If it makes you feel better, data that contributes to improved outcomes—correlational, not causational—tells us adopted children are less likely than children in the general population to live in households with incomes below the poverty threshold. They’re more likely to live with two married parents and more likely to have health insurance. They’re also more likely to be read to, sung to, or told stories every day as young children.”
“That actually does make me feel better.” I smiled at him. “Marie mentioned you work with foster children?”
He shook his head as he got up for another helping of curry. “I work in artificial intelligence.”
“Matt’s developing a compassionate AI to provide emotional support and stability to foster children,” Marie explained, directing a proud look at her husband.
“You mean a robot companion?” I asked. “Like Baymax inBig Hero 6?”
“Sort of,” Matt said, smiling at me. “Sort of—hopefully—exactly like that.”
The rest of the meal was spent talking about Matt’s work, a subject I found fascinating, especially in light of his own upbringing. After we’d all eaten our fill, Matt volunteered to handle the cleanup, leaving Marie and me to move into the living room with our wine.
As I settled onto the love seat, I noticed a bundle of knitting sitting on the table beside me. “Are you a knitter?”
“I sure am.” Reaching across me, Marie scooped it off the table and laid it out between us. “Are you?”
“No. I used to know how, but I haven’t done it in years.” My eyebrows lifted as I ran my fingers over the edge of Marie’s knitting. “A baby sweater?”
“It’s for a friend’s baby. I’m racing against the clock to finish it before she outgrows it.”
“It’s lovely.” I glanced up at Marie. “Do you not want to have kids?”
She took a sip of wine, looking troubled. “I don’t know, honestly.”
“Matt sounds awfully enthusiastic about it.”
“He is now, but when we first met he felt pretty strongly that he never wanted to have children.” One of her shoulders lifted as she tilted her head. “Of course, he also told me he didn’t want to fall in love or be in a relationship, and look how that turned out.”
“But now you’re not sure if you want kids?”
Her gaze dropped to the tiny sweater between us. “I think I’m more leery of it after watching some of my close friends settle down and start families. Seeing the ways parenthood has changed them—and changed the whole fabric of their lives and their marriages—has given me pause. Not that the changes are bad, necessarily, but they’re big. I’m not saying never, I’m just saying I want to pause and reflect, make sure I’ll be a good parent rather than just assuming I will be. A whole human person is a big responsibility. I want to give the decision the consideration it deserves.” She shrugged.
“Will Matt be okay with it if you don’t change your mind?”
She smiled as her eyes drifted toward the kitchen where Matt was doing the dishes. “I know he comes across as pushy, but he’s really not. He’s just not shy about saying what he wants, which is one of the things I love about him. But he’d never try to pressure me into it. He simply enjoys reminding me where he stands on the subject.”
My gaze went to Marie’s knitting again. I couldn’t seem to stop touching the neat rows of soft, perfect stitches.
“Maybe you should give knitting another try,” she suggested. “I always find it therapeutic, especially when I’m stressed or have something on my mind. Keeping my hands busy with a repetitive task helps induce a state of calm reflection.”
“Maybe I will.” Calm reflection definitely sounded like something I could use in my life right now, what with everything else going on.
“There’s this great yarn store called Mad About Ewe that’s on East Randolph not far from the office.”
“I’ve heard of it,” I said. “I went to high school with the owner, actually.”
“Speaking of high school…” Marie leaned closer, propping her arm on the back of the sofa. “What’s going on with Erin’s birth father? Spill.”
“Um…well.” An odd sensation formed in my stomach at the mention of Donal, and I gulped down a mouthful of wine. “We’ve gotten together a few times to talk. About Erin, but also about the past—about the way things ended with us. To find some closure, I guess. We’re trying to put it behind us and be friends. For Erin’s sake.”
