Another Piece of My Heart (23 page)

It’s too late. Adeline is already up and holding her hand out, telling me it’s nice to meet me and asking how I’m feeling.

“Okay,” I mumble, feeling really, really bad. You can just tell everything about this woman is nice, and neat, and pretty, and good. And I have this flash forward about both of them sitting anxiously outside my hospital room, with a freshly painted nursery at home, and a closet filled with designer baby clothes, and a nurse coming out and telling them that they’re not getting this baby after all, and I can practically see them crumple in pain.

Oh, God. Now I feel so horrible, I can’t even stand to look at them.

I stare at the table as everyone introduces themselves, and then we’re all sitting down, and where do we go from here?

*   *   *

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Adeline reaches across the table, extending a hand, which I have no choice but to take, and I shake it limply before allowing my hand to be dropped. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” I mumble, not caring whether or not Adeline has to struggle to make conversation. I look at her quickly, and she’s looking at me eagerly with a bright smile, willing us to have some kind of connection.

“So you’re still in high school?” Adeline asks, and although she’s making herself sound normal, I can hear that her voice is a bit shaky. I look her in the eye for the first time as I nod, and I can see she is desperate for me to like her, desperate for me to choose her. It’s what my eyes used to look like before I decided to hell with everyone, that it was easier for me just to hate them first.

“You must be a senior,” her husband says.

“No. I was a year ahead. I just graduated.”

“A year ahead! Wow!” Adeline laughs, and she and her husband exchange a relieved look. “You must be clever.”

I shrug. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to like them. I don’t want to feel anything, and right now I feel horrible.

“So…” Greg takes over. “Which school are you off to?”

“Emily’s going to take a year off,” my dad interjects. Which is fine because I really can’t see the point of saying anything. “Because she’s so young, we decided she ought to see a bit of the world first.”

“Great idea!” Adeline practically jumps with excitement, and I can see, in that moment, she’d probably be a great mom. Not like my mom, angry and drunk, and never interested in either of us. She’ll be the kind of mom who encourages her daughter with everything, tells her she’s brilliant, and beautiful, and loved.

She’s the kind of mom I always wish I’d had.

The kind of mom I know I’m going to be.

“I had a year off,” she says, “before Juilliard. I went all over Europe on a Eurail pass. I can’t even begin to tell you some of the adventures we had. I slept on more park benches than I could count.”

“Really?” I look up. “You don’t look like the sort of person who would sleep on a park bench.”

“Oh you’d be surprised. I may play the violin, but I’m also incredible at woodwork.”

“She’s modest, too,” Greg says dryly. And I can’t help it, I smile. Just a bit.

“Oh shut up,” she jokes, giving him an affectionate rub on the arm, and you can just tell they are totally in love. Like my dad and Andi used to be. “He’s just jealous. I built all the bookshelves in our house.”

“I am a little jealous,” Greg admits. “She’s incredibly precise. I try to do stuff, and everything winds up crooked.”

“Yeah, because he doesn’t believe in levels. He just eyeballs everything, then wonders why one side is six inches lower than the other. I’m all about the level. In fact”—she reaches down to her purse—“I’m totally embarrassed but look!” She draws out a key chain with a look of delight, and triumphantly holds it up for all to see—a tiny level on her key chain.

“That’s funny,” my dad says. “Andi has a high-heeled pump on her key chain. What do you suppose that says about her?”

“I was going to tell you how much I love those ballet flats!” Adeline bursts out excitedly. “I knew you were a shoe lover, too! A woman after my own heart! Emily?” She turns to me. “Your mom and I are clearly cut from the same cloth.”

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t let these people think they are getting my baby. I feel so bad, but what’s that expression? Being cruel to be kind? I have to end this now.

“She’s not my mom,” I say, buying time while I desperately think about how to do this without letting my dad know I’m keeping the baby.

“Oh.” Adeline looks confused. “I’m sorry.” She looks from Andi to my dad, then to the adoption counselor, who looks down at her papers, shuffling them in way that registers her own unease. “I … thought we were meeting Emily and her parents.”

“Yes, I did think…” Mary says quickly, still shuffling, as if she will find the answer in the act of shuffling.

“I’m her stepmom,” Andi says, sounding pretty tired, and then I have it, I know what I’m going to say, and even though it’s going to be awful, I have to do it. Now.

“Yeah. I know we look like the perfect middle-class family.” My voice comes out loud, and fast. It’s breathy, like I’m about to lose my temper, except this time it’s not; it’s because I’m nervous and because I feel so bad.

“But if you’re interested in adopting this baby, you should know the truth.” I see them exchange an alarmed look, and I just steamroll on. “So my mom’s an alcoholic who doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I’m pretty sure drinking runs in the family. As you can see, I’m not exactly the popular girl at school. In fact, I’m hated by pretty much everyone. I have no idea who the father of the baby is, but it’s pretty likely that he also is a druggie, or at least drinks big-time. And by the way, I’ve also been drinking throughout this pregnancy, and taking…” Oops. I stop then. I don’t want to get arrested here. “Whatever. The doctor already said the baby probably has fetal alcohol syndrome, so honestly, you seem like really nice people, but this is a kid who is going to come with a whole lot of problems.” I trail off. “So, you might want to rethink,” I say lamely, standing up and stepping away from the table.

Adeline looks like she’s about to cry, and her husband just looks angry. I want to apologize. I want to grab them and explain, whisper to her why I just said it, but I can’t.

I look at my dad, who looks as if he’s shell-shocked.

“Can we just go?” I say, and, without waiting for an answer, I turn and march out the door.

Twenty-six

The adoption counselor follows them out. Emily marches ahead of them, straight to the car, but Mary stops Andi and Ethan before they have a chance to get there.

“I know this is hard for her,” she says, shooting a sympathetic look at Emily, now hunched in the backseat. “She’s so young, and it must be overwhelming.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Ethan says.

“But … well … the things she said about drinking. And the fetal alcohol syndrome. Is that true?”

“There were no signs,” Ethan explains wearily. “They looked for all the signs, and usually there are markers, and there weren’t any. It isn’t a given.”

“I just wish you’d told us.” Mary sighs. “We’re very used to dealing with this in adoption cases, but we like to prepare the couples beforehand. You need to be honest with us. About everything. I’m also not happy that I didn’t know Emily’s mother wouldn’t be present.”

“Right now I’d say no one could be less happy than us,” Andi says. “I’m sorry you didn’t have the whole story, but it wasn’t intentional, I can assure you. We didn’t tell you because there was nothing to tell—everything about this baby is normal. I’m sorry for those people. I feel terrible. I need to go and say good-bye to them. Apologize. They were so nice.”

“It’s better if you don’t,” Mary says. “They’re upset. It’s best to just leave it. Let me talk to them, and we’ll all check in later today. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Ethan says, ushering Andi away. “It sounds … fine.”

*   *   *

Emily sits in the back of the car, staring out the window, her mouth tightly drawn. Andi fixes her gaze straight ahead, wishing she were somewhere else. She is so tired right now, tired of the unpredictability. How much longer can this go on?

“Can we talk about this?” Ethan starts, looking at Emily in the rearview mirror.

“No,” Emily bursts out. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. They weren’t right. That’s all.”

“But did you have to be so rude?” Andi can’t help herself. “Did you have to say the things you said? Now you’ve jeopardized our entire relationship with the agency. Who knows if they’ll even continue working with us.”

“Jesus. I wasn’t rude,” Emily says. “I was just telling the truth.”

“You were rude,” Ethan says.

“Will you just leave me alone?” Emily starts to shout from the backseat. “You have no idea what I’m going through and”—she looks at Andi—“all you can think about is that I’ve been rude? What? I’ve embarrassed you? You’re ashamed of me? Is that really all you care about?”

*   *   *

“Enough!” Ethan’s voice is loud, louder than Emily’s, shocking her into silence and Andi into a glimmer of respect.

“Are you kidding me?” Emily is outraged. “You never stick up for me, you only ever stick up for Andi. You don’t care about me. You haven’t cared about me since she came into our lives.”

Andi, the pain and hurt of the past few weeks finally welling up and bursting out of her, turns around to look at Emily face-to-face, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You ungrateful, rude, spoiled little…” She wants to say
bitch,
but catches herself.

“Oh, my God!” Emily says again, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were about to call me a bitch? Hear that, Dad? Niiice. Really nice. My own stepmother calling me a bitch. Wow. Just what I need right now, thanks for all your suppor—”

“No!” Andi says loudly, silencing everyone. She has had enough. “I’m done. I’m just done. Stop the car.”

Ethan pulls over to the side of the road, scared. When Emily starts again, he roars at her to “shut the hell up,” which he has never, ever done before.

She does.

Andi gets out the car, feeling the tears come, and she starts walking down the street, needing to get away. Just get away. A hand on her arm stops her, and she turns to see Ethan, as white as a sheet, holding her arm.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m done,” she whispers. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take it. I love you, Ethan, but I can’t stay in this. I can’t do this anymore. I’m too hurt, and I don’t think I can get over it.”

Ethan blanches, stepping back in shock. “What? You’re … What do you mean? You’re … leaving me?”

“I…” she doesn’t want to say yes. She hadn’t planned this, had only thought about it as an abstract idea, but today’s tantrum has just pushed her over the edge. It’s too much. For too long. And today, she cracked.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“Andi, get back in the car. Let’s go home. We need to talk about this.”

“I can’t, Ethan. I can’t get back in the car. I can’t be around … this. I’m sorry, but … no.”

“Please don’t do this, Andi,” Ethan begs. “Please. At least let’s talk about this. Let me take Emily home and I’ll come back and we can talk.”

“I … don’t know,” Andi says. “I’m just so tired of this. Of talking about it. And arguing about it. And you saying things like, ‘The two of you have to work it out between you,’ as if I am somehow culpable, I am somehow to blame. I couldn’t be a better stepmother.” Andi looks up at him searchingly. “Honestly, I don’t know how I could be any better. I don’t react to her tantrums, I just walk away. I try and love her, and just when I think I’m getting through, when I think things are different, she goes and ruins it. I’m tired of you taking her side, of thinking that I, too, must be doing something wrong. I’m just tired.” She takes a deep breath. “I need some space.”

“It’s
not
you,” Ethan says quietly. “I haven’t wanted to see that, but now I do. I see how you’ve been with Emily since the pregnancy. I see how you’ve looked after her, and how you’ve stepped up when her own mother abandoned her. And I see how Emily twists things, and manipulates, and … lies.”

Andi blinks. She has been telling Ethan for years that Emily twists things, and manipulates, and lies, and he has always dismissed Andi, telling her it couldn’t possibly be true, refusing to believe it about his darling daughter.

Now, finally, here he is, saying the impossible.

“It’s not you,” he says sadly, swallowing the lump that has risen in his throat. “It’s her. I never wanted to believe it. I never wanted to think of my daughter as … I don’t know … broken somehow, or in need of fixing. I know that her behavior stems from insecurity, from her wanting to be loved, but I also know it’s about her, and nothing to do with you, and I know that it’s not acceptable. Not anymore.”

Andi blinks again, unsure of what to say. These are all the things she has been longing to hear: acknowledgment, admission, a desire to seek outside intervention. But is it too late?

Because on top of everything, on top of having to deal with Emily, is having to deal with her resentment at Ethan for not letting her have the only thing in the world she has ever wanted.

Is it too late?

Twenty-seven

Something has changed with my dad and Andi, and I don’t like it.

Since last week, since we met the couple who wanted to adopt the Bean, and no, after meeting me they no longer wanted to adopt the Bean, so mission accomplished, ha! But since then, and me losing it a bit in the car, they’ve both been weird with me.

And I did feel bad about losing it. I think I was just under so much pressure, and so scared about this adoption thing—I thought maybe somehow they’d find a way to go through with it—and it made me just freak out in the car. I didn’t mean to say anything bad about Andi, I didn’t mean to go after her in the way that I did, I really didn’t, but once I got started I just lost control.

I said I was sorry to Andi, later. I went and apologized, and usually if that happens she gives me a hug and says everything’s okay, but this time she didn’t. She just stared at me without saying anything until I kind of awkwardly backed out the room.