Tilt

  why. Birth moms who see their children

  grow. Healthy. Cared for. Loved.

  The Call Comes

  Sooner than I expected.

  Mrs. Trask—Marissa, she says

  to call her—can barely hold in

  all the questions. One by one,

  out they pop, incrementally

  harder to answer.

  When are you due?

  The baby is healthy, right?

  Very important to her, of course.

  “Everything looks perfect.”

  What about the father? Will

  he want to be involved?

  That’s a good one. “I don’t think

  so. In fact, I’m sure he won’t.”

  Can we help out financially?

  Could I be in the delivery room?

  This is starting to feel very intimate.

  How close will we become?

  Now, the Ones

  I don’t have answers to yet.

  How often do you want to see her?

  What if the father changes his mind?

  How much do you want her to know about you?

  And the biggest one of all.

  Are you positive this is the right decision?

  All I can say is, “I’ve struggled

  with this for months. This is the surest

  I’ve felt about anything. We can decide

  the details as we go along.” Now she asks,

  Do you have any questions for me?

  I know a lot about her already.

  Big house. Nice car. Her husband

  has money. But is that enough?

  “How is your marriage? Solid?”

  She Prefaces Her Answer

  With an audible sigh. Then says,

  You know we lost Shelby after

  a long illness. It’s hard to stay

  close when each day brings

  so much sadness. But the reality

  is, Christian and I are tighter

  now than we have been in years.

  He asked his company to lighten

  up on the travel and he just got a big

  promotion that will keep him in Reno

  most of the time. His income provides

  nicely for all of us, so I don’t have

  to work. The baby will have a stable

  home, I promise you that. Plus, Shane

  will be a wonderful older brother.

  That’s a lot more than I can promise.

  More than most people can.

  She needs to talk to her husband.

  I need to talk to Dad. We set up

  a meeting for next week. And I call Ty.

  Tyler

  The Setup

  She describes sounds

  perfect. Maybe too perfect.

  I

  want to support her decision,

  but the idea of a guilt-free giveaway

  seems like pie in the sky. You

  don’t

  carry a baby for nine months

  without a lot of bonding going on.

  I could nod and go along, except I

  care

  about her way too much to see

  her hurt again. Or maybe

  my reaction is totally selfish.

  What

  if I encourage this move and it

  goes badly? Would she ever blame

  me? I’m not usually one of those

  people

  who looks for the downside. So

  maybe the best thing I can do

  is stay positive and try not to over-

  think.

  Share

  Staying Positive

  There’s Also the Not Small Issue

  Of the semester ending in a couple

  of weeks. With it goes Alex, who will

  graduate near the top of his class.

  He spent last week visiting

  Catholic colleges in California,

  all of which would be happy to have him.

  Loyola Marymount. Santa Clara U.

  Thomas Aquinas. University of San

  Francisco. San Diego U. His parents

  would have preferred an East Coast

  school. He insisted on staying out

  west. For me, he says. But even

  though California isn’t all that far

  away, it might as well be a thousand

  miles from here. How often can I see

  him? A few times a year? Our age

  difference isn’t big. I never really

  thought about how much it meant

  when it was just about having fun

  over the summer. If I hadn’t fallen

  in love with him, it wouldn’t matter

  the slightest bit. But he has become

  an integral part of me. Who am I

  if I lose him? How can I go back

  to being the Shane I was before

  I met him? That’s who I’d be. I’ve got

  the rest of this year, plus my senior

  year here. That’s a lot of time apart.

  And, while I’ll be stuck hanging out

  with Reno losers, he’ll be meeting

  interesting people from all across

  the country. What chance does our

  relationship have of surviving that?

  As If That Isn’t Enough

  Mom has gone totally apeshit

  delirious over the idea of another

  baby. First, all these tests to see if

  she could carry some Frankenstein

  test tube creation to term. I breathed

  a huge sigh of relief when the doctors

  told her no, and I’m pretty sure Dad

  did, too. He and Mom are struggling

  to put their lives back together.

  I’m enough of a distraction. A baby?

  How about a job, Mom, or volunteer

  work? Something that doesn’t require

  stealing every ounce of your energy

  away from your family? She might

  even have gone there, except along

  comes the perfect solution. For Mom.

  For Mikayla and her family. Maybe

  even for the baby. But what about

  Dad? What about me? We’ve lived

  with a hollowed-out you for five years.

  This Evening, Mom Is Hosting Tea

  For the prospective (over)extended

  family. She cleaned—and spot-cleaned—

  for days. Vacuumed and revacuumed

  carpets and furniture. Will you please

  keep that cat in your room? I can’t

  get rid of all these little white hairs.

  Washed windows to let sunlight

  spill into even the darkest corners.

  Set the table with Grandma’s fine

  china. Including Thanksgiving, it’s only

  the second time it has been used in

  six or seven years. I’m pretty sure

  the everyday stuff would do. Right

  now, she’s showing them Shelby’s

  room. Which, if everything goes as

  expected, will soon be the nursery.

  I’ve tried to keep out of it completely.

  So I’m more than a little irritated

  when Mom calls, Shane! Will you please

  come here and meet the Carlisles?

  Have I suddenly become a criterion?

  Must I put my best foot forward?

  Considering I haven’t showered

  in a couple of days, I hope not.

  I also hope she doesn’t expect me

  to drink tea. Still, no use upsetting her.

  Well, maybe just a little. I pick up Gaga,

  cradle her in the V of my elbow, go to

  play the dutiful son. They are gathered

  at the table. Each sits stiffly behind a cup

  puffing steam. It reminds me of Alice’s Adventures

  in Wonderland, with Mi
kayla as Alice

  and Mom as the March Hare. I stifle

  a snort as Mom makes the introductions.

  First Impressions

  Mikayla:

  Pretty, in a blond

  bombshell sort of way.

  Probably conceited

  before life (or her boyfriend)

  dealt her this hand.

  But now, uncertain.

  Mrs. Carlisle:

  A knockout, for a woman

  her age. Workout junkie,

  and that’s obvious even

  well-covered by a pricey

  jogging suit. Anxious

  to be anywhere but here.

  Mr. Carlisle:

  All business. Defines

  the word attorney. Smart,

  but no match for his wife,

  and maybe not his daughter.

  Prepared. Textbook answers

  at the ready. Anger, in the flesh.

  The baby:

  Will be beautiful and smart.

  And Mom will love her more

  than these people’s hearts can.

  And maybe more than she loves me.

  Conspicuously Absent

  Is Dad who, Mom explains,

  got hung up in a meeting,

  but should be home any time.

  When he arrives, he will, no

  doubt, be subjected to a similar

  inquisition to the one I’m under-

  going now. I try to answer each

  question the way Mom wants me to.

  Mr. Carlisle: How do you feel

  about this situation, Shane?

  I don’t think he wants me to say

  I’m sorry his daughter got knocked

  up, so I go for, “I think it’s gre—”

  But wait. It’s not great. “Uh, good.”

  Not what he was looking for.

  I mean, about having a baby sister?

  Mom looks at me with such

  expectancy that what can I say

  but, “Awesome, I guess. I mean,

  it’s been a while since I had one.”

  Okay, that wasn’t right, either.

  But what do they want from

  me? To hear that I’m not done

  grieving the sister I lost?

  Mrs. Carlisle says, Babies are a lot

  of work. Your mom will need help.

  This one’s easy. “I don’t mind

  helping. I helped with Shelby,

  so I’m okay with changing diapers.

  Mom has to do the late-night feedings,

  though.” I remember them well.

  “Look. I want Mom to be happy,

  and if a baby will do that, fabulous.

  Anyway, I love little kids. It’s all good.”

  I must have done okay, because

  they let me go, just about the time

  Dad comes bopping in. Gaga and I

  retreat to our cat-hair-covered sanctum.

  I Turn On My Music

  To swallow their hum, reach under

  my bed for the bottles that will drown

  the questions jumbled inside my head.

  I pop some anonymous pill—the pharm

  dealers at school aren’t always so

  savvy. I asked for antidepressants,

  have collected them for a couple

  of weeks. Sort of fun going for a ride

  without knowing exactly where

  you’ll end up. So I pop another.

  Wash it down with big swigs

  of Jägermeister. Goddamn it.

  I should feel all warm and fuzzy.

  Instead, I just want to cry. Can’t.

  What if they hear me? They might

  think I’ve gone all schizo. Change

  their minds about giving Mom

  the baby, who does not need

  a crazy-ass big brother. I grab

  the bottles, head for the travel

  trailer. “You stay here, Gaga.”

  She doesn’t need to see me cry,

  either. It’s freezing inside, so I turn

  on the heater. And while I wait

  for it to get warm, I down

  three or four pills. Maybe more.

  Jäger and Downers

  Make me feel great. Make me feel

  like shit. Make me go ahead and cry.

  I spiral down into a whirlpool of tears.

  And I like how it feels and I hate how

  it feels and right now I really just want

  to keep going down and never come up for air.

  I think this must be limbo. Too dark

  to see and too heavy to move even

  though it’s cold and you want to get

  warm but really what difference does

  it make because you’re going to be here

  forever where it’s hard to breathe the air.

  And I’m sort of scared and sort of happy

  because I think pretty soon I won’t care

  anymore but before that happens I need

  to call someone. Alex. Yes, Alex, because

  I love him. Speed dial number one. Good.

  My eyes are blurry. Something about this air.

  “Hey, ba. . .” No, not baby. “Hey, you,

  I luhv ya. Jush wanna say that ’fore I shay

  goo bye.” And he’s yelling something

  but I can’t make it out because I’m falling.

  And I like how it feels falling toward death.

  Alex

  I’m Yelling

  No! You can’t leave me.

  Not now. Not ever. Not

  like this. Oh my God.

  Any God. Tell me what to do.

  I

  hear him say he’s falling,

  and there is no way for me

  to catch him. I call his house.

  No answer. Come on.

  Can’t

  you hear the phone? You

  must be home. Finally,

  his dad picks up. “Hurry.

  It’s Shane. You’re going to

  lose

  him.” And suddenly I know,

  “He’s in the travel trailer.

  Please. You have to hurry.”

  The phone drops. He’s gone for

  him

  and I get dressed. Slowly.

  Go to my car. Slowly. Drive

  to his house under the limit.

  Afraid of what I’ll find.

  Harley

  Afraid, Angry, Ashamed

  Violated. Altered. Changed

  forever and I didn’t even get

  the chance to say okay. I might

  have, but Lucas never bothered

  to ask. Instead, he stole it from me.

  It’s supposed to be a memorable

  experience. One you don’t enjoy

  lightly. He didn’t let me enjoy it at all.

  In fact, I barely remember anything

  about it. Alcohol blackout, they call it.

  Only it wasn’t quite black enough

  to erase the entire memory. Weight.

  There was his weight pushing down

  on me. Stabbing. I felt him stab inside

  of me. Breathing. Booze and weed

  and onion-sweat stink. His hair,

  like a spider creeping over my face.

  The horrible shudder that meant

  he was done. And still I couldn’t

  move. Not even when he rolled

  off me, skittered across the floor

  and out the door. Leaving me there

  like discarded trash. Something

  used up and left behind to rot.

  Your first time should be special.

  Not something you can’t quite

  scrub away, no matter how hard

  you try. Something that sticks to you

  like tree sap. Stubborn. Indelible.

  Marring your finish until you rust.

  I’m Not Even Sure

  Ho
w I got home. Who drove,

  or when I got in. Stumbled in

  at my dad’s, made my way

  to the couch and crashed there.

  Good thing it was Dad’s. Mom

  would have been up waiting,

  knowing exactly what my messed-

  up clothes and hair and alcohol

  breath meant. I was so buzzed

  I didn’t even wash until morning.

  Waking up was the hardest thing

  ever, sunlight assaulting my eyes

  and something hammering on

  my skull and a pool of acid swishing

  around in my stomach. I barely

  made the bathroom in time, though

  it was mostly dry heaves.

  Heaving what remained of me.

  The Best Part of All?

  He dumped me the same day.

  Not only that, but he dumped me

  secondhand, through Chloe.

  I was waiting for Mom to pick me

  up, still fighting the pounding

  in my head, when she texted me.

  THIS IS REALLY MESSED UP

  SO I’M SORRY, ’K? LUCAS SAYS

  TO TELL YOU HE DOESN’T THINK

  YOU TWO ARE SIMPATICO. STUPID

  WAY OF SAYING HE WANTS TO

  BREAK UP WITH YOU. SORRY.

  Two apologies, and both from

  her. Just about then, Chad wandered

  in and sat next to me on the sofa.

  Heard you come in pretty late

  last night and I noticed you slept

  on the couch. Everything okay?

  “Wonderful. Amazing. Really

  great.” Then I showed him Chloe’s

  text. But I didn’t tell him the rest.

  I Mean, Who Could I Tell

  Something like that to?

  Dad?

  Ha ha ha ha.

  Cassie?

  Too busy being positive about the wedding.