A Mother's Goodbye

‘Not that,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m – we’re – giving it up for adoption.’ I don’t like saying it, but speaking that way makes everything easier. It. A thing, a problem. And I’m solving it.

Stacy is silent, and I can feel her shocked disapproval crackling like a force field around her. She’s so quick to judge, and she’s my sister. What are other people going to say? Think?

‘Are you… are you sure that’s what you want to do?’

‘It’s not like we have a lot of choice, Stacy.’

‘But surely, if it’s just money…?’

It’s never just money. ‘It’s everything,’ I say. ‘It’s Kevin’s back, and me needing to work, and the size of our house.’ My words start to come faster and faster. ‘It’s Amy’s shoe and a stupid chicken and life feeling like an avalanche, things always toppling on top of us so we never have the chance to get out from under it.’ I blink rapidly. ‘I wish to God I could keep this baby somehow, that I could make it all work, but I’ve been trying and trying and nothing’s ever enough. And I know in my heart this is what I need to do, even if it tears me apart. Even if everyone I know thinks I’m a terrible person for giving away my baby.’

‘Heather—’

‘People will judge. You know that.’

She nods soberly, not pretending otherwise.

‘I don’t care,’ I say with a sniff. The hamburger is burning and I prod it again, poking the blackened bits. ‘This baby is going to have a good life, and my girls are going to have good lives. Isn’t that what matters, in the end?’

Stacy is silent, arms folded, shifting from foot to foot, clearly itching to tell me what to do, and what not to do. Typical older sister, she wants to boss me around. She marched me to school when we were little; she gave me her maternity clothes when I got pregnant with Amy. She has been my maid of honor, my best friend, and sometimes my enemy. She feels like all three right now.

‘Maybe,’ Stacy says at last, ‘but what are you going to tell people, Heather? Mom and Dad? Your kids?’

I swallow and stare at the browning meat. ‘The truth. That we can’t afford to give this baby the life it deserves.’ I turn around and fold my arms so we are having a staring standoff. ‘And someone else can. Someone who can’t have a baby and wants one very much.’ I believed Grace when she said that she did. I saw the intensity in her face, the sincerity.

Stacy blows out a breath, shaking her head. ‘So you just give the kid away.’

I blink, absorbing her harshness.

‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘but that’s how people are going to see it. You’d be better off telling people you’re being someone’s surrogate or something.’

‘Which I would do for money,’ I point out, and Stacy shrugs.

‘It’s different, though. And if you don’t make up some story like that, you’re right, people around here are going to judge you. They’re going to think you’re heartless, giving away your own baby.’

‘Or maybe just desperate.’

‘That, too.’ Stacy softens. ‘Heather, I know things have been tough but there’s got to be some way…’

‘Does there?’ The bitterness spills through, splashing over both of us. ‘I’ve stopped believing that.’ I pause, glancing at Kevin in the other room but he’s watching football. The girls are arguing over the Paw Patrol figures; even Emma wants them now. Typical. ‘Kev lost his workman’s comp a couple of weeks ago,’ I say quietly. ‘He had his hearing and they said he’s had maximum medical improvement.’

Stacy absorbs this for a moment. ‘So are they offering him a job?’

‘They don’t have anything for him. He’s been cleared for light duty, but they say there isn’t anything like that. He’s going on to permanent partial disability.’ Which is all of eighty-five dollars a week. ‘He’s looking for a job,’ I add, because I know what Stacy is thinking. Mike thinks it too, which is why we don’t see them all that much. They never say it, not exactly, but it’s there, pulsing between us, an accusation, a judgment. Kev is just lazy. He needs to get off his ass and find a job he can do with a bad back.

I know they’re thinking it because sometimes, when I let myself, I think it too. I’m trying not to think it now. ‘But it’s hard,’ I insist, before Stacy can say something I don’t want to hear. ‘There’s not much out there for someone like him.’

‘And if he gets a job? You guys could afford…’

‘No, we couldn’t,’ I cut across her. ‘And he doesn’t have a job yet.’ I don’t want to tell her about the eviction notice, the EBT card, how close we still are to losing everything. ‘Trust me on this, okay? I think I know my life better than you do.’

Stacy blows out a breath, looking exasperated. ‘You could use birth control, you know.’

I almost laugh. ‘Yeah, sure. A little late, but thanks for the tip.’

‘I’m sorry, Heather, it’s just…’ She stops, and I turn to face her, something hardening inside me.

‘It’s just what?’