I wish those in the United States a good Memorial Day. The usual phrase is "Happy Memorial Day," but that feels a little odd to me for a day of remembering and honoring those who gave their lives in war. When my father was alive, I'd call him to say I was thinking of his two lost Army buddies, probably the closest male friends (aside from family) he had in his life. Now, I imagine that much to his surprise (he was a lifelong atheist), he meets them every Memorial Day for a picnic and tells them about his long and rewarding life.
Which would make an amazing historical novel, though I don't know that I'll ever tackle it. For now, back to the latest book I did write.
A quick recap: unexpectedly pregnant and wholly unprepared to deal with that pregnancy, Toni Greene "donates" her unborn child, its adoptive parents to be chosen by the federal Bureau of Reproductive Safety. Now she has regrets, and comes to talk to her lawyer mother about whether there is anything she can do about them.
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Toni was too keyed up for cookies or cocoa. Mom did a double-take at her refusal. Then she got a twinkle in her eye, waved Toni to an armchair so comfy she would almost have to relax, and dug into the pantry for a bottle that proved to be sherry.
Toni had to laugh. “All right, but give me one of the small glasses!”
Mom chuckled and handed her a glass that would hold about four thimblefuls, pouring the sherry almost to its brim. Mom’s own glass was around twice the size, but she filled it only about halfway. She settled into the matching armchair, took a sip, rolled it around in her mouth, and swallowed it with a satisfied sigh before asking, “So what’s shaking the earth where you stand, this afternoon?”
Toni took a tiny sip of the sherry and put it down again. “This isn’t the answer to that question, but I thought you’d want to know that I went to see Andy.”
Mom did a subtle double-take and then beamed. “I’m so glad. The family hasn’t been the same with the Denim Twins hardly talking to each other.”
“Which was my fault.” Just another of her short-sighted, wrongheaded decisions.
Mom tilted her head and mock-frowned. “Hey, no beating up on my daughter! . . . So back to my question. What’s on your mind?”
Now that she was here, her idea seemed hopeless, pointless. She’d already been told as much. Mom looked at her and put aside her playful manner. “Honey, what is it? Just talk.” She smiled just a little. “Say whatever you practiced saying in the car, no matter how it sounds now that you’re here.”
Toni picked up her sherry and chugged it. “What if I wanted to get my baby back? Adopt it, or whatever else they’d call it?”
Mom sat back, nodding her head and body like a sage on a mountaintop. “I wondered whether that was it. Can you tell me how you came to the point of asking? What’s happened, or changed, since you made your original decision?”
Toni pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “Nothing has really happened, and nothing has really changed. Except me, I guess. I’ve changed. I keep dreaming about the baby. About still being pregnant, or about holding her — I have this feeling it’s a girl — after she’s born.” She laughed again, shakily this time. “I even dreamed about changing her diaper. And it was such a mess! It went everywhere. But when she was changed, I kissed her forehead.” She was crying now. “I kissed her. And then I woke up, and she was gone. Gone from inside me, gone from my life. And it hurt. It hurts.”
Mom sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’d hoped this wouldn’t happen. There’s no way to know, really, whether it will. It used to be worse, though, before the incubators. Some women would have those regrets after an abortion. You know how keen the loss is that you’re feeling. Imagine if it came with guilt, as well.”
Toni flinched. “But — it does. Not the guilt of having, having ended the baby. But the guilt of giving it up. Of giving up on it. Abandoning it to strangers.”
Mom gazed at her, searching her face. “Even loving strangers, presumably better prepared to care for a child? Not that I wouldn’t help, one way and another – and I imagine your father would too, once someone tells him what’s going on – but the Bureau doesn’t approve adoptive parents unless they’re in a significantly better position than you are. And those parents would give thanks every day for the gift you gave them.”
Toni gritted her teeth. “Now you’re making me feel guilty for feeling guilty! For having second thoughts. Thanks a bunch.” Though at least she’d stopped crying.
“I just want to know you’ve thought things through.” She didn’t add this time, but she might just as well have.
Toni slumped in her chair. “I don’t guess I have, not completely. But . . . I could manage. Somehow. I could get an actual job, something reliable. Even if it was a job I couldn’t do from home, or bring the baby to, I’d see her before and after work, every day. She’d still be my daughter.”
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