Only You
Page 22
Then I could tell Emme about it.
I glanced at Paisley, who was sleeping peacefully in the swing, picked up my phone and made the call. My mother didn’t answer, so I left a message asking her to call me back, which, of course, she did after Paisley woke up and was just getting started on her nightly crying jag.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, shifting the screaming baby to my left arm so I could hold the phone to my ear with the right.
“Nate? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Hello? Hello?”
I rolled my eyes and spoke louder. “Hello, Mom. It’s me. Can you hear me?”
“Sort of. Where on earth are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“Well, what’s all that noise? Is your television on? Can you turn it off? I’m having trouble hearing you.”
“It’s not my television. It’s a baby, and I can’t turn it off. Sorry, I wish I could.”
She was silent a moment. “Did you say a baby? What’s a baby doing at your apartment? Whose baby?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s my baby, Mom.”
More silence on my mother’s end. I imagined her taking the phone away from her ear to stare at it.
“I’m sorry, what?”
I spoke loud and clear. “I said, it’s my baby.”
“You have a baby?”
“Yes. She’s eight weeks old, and her name is Paisley.”
“Eight weeks old? I don’t understand. You’ve had a baby for eight weeks and you’re only telling me about it now? Oh my God. Oh my God, I have to sit down. I feel faint.”
Stay calm. “No, Mom. She’s eight weeks old, but I just found out about her two days ago.” I waited for a reply, but didn’t hear anything for a minute, and then there was the telltale crackle of a brown paper bag as she breathed in and out of it. “Mom? Are you okay?” More crackling. “Look, I know this is a shock. It was for me, too. I promise, I had no idea she even existed.”
The crackling paused. “How is that possible? You didn’t know you…got someone pregnant?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I don’t understand. Was it your girlfriend or something? Why wouldn’t she tell you?”
“It wasn’t my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Who on earth was it?”
“Just someone I know.”
“Well, what’s her name, for God’s sake?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel what?”
I winced. I really needed to find out her last name. “I don’t know.”
“Merciful Jesus, Nate! Is she a prostitute?” More crackling.
“No! Jesus, Mom. She was just a woman I knew, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”
“So where is this woman now?”
“I don’t know that, either. She left the baby with me and said she needed some time away.”
“So how do you know it’s even yours?”
Even though I knew the question was fair, and I’d had it too, it made me angry. “Because I do, all right? She’s mine, and I’m keeping her.”
She started up with the wheezing and the paper bag again, and I gave her a minute to calm down. My mother was the kind of person who could make a mountain out of a molehill, and I’d just put her at the foot of Everest.
“Mom? You there?” Paisley had accepted the pacifier and was finally quiet—for now, anyway—and the crackling noise had stopped.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Would you like to meet Paisley? I could drive up this week. I took some time off from work.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear, I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was nervous and timid, like I’d asked her if she’d like to meet the Queen of England instead of her granddaughter.
“Say yes. She’s really cute, and I’ll bring her in the early part of the day, so she’s not so fussy. Evenings are when she’s at her worst.”
“You were, too,” she said, surprising me.
“I was?” We didn’t talk about the past in my family.
“Yes. You’d cry and cry, no matter what Daddy and I did to soothe you. And we tried everything—cereal in your bottle, gripe water, whiskey on your gums.”
“Whiskey? You tried to get me drunk so I’d pass out and stop crying?” I joked.
She laughed, a thing so rare I’d nearly forgotten what it sounded like. It made my throat tighten a little. “It was only a drop, I promise,” she said. “But that’s how things were back then.”
“No wonder I developed a taste for a good bottle of rye.” I looked down at Paisley and tried to imagine a parent thinking it was okay—and a great idea!—to rub booze on her gums. “But I think I’ll skip the whiskey for now. She seems to like the pacifier, and she loves to be rocked to sleep.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve held a baby,” she said quietly. “I always thought I’d have grandchildren, but things turned out so differently than I’d planned.”
“I know, Mom. Believe me. I know.”
By the time we hung up, there was a tentative plan in place for me to drive up to Grand Rapids with Paisley next Saturday morning, depending on how my mother was feeling. I would give her a call that morning, and if she was up for a visit, we’d go.
I was tempted to call Emme and let her know how the conversation with my mother had gone, but she was probably eating dinner by now. I didn’t want to bother her. But part of me couldn’t stop thinking about inviting her over to spend the evening hanging out with me, eating spaghetti and meatballs, maybe watching a movie after we got Paisley to bed. It was torture. After a while, I swore the aroma from the sauce was drifting from her kitchen across the hall into my apartment. Paisley was fussy and wouldn’t stop. I was hungry and lonely and wondering what the fuck had happened to my charmed life when there was a knock on the door.
As I walked over to answer it, I hoped it was her and prayed that it wasn’t. I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to send her away.
When I opened the door, there she stood, looking like an angel and holding two grocery bags in her hands. “Hi,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet, but I ended up making a lot of food and thought you might want some.”
“I could kiss you.” I meant it as a joke, but also, I was serious.
She grinned and wiggled a finger at me. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s against the rules. We’re friends, remember?” But there was a glint of mischief in her eye that hadn’t been there last night. It thrilled and terrified me at the same time.
“Come on in,” I said. “I haven’t eaten. I’m starving, but Paisley here doesn’t care.”
“Paisley, what’s wrong?” Emme stopped to kiss my daughter on her forehead. “Mmm, you smell nice. And you look so cute with your hair done. What is there to cry about?”
I followed Emme over to the kitchen, where she set the bags on the island and turned to me. “Do you want me to make you a plate now or put everything in the fridge for later?”
“Have you eaten already?” I asked, bouncing Paisley in my arms.
“No, but I don’t have to eat here. I can hold her while you eat and then go home for my dinner.”
“No, don’t do that. Stay. Eat with me. She’s been up for a while—maybe we can get her down and have a quiet dinner. Watch a movie or something.” It’s not really breaking the promise, I reasoned. She came here, I didn’t call her.
“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” She started taking things out of the bags—plastic containers full of pasta and sauce and meatballs and salad. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks,” I said, my mouth watering at the sight of a bag of frozen garlic bread. “But I think that’s just how I look now. I’m fine.”
She laughed and turned on the oven to preheat. “Sorry this is frozen. I’m not much of a baker. More of a cook.”
“I’m in no position to complain, and it all looks amazing to me. My stomach has been growling all day.”
I glanced at Paisley, who was sleeping peacefully in the swing, picked up my phone and made the call. My mother didn’t answer, so I left a message asking her to call me back, which, of course, she did after Paisley woke up and was just getting started on her nightly crying jag.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, shifting the screaming baby to my left arm so I could hold the phone to my ear with the right.
“Nate? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Hello? Hello?”
I rolled my eyes and spoke louder. “Hello, Mom. It’s me. Can you hear me?”
“Sort of. Where on earth are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“Well, what’s all that noise? Is your television on? Can you turn it off? I’m having trouble hearing you.”
“It’s not my television. It’s a baby, and I can’t turn it off. Sorry, I wish I could.”
She was silent a moment. “Did you say a baby? What’s a baby doing at your apartment? Whose baby?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s my baby, Mom.”
More silence on my mother’s end. I imagined her taking the phone away from her ear to stare at it.
“I’m sorry, what?”
I spoke loud and clear. “I said, it’s my baby.”
“You have a baby?”
“Yes. She’s eight weeks old, and her name is Paisley.”
“Eight weeks old? I don’t understand. You’ve had a baby for eight weeks and you’re only telling me about it now? Oh my God. Oh my God, I have to sit down. I feel faint.”
Stay calm. “No, Mom. She’s eight weeks old, but I just found out about her two days ago.” I waited for a reply, but didn’t hear anything for a minute, and then there was the telltale crackle of a brown paper bag as she breathed in and out of it. “Mom? Are you okay?” More crackling. “Look, I know this is a shock. It was for me, too. I promise, I had no idea she even existed.”
The crackling paused. “How is that possible? You didn’t know you…got someone pregnant?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I don’t understand. Was it your girlfriend or something? Why wouldn’t she tell you?”
“It wasn’t my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Who on earth was it?”
“Just someone I know.”
“Well, what’s her name, for God’s sake?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel what?”
I winced. I really needed to find out her last name. “I don’t know.”
“Merciful Jesus, Nate! Is she a prostitute?” More crackling.
“No! Jesus, Mom. She was just a woman I knew, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”
“So where is this woman now?”
“I don’t know that, either. She left the baby with me and said she needed some time away.”
“So how do you know it’s even yours?”
Even though I knew the question was fair, and I’d had it too, it made me angry. “Because I do, all right? She’s mine, and I’m keeping her.”
She started up with the wheezing and the paper bag again, and I gave her a minute to calm down. My mother was the kind of person who could make a mountain out of a molehill, and I’d just put her at the foot of Everest.
“Mom? You there?” Paisley had accepted the pacifier and was finally quiet—for now, anyway—and the crackling noise had stopped.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Would you like to meet Paisley? I could drive up this week. I took some time off from work.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear, I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was nervous and timid, like I’d asked her if she’d like to meet the Queen of England instead of her granddaughter.
“Say yes. She’s really cute, and I’ll bring her in the early part of the day, so she’s not so fussy. Evenings are when she’s at her worst.”
“You were, too,” she said, surprising me.
“I was?” We didn’t talk about the past in my family.
“Yes. You’d cry and cry, no matter what Daddy and I did to soothe you. And we tried everything—cereal in your bottle, gripe water, whiskey on your gums.”
“Whiskey? You tried to get me drunk so I’d pass out and stop crying?” I joked.
She laughed, a thing so rare I’d nearly forgotten what it sounded like. It made my throat tighten a little. “It was only a drop, I promise,” she said. “But that’s how things were back then.”
“No wonder I developed a taste for a good bottle of rye.” I looked down at Paisley and tried to imagine a parent thinking it was okay—and a great idea!—to rub booze on her gums. “But I think I’ll skip the whiskey for now. She seems to like the pacifier, and she loves to be rocked to sleep.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve held a baby,” she said quietly. “I always thought I’d have grandchildren, but things turned out so differently than I’d planned.”
“I know, Mom. Believe me. I know.”
By the time we hung up, there was a tentative plan in place for me to drive up to Grand Rapids with Paisley next Saturday morning, depending on how my mother was feeling. I would give her a call that morning, and if she was up for a visit, we’d go.
I was tempted to call Emme and let her know how the conversation with my mother had gone, but she was probably eating dinner by now. I didn’t want to bother her. But part of me couldn’t stop thinking about inviting her over to spend the evening hanging out with me, eating spaghetti and meatballs, maybe watching a movie after we got Paisley to bed. It was torture. After a while, I swore the aroma from the sauce was drifting from her kitchen across the hall into my apartment. Paisley was fussy and wouldn’t stop. I was hungry and lonely and wondering what the fuck had happened to my charmed life when there was a knock on the door.
As I walked over to answer it, I hoped it was her and prayed that it wasn’t. I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to send her away.
When I opened the door, there she stood, looking like an angel and holding two grocery bags in her hands. “Hi,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet, but I ended up making a lot of food and thought you might want some.”
“I could kiss you.” I meant it as a joke, but also, I was serious.
She grinned and wiggled a finger at me. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s against the rules. We’re friends, remember?” But there was a glint of mischief in her eye that hadn’t been there last night. It thrilled and terrified me at the same time.
“Come on in,” I said. “I haven’t eaten. I’m starving, but Paisley here doesn’t care.”
“Paisley, what’s wrong?” Emme stopped to kiss my daughter on her forehead. “Mmm, you smell nice. And you look so cute with your hair done. What is there to cry about?”
I followed Emme over to the kitchen, where she set the bags on the island and turned to me. “Do you want me to make you a plate now or put everything in the fridge for later?”
“Have you eaten already?” I asked, bouncing Paisley in my arms.
“No, but I don’t have to eat here. I can hold her while you eat and then go home for my dinner.”
“No, don’t do that. Stay. Eat with me. She’s been up for a while—maybe we can get her down and have a quiet dinner. Watch a movie or something.” It’s not really breaking the promise, I reasoned. She came here, I didn’t call her.
“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” She started taking things out of the bags—plastic containers full of pasta and sauce and meatballs and salad. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks,” I said, my mouth watering at the sight of a bag of frozen garlic bread. “But I think that’s just how I look now. I’m fine.”
She laughed and turned on the oven to preheat. “Sorry this is frozen. I’m not much of a baker. More of a cook.”
“I’m in no position to complain, and it all looks amazing to me. My stomach has been growling all day.”
