A Mother's Goodbye

Emma looked up, surprised and a little bit indignant. ‘Can I get a new pair, too?’

‘You got a new pair in September. But you can have an ice cream at the mall.’

Both girls looked at me suspiciously, because since when did I offer ice cream? My smile got bigger, spreading across my face. I wasn’t going to blow through this cash, no way, but my girls needed a little treat. And watching them enjoy their ice creams, licking the last drops from their cones, faces covered in chocolate, would be a big treat for me.

Kev didn’t even question the new shoes or the ice creams; the girls swarmed him the minute they came through the door with chocolate-smeared faces, hyped up on sugar. He patted their backs and half-listened to their excited gibbering before turning back to the TV, not asking about any of it – the shoes, the ice cream, the rent being paid.

I wiped each of their faces in turn, smiling as they squirmed and resisted the firm swipe of the wet cloth. I felt like I had a double dose of patience and goodwill, thanks to the money in my sock drawer. I also had a surprising measure of peace that I hadn’t expected; I truly felt, deep down, like I was doing the right thing, for the baby, for my girls. For me and Kevin.

And so that’s why I’m here, sitting on my parents’ saggy sofa while my father reluctantly mutes the television and my mother twitches in her wheelchair, looking both concerned and impatient. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and air freshener, and even though I’m past those awful days of morning sickness, my stomach churns from both the smell and sheer nerves at telling them what I’m planning to do. Disappointing them again.

I’ve never shaken the feeling that I’m the daughter who messed up. Pregnant before I graduated high school – my father never said anything, but I felt his disapproval, and worse, his disappointment. A lot can be communicated with a sigh or a silence.

When my mother was adjusting my veil right before my rushed wedding, and I was five months pregnant and definitely starting to show, she said sadly, ‘This wasn’t what I imagined for you.’ It hurt worse than anything else she could have said.

But Kev and I worked hard to be a family, to get by. When we started out, Kev at the container company on little more than a minimum wage and me cleaning part-time until I got too big, we managed. Only just, in a two-room apartment with stained ceilings and carpets, barely money for groceries, but still. We survived.

And then I had Emma a month early. She was in NICU for a week and after that I didn’t work any more. We struggled on, but we were happy. Happier, perhaps, than we are now.

‘What is it you’ve got to say, Heather?’ my mother asks. ‘You look awfully serious. You’re not sick, are you? It’s not cancer?’

‘No, it’s not cancer, Mom.’ That has always been my mom’s biggest fear, although I don’t know why since nobody in the family has died of cancer. My grandfather had a heart attack when he was sixty-five, and my grandmother had Alzheimer’s. Mom has MS, Dad high blood pressure. But for some reason cancer is the big fear she has, the bogeyman she’s always afraid is going to jump out of the closet.

‘Actually…’ I feel like I’m about to take a flying leap onto jagged rocks. Who hurls themselves out like that, bracing for the fall? But I know I have no choice. So I say the words. ‘I’m pregnant.’

The silence stretches on. My father is glancing back at the TV, drawn in by the news presenter babes on Fox News, with their shellacked hair and tight shift dresses. I’m not sure he’s heard me, but my mother obviously has. Her mouth drops open a little, and her eyes widen.

‘Oh, Heather…’ Her voice is full of sympathy and sorrow. Everybody knows this isn’t good news for us and even now, after everything, that stings.

‘It’s okay,’ I say quickly, because I need to get this part over with, knowing they won’t understand. Not enough, anyway. ‘As you probably know, we can’t afford another baby, not with Kevin…’ I stop, because I don’t want to make this just about Kevin. ‘With everything the way it is. So we’ve decided the best thing to do, for this baby and for us, is to give it – her – up for adoption.’

My dad jerks back from the TV. My mother’s mouth drops open fully. They both stare at me for a long, shocked moment, looking horrified, and then, as the news sinks in, they look sad. That, I discover, is even worse than disappointment. I look away.

‘Heather,’ my mom says again. My dad just shakes his head.

‘I know it sounds strange,’ I say steadily. ‘And… I don’t know… heartless, maybe, like we don’t care about this baby.’ I feel a lump forming in my throat but I push past it. ‘But it’s not like that. I know this baby is a part of me, of us, and I’ve given this a lot of thought. Kev and I aren’t making this decision lightly, I promise.’

‘I know you aren’t.’ My mom sniffs and then reaches for her cane. She relies on her wheelchair most of the time but she’ll walk when she can, and now she struggles up to standing while I watch her miserably. ‘I’m going to get us a drink. Who wants a drink?’ It’s as if she can’t bear to look at me.

‘Mom…’

She doesn’t answer me, just hobbles into the kitchen. My dad looks at me, and then at the TV. I have no idea what he’s thinking. He was a plumber before he retired, the kind of man who is happy working or kicking back and having a beer, and doesn’t ask for much else in life. We never doubted he loved us, but we never thought he loved us the way Mom did.

‘You sure about this, Heather?’ he asks gruffly, not looking at me.

‘Yes,’ I say, and I really am. There’s no going back, and it feels like a relief.

Mom comes back in, leaning heavily on her cane, looking older than when she went out. ‘I made a pitcher of Crystal Light,’ she says as she sinks heavily into her chair. ‘If you don’t mind getting it.’

‘Of course not.’ I fetch the plastic pitcher of double-strength peach iced tea and a couple of glasses. I pour us a glass each, even though I can’t stand the stuff.

‘If it’s a question of money…’ Mom begins when the silence has stretched to breaking point. My dad stiffens, looking tense. I know they don’t have a lot of money, or even enough for themselves. Dad lost most of his pension when the stock market went bust in 2008, and Mom’s never been able to work. What little they have left over Dad spends at Meadowlands. I can’t blame him, not really, not when so much of life is so hard.

‘Mom, it isn’t. Not just that, anyway. And you can’t afford to prop us up.’

‘Kevin wouldn’t want that, Janice,’ Dad says. ‘You know that.’

‘No, but a baby…’ My mom looks agonized. ‘Our own flesh and blood.’