I look at my mom, only to see her wince.
“Sometimes, leaving the ones we love is the only way we can take care of ourselves, and it’s the hardest thing in the world to do. But sometimes it’s the right thing to do.” She reaches out for my hand, and I let her take it, remembering when I was tiny, before she started drinking, when all I wanted was to hold my mommy’s hand.
“I know. I did it. Remember when I first got sober? I couldn’t see you. I had to leave you for a while to take care of myself. It didn’t mean I didn’t love you.” Tears are streaming down her face as she says this. “It meant I loved you more. I loved you enough to leave you. Do you understand?”
“No.” I shake my head as I stare at our hands, fingers intertwined, and now I am crying, too.
“I loved you enough to take care of myself because it was only by taking care of myself that I could be a better mother, that I was able to take care of you. You have your whole life ahead of you. You can start again in London, go to school, get a job, have fun being with Michael instead of trying to juggle school and caring for a three-year-old. You can live the life you’re supposed to instead of struggling, because it will be a struggle.
“And you can be in Cal’s life. Not because you feel you have to be but because you want to be. It takes a village, and we’re all here doing it together. Don’t take him away. It’s not the right thing to do.
“Oh, Emily,” she says finally. “I love you so much. I see you as this talented, bright, beautiful girl who is itching to spread her wings. A child will hold you back, and I know you know that. I know you know that leaving him here is the right thing, but you feel guilty about admitting it.”
And she squeezes my hand and keeps squeezing it for a long time.
“I’m right,” she whispers, after many minutes. “Aren’t I?”
The weight lifts from my shoulders as I look up at her, finally, finally, able to meet her eyes. I nod.
“But how do I tell Michael?” I whisper. “He’s the one who wants this. He’s the one constantly talking about the three of us. What if he doesn’t want me without Cal? What if he dumps me. And…” I stop, thinking again about my father.
“How do I tell Dad? He never wants to speak to me again.” And I let my mother take me in her arms and hold me as I weep.
Mostly with relief.
Fifty-eight
My head is pounding. It feels like the hangover to end all hangovers, but as I gradually force my poor, swollen eyes open, I remember that I didn’t drink. Not alcohol, not this time, but too many tears and too much emotion.
I get up and go to the bathroom, gasping when I look at myself in the mirror, then crawl back into bed, burrowing under to where it’s warm, glad that my mom is downstairs and that for the first time in what feels like ages, I feel safe.
My mom knocks on the door, then pushes it open.
“Em? I’ve brought you some coffee. You awake?”
“I am now.” I sit up in bed, and my mom puts the coffee on the bedside table and sits down on the bed. She squeezes my leg under the comforter, and smiles at me as if I were a little girl, and I realize that this is what my childhood with her would have been like if she had been sober; this is how I would have felt: safe, secure, loved.
“Michael phoned. He said he’s been trying your cell but it’s going straight to voice mail.” I pick up my cell and sure enough, it’s out of juice. It’s not like the service is great anyway—the likelihood of my getting a call in this house is practically nil.
“He says to call him back on the office number in London. I’ve got the number downstairs.” She smiles, then leaves the room, pulling the door closed softly behind her as I gaze at my old posters on the wall—Siouxsie Sioux glaring down at me, Robert Smith’s kohl-ringed eyes from classic posters of The Cure—and wonder what the hell I’m going to say.
I have to tell Michael. Today. Now. Last night was huge. It was truly as if my mom could see inside my head, and she voiced all the things I’d been too terrified to admit, even to myself.
I realized that so much of my thinking I should be a mother to Cal, even though I didn’t really want it, was because of guilt. What kind of a person must I be to have a kid and not feel anything toward it other than relief that someone else has stepped in to take care of him?
I knew, coming back home, that I’d have a place in his life, but I never thought, seriously, about taking him away. That was never part of my plan until Michael showed up.
And that’s when I started to feel guilty. Michael never said I was selfish, but I felt judged by him, and I felt like that was what he thought: how could I not want to raise my child?
Last night, my mom showed me that Cal is in the best place; there was no reason to feel guilt at not having maternal instincts, not wanting to mother. She showed me that Cal was in the best place for him, and I knew that. On some level, of course, I always knew that, but I was trying so hard to do the right thing.
And because she didn’t judge me, but understood, she has made it okay to be me, living exactly the life I’m living now. She’s made me realize that going to London, pursuing photography, or whatever else I may end up doing in my future, is the right thing. For me.
If anything, she said with a smile, it’s being selfless. It’s not just better for me. It’s the right thing for Cal. And my parents. It is, to get slightly cheesy for a second, for the greater good of all concerned.
Except perhaps for Michael. I have no idea if he’ll understand. There’s a part of me that’s terrified he’ll change his mind about me, that he will think I am selfish, and cold. But then … I have never been able to shake the feeling that he is buying into the fantasy, and that perhaps, deep down, he might be as unsure as I have been.
I know on the surface he was the one who wanted this so much, and he was the one who said I couldn’t abandon Cal, but I’m not.
That’s the thing. I mean, I know I did, right? I know that for three years I showed no interest, but now I’ve met him, now I’ve come to know him. I’m happy to be his big sister.
And it’s not like I’m going to be seeing him a ton anyway, unless Michael decides to dump me and I end up living back at home in Mill Valley. Oh, God. That just cannot happen.
I love my family. I do. But when I’m home, I feel like I can’t breathe properly, I regress to a teenager, and I hate who that person was, I hate hearing myself talk in her voice. I know it’s not my parents’ fault. I know they were doing the best they could, but I think it’s better for all of us if I get on with my own life, away, if I’m free to be myself without the past coloring the present.
I love Michael. And I want to go to England with him. But not with Cal. I know he’ll be shocked. The more he talked about taking Cal with us, the more it seemed a fait accompli, and even though I think he wasn’t as sure as he seemed, what if I’m wrong?
What if he loves me because I have a child? What if he loves the idea of the whole package? He was the one who wanted us to be a ready-made family, who said I couldn’t walk away from Cal. So how’s he supposed to feel when I walk away not just once, but twice?
Because I’m not staying. If Michael ends it, I’m going back to Portland. The only thing I am totally certain of is that I’m not staying here.
The coffee is cold. I throw back the covers and step out of bed, feeling as if I have a weight the size of California on my shoulders, and I push my arms into the sleeves of a well-worn robe that I have had since I was about ten that doesn’t really fit me but it is the coziest, most comfortable thing I own.
The worn sisal on the stairs feels reassuringly familiar as I walk down, curling up on the sofa to make the call from the house line.
Please, God, please, please, God, let Michael understand. Let him still love me.
* * *
“So your mom said all these things and you realized she was right?” Michael’s voice sounds … weird. My own voice sounds weird; high and breathy, and I can’t tell what he thinks.
I’ve told him everything, and as I wait for him to say more, I lift my right hand—the one not holding the phone—and I’m not that surprised to see it’s trembling.
“Yes.” My voice comes out in a whisper. Jesus, Emily! I think. Where is strong Emily? Who the hell is this scared, whispery girl freaking out? I take a mental deep breath, and the next time my voice comes out, it is back to normal.
“I don’t know what else to say. I know you’ve talked about this ready-made family, and I know you love … the idea of it, but that’s what it is. An idea. A fantasy. It’s like fantasizing about the grass always being greener, until you get there.” I look down at my legs, and run my hands over them, feeling the stubble, wondering, from this moment forward, if I’m going to be shaving them every day as I have since Michael and I got together, or whether I’m going to let the stubble grow in, not caring because no one’s going to be seeing my naked legs.
I pull the robe over them tightly so I won’t think about it anymore.
“I love the idea of having Cal, too.” I stop. “I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t love the idea of it. I’ve been trying to love the idea of it, because I can’t stand the guilt. But every time I indulge myself in this fantasy you have of this ready-made family, it feels … wrong.
“It doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to be my reality. Because it’s not. I’m not ready to be a mother, and I don’t want to disrupt everything in that kid’s life. Everything in all their lives.” I trail off sadly.
“My mom was only pointing out the truth. My dad and Andi are his parents, and he’s better off with them. They love him, and he loves them. They’re the only parents he’s ever known, and look how much he freaked out whenever I said anything about being his mommy. We can’t do this to them.
“And I don’t want to. I gave birth to him, it’s true, but I was a…” I struggle for the words, knowing I’d just read them somewhere in some magazine article about surrogacy. “… a gestational carrier! I’m not his mom. And I don’t want to be. I was trying to do the right thing, but this isn’t the right thing. The right thing is to leave him to grow up where he is.”
There is silence on the other end of the phone.
I think I might throw up. My heart is beating so loudly it’s making me think I’m deaf. That maybe Michael is speaking, and I’m not hearing him because all I can hear is this thumping in my ears. And then I hear him.
“You’re sure this is what you want? You’re not just saying this because your dad terrified you by talking about the legal fight?”
“What my dad said is a whole other issue. But yes. I’m sure. I’m so sorry. I totally understand if you want to … I don’t know … break up with me. I mean, I get it. I know you wanted the whole package, and I get it if you…” Now I really do feel sick.
“Emily!” Michael jumps in. “Will you stop? I only wanted what’s best for you. I thought you wanted Cal. I’ve been supporting you because I thought, I … assumed … that’s what you wanted, that’s why you were so willing to come back to Mill Valley.”
“I came back for you!” I’m kind of stunned at what he just said. “You knew that! That was the only reason.” I don’t want to have a fight with him, but what kind of bullshit is that?
“I have always been reluctant about taking Cal.” I know I sound a bit pissed now, and I lower my voice. “Whenever you talk about it, and it’s always you who brings it up, I either said nothing, or told you that I wasn’t ready, but you never wanted to hear it. You had this fantasy about Cal and where he should be in our lives, and I was too … scared to tell you I didn’t feel the same way in case I … in case I lost you.
“Seriously, Michael? It’s bullshit that you would even think I wanted this. I never gave you any indication of that. You could see I was uncomfortable. I never actually said that I wanted this, too, I just didn’t give you a definitive no.”
“I’m not a mind reader,” he says angrily. “If you didn’t give me a definitive no, how was I supposed to know?”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “I may not have spelled it out, but surely my lack of enthusiasm counted for something?”
I am amazed at what I am saying. Amazed that I am wading into what does appear to be a fight, but in saying all this stuff, I realize how much I have changed.
I think about all the times I’ve done stuff to make other people happy—my God, those awful boys I fucked, not because I wanted to but because I wanted to be accepted—and I realize I’m finally being honest. I’m saying what I really feel, and stating what I really want, and I’m not lying down like a doormat and letting myself get walked over.
I may have been a holy handful with my family, but I wasn’t like that with everyone else. When I was a teenager, I hated everyone, mostly because I presumed they would feel the same way, and I figured I’d get there first.
Unless I wanted you to like me. Then I would twist myself into a pretzel to become whomever you wanted me to be.
I’m thinking about this as Michael and I have our first phone fight, and I start to smile, which is totally weird, and I can’t figure it out until I realize why I’m smiling. For the first time in my life, I’m secure enough to be honest, and I’m secure enough to have a fight! And not just that, I started it!
Do you have any idea how huge this is? Huge! Monumental! I don’t have to be who I think Michael wants me to be in order for him to love me.
And that’s why I’m smiling. Because it’s all going to be okay. If Michael loves me, he’ll accept me, even if my life plans are different from his. And if he doesn’t? I’m still going to be okay. If my life is supposed to be in London with him, then great, but if I’m supposed to go back to Portland by myself, that’s … okay. Yeah, I’ll have a bit of a broken heart for a while, but I’m looking after myself, and I’m going to be fine.
If this relationship stands a chance, if this really is “the real deal,” we have to be honest with each other, even when we’re worried about what the other might think.
Oh my God! Does this mean I’m finally growing up?
* * *
“I knew you came back for me, but it’s not fair to say…” And then Michael pauses. For a long time.
I sit quietly and wait, amazed that instead of freaking out, I am surprisingly, almost eerily, calm.
“You’re right.” When Michael finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “I have had this fantasy. I wanted you to be involved in Cal’s life because I have spent my life feeling like my own mother abandoned me, and I guess I … I saw things in black or white. I thought it was either take him, or ignore him. And ignoring him felt like you’d be abandoning him, doing what my birth mother did to me.”
“But why would you think that?” I am stunned. “I haven’t ignored Cal since I’ve been back. We had some great times, and I’ve loved being with him. When I was allowed.”
“I know that. I think that’s why I started to think it could be … permanent. I thought that we, together, were able to offer Cal a stability you would never have been able to give him as a single mother, and I thought you would like that. Or, I thought it would change things for you, that maybe that was the reason why you hadn’t wanted him.”
“I never said that.” My voice is quiet.
“I know,” Michael says. “I guess I thought I knew you so well, I knew what you were secretly thinking.”
“Well. You were wrong.”
“I was. I’m so sorry, Emily. I’m sorry for trying to force you to want something you didn’t want. And I’m sorry for not hearing you.”
“I’m sorry, too.” The relief that washes over me is indescribable. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest about my feelings.” I stretch out my legs, grinning at my stubble, knowing that it won’t be there for very much longer. “So … you’re okay with it? You’re okay with not bringing Cal? With me being a big sister to him, but that’s all?”
“Yes,” he says, and I can tell he means it. “I’m very okay. You’re in his life, that’s the mos
t important thing. I’m never going to make assumptions about what you’re thinking or feeling again.”
“Michael?” I am now serious. “Can we make a pact? That we talk about everything in the future, that we never have this kind of breakdown again? I want us always to be honest with each other, and not to keep quiet because we’re frightened of what the other might think.”
“I agree. Were you frightened of what I would think?”
“Terrified.” I laugh then. It comes out as a high-pitched giggle, which doesn’t sound like me at all, and I know it’s nerves. “I thought you’d end it.”
“End it?” Michael is shocked. “Emily! I love you, and you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t have ended it. I’m just grateful your mom intervened so we were able to talk about it in time instead of making a huge mistake. And I do see how your dad and Andi love him, and how he’s happy.”
“Thank you.” I am filled with a wave of love for this good, good man.
“So … when are you going to tell your dad?”
“Today. My mom’s going with me.” I don’t know if this is the right thing, but I do know that the thought of even walking up that garden path by myself, like I did yesterday, makes me feel sick.
“Oh, God,” I groan. “I just want to turn the clock back to six months ago, when everything in life was good.”
“Great. Thanks a lot,” sniffs Michael.
“Not you! I just mean this shit with my dad and Andi. You cannot even begin to imagine how awful yesterday was. And the worst part was I turned back into a teenager. I came back here after three years, feeling like I was going to show them how mature I am, and how grown-up, and instead I sat there feeling angry, and resentful, and hating them.”
“Hating them, or hating Andi?” Michael asks gently.
Of course it was hating Andi. I have always hated Andi, but as I think that, I realize it’s not true. I felt it for years, but there were moments, so many moments, when I came so close to loving her, when I thought that perhaps we could find a way to be friends, find a way through.