Because I Love You (22 page)

I knocked on Mom’s bedroom door a couple hours after dinner.
She’d
needed a few hours to grade papers and relax after her first day working a second job, and she’d barely made it through dinner—and barely ate her food—without dozing off.

A soft “come in” rang through from inside the room. Pushing the door open, I found Mom on her bed, propped by pillows with a book stuck under her nose. Quickly, she shoved what looked like a pill bottle under the comforter. I narrowed my gaze and nearly accused her on the spot of continuing to hide something from me, but then Mom said something I couldn’t discern, and I remembered why I was there.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

Mom dropped her novel, squinted at me, then nodded and laid the book next to her on the bed. Where Dad used to sleep. “Everything okay?”

I sat by her feet and scratched at my wrist. “Yeah. I talked with Neil about everything.”

“What did he say?”

“That we’d be okay.”

“Well, he would know. Do you believe him?”

I nodded, looking up at her. She knew there was more I wanted to say; I could see it in her eyes. I shot off a quick prayer this wouldn’t hurt her. “Also . . . we found my birth mom.”

She didn’t even flinch. “That’s great, honey. Are you going to write to her?”

My heartbeat raced. Here came the big request. I took a deep breath and spoke slowly, “I was kind of hoping you’d maybe go with me to meet her?”

I stiffened, waiting for Mom’s piercing cry of betrayal, but she just smiled. A barely-there one, but a smile nonetheless. I pressed my lips together to keep my mouth from gaping.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t ask,” she said.

I beamed, and, soon, Mom’s smile matched mine. Then my face fell. What would she say when I told her
where
we had to meet Jodi? I played with them hem of my shirt. “There’s a little problem, though. We sort of have to go visit her at the jail.”

Mom sighed, and again I braced for impact.
Please, don’t say no.
I held my breath, each second that passed feeling like an hour.

“Then, I guess that’s where we need to go,” Mom said.

My heart leapt into my throat. I threw my arms around her, despite how frustrated I was with her secrecy. “Thank you.”

She patted my back. “I want you to know your birth parents, sweetie. If this is what it takes, then so be it.”

I squeezed her. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.”

After a quick smile, I wandered back to my room, anxious for the day I’d meet my birth mother.

Luckily, the rest of November went fast. We checked the mail every day for any sign of the prison’s response, but it wasn’t until the Monday before Thanksgiving that it came—my application had been approved, and Jodi had agreed to meet with me. We scheduled our trip to the prison for December 2. It was a medium-security prison that housed only women. Pulling into the parking lot, I was shocked at the size of the place. It was like a small community college, and if it hadn’t been for the barbed wire fence around the outdoor recreation area, I’d never have been able to tell it was a prison. The security was what I expected, though, and after Mom and I were patted down, we entered the waiting room and gave our names. The place smelled old and musty, and a light buzzed in the ceiling.

I sat in one of the green, plastic—and very uncomfortable—chairs. My legs bounced as I waited for my name to be called. Would Jodi cry tears of joy when she saw me? Would she tell me to come see her again? Butterflies threw a dance party in my gut.

At 10:15, a guard entered and shouted, “Visitors for Jodi Greer.”

Mom and I followed the man down a long, brightly-lit, white hall and into a visitation room. Prison guards stood at perfect intervals along the walls, and a few inmates, dressed in dark green jumpsuits, sat at small tables. Almost all of them had tattoos on their forearms, and I was shocked by the difference in ages. One appeared in her twenties; the other had to be at least sixty. Every one of them, though, looked like they itched to destroy the universe.

The guard led us to a table and instructed us to sit. My heart sprinted, and I wiped my clammy palms on the legs of my jeans. This was it. I was going to meet my birth mom. If I didn’t pass out first.

A woman was led into the room. Instantly, I knew it was her. Jodi’s light-blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and her face was so like mine—small nose and lips, high cheekbones. It was as if I’d jumped ahead in a time machine and saw my thirty-four-year-old self.

I gripped Mom’s hand under the table.

Jodi sat across from us and eyeballed me, Mom, then me again. “When the prison told me I had a young girl who wanted to visit, I figured it’d be my niece. Do I know you?”

Her voice sounded like mine, except gruff after years of—what I guessed was—smoking. Small lines ran beneath her blue eyes, and a few grays colored her hairline. Up close, Jodi looked older than thirty-four.

But I hadn’t missed what she said: I had a cousin. The list of questions I wanted to ask was forever growing.

“I’m Susan Hamilton, and this is Andie. We were hoping you were the one who placed her for adoption sixteen years ago?” Mom asked.

Jodi narrowed her gaze, then a tentative smile built on her face, and her eyes turned glassy. “Oh, I see it now. I was wondering if you’d ever come find me.”

I smiled then tried to speak, but when my mouth opened, nothing came out. Mom caught my gaze and spoke for me when she realized I needed help, “Andie wondered if you could tell her a little bit about yourself.”

Jodi looked me up and down before she spoke. “Well, I’m not really sure what you want to know, but I had you when I was eighteen. Your dad was a summer fling who ended up goin’ overseas for college. The guy was a tool.”

Sounded like Carter and me. I bit my lip.

“I was never much good at the school thing,” she continued, “but I tried. Liked books, though. Read a lot. I don’t know. You got any questions?”

Too many. But we only had fifteen minutes—the prison made people visit a few instances before they allowed any real time—and I’d spent I don’t know how long staring at her like a crazed teenager meeting a celebrity. Mom squeezed my hand, and, again, I tried to talk. But my jaw felt wired shut.

“Ten minutes,” the guard near our table said.

Had five minutes really gone by already?
Come on, Andie.
Taking a deep breath, I spit out the first thing that came to mind, “Why did you give me up?”

Jodi’s eyebrows squished together. “Well, I didn’t want to, if that’s what you mean. But I had to.”

“But why?” My voice shook.

“‘Cause I knew you’d be better off with someone else. Like your mom, here. Seems like you two get along.”

Nodding, I bit my tongue, hard, to keep the tears from falling. I used to have the ability to keep them in my head. Where the heck had it gone?

“Then you get it,” Jodi said. “I couldn’t take care of you. I always wondered where you got off to, but I never regretted my decision.” She paused, tapping her finger on the table. “I ain’t done much good in my life, but I did good by you. Knowing I gave you a chance. And seeing you now proves I was right. You’re beautiful. And it seems your mom did all right raising you.”

She has
, I wanted to say, but a lump the size of a bowling ball was stuck in my throat. I reached across the table, desperate to gain some connection with my birth mother other than words and teary glances. A guard stepped closer but stopped when I held my palm up. Jodi smiled and put her hand in mine. Grinning through watery eyes, I squeezed.

“It looks like you’re gonna have one of your own,” Jodi said, dropping her gaze to my small stomach then back to me. When my face scrunched—I wasn’t
that
far along—she chuckled. “Honey, when you been pregnant before, it doesn’t take much to see it in others. You planning to keep it?”

I nodded. “I think I’ll be able to handle it. I mean, I don’t know why I wouldn’t be.”

Jodi squeezed my hand. “Do whatever you think is right. Your gut won’t lie. Mine sure didn’t, and look how you turned out.”

I smiled.

After a few more questions, like did I have any siblings—no—and where did my cousins live—just over the border into New Mexico—the guard announced our fifteen minutes were up. I fought the urge to cling to Jodi’s hand as she stood. I hadn’t spent nearly enough time with her.

“You write me. Let me know how you’re doing, ‘kay?”

I nodded, my mouth drying, and she backed out of the room with a wave. When the door from the visitation area to the cellblock closed, I covered my mouth, my chest hitching. Mom put her arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into her. I’d been so afraid that Jodi would have considered me a burden, that she would’ve hate me for ruining her life, like I originally loathed my baby for messing up mine. But that was so far from the reason she’d placed me for adoption.

“She
had
loved me, Mom,” I said, my voice shaking.

“I know, sweetheart. I could’ve told you that. The fact that she put you first says it all.”

I hugged her as a fugitive tear fell from my eye.

“You ready to do some shopping?” Mom asked.

Sitting up, I wiped my cheek and smiled.

chapter twenty-two

“All right. Well, you’re eighteen weeks now. How are you feeling?” Dr. Brandt asked at my obstetrician appointment on Thursday.

Like last time, Mom sat in the waiting room. Why I was still super uncomfortable having her present for these conversations, I didn’t know. But she’d pretty much be on her phone the whole time anyway—she’d been talking with a lot of people lately—so I tried not to feel too guilty about visiting the doctor on my own.

“Good,” I replied.

“Has the morning sickness eased?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry all the time, though.”

“That’s good. Just make sure you’re drinking a lot of fluids and eating healthy foods.” She looked at her chart. “Your vitals are great, your blood work is clean, and you’re gaining weight. So, let’s see how the baby’s doing. Go ahead and lie back.”

I followed her instructions and jumped when she squirted a big glob of cold, sticky liquid on my expanding belly. Dr. Brandt pulled the ultrasound machine closer and rolled the probe-thing back and forth across my lower abdomen. At first, I was annoyed she’d pointed the machine away from me, but, within seconds, I heard the heartbeat and didn’t care. I closed my eyes and let the rhythm take me to another place.

“Looking good, Andie. Baby looks healthy.” She continued to hit buttons on the machine and move the probe around my stomach. “Do you want to know what you’re having?”

My eyes snapped open. I turned my head to look at her. “You can tell?”

She nodded. “It’s up to you, though. Some women don’t want to know until it’s born; others do. Whatever you want.”

I gripped the bottom of my shirt. Did I want to know? I’d bought just the essentials with Mom at the thrift store, since we weren’t sure what I was having. It might be kind of fun to look through baby catalogs with Jill though, jotting down items that I wanted to save up to buy instead of watching
Star Trek
.

“I want to know,” I said before I could change my mind.

Smiling, Dr. Brandt turned the machine so I could see the screen. Inside a grayish shape that reminded me of a flattened coffee filter was a black blob. And inside that was the fetus. I touched my throat. That little thing, with a head and torso and arms and legs, was inside me. Was my
baby
.

“You’re having a boy,” Dr. Brandt said.

I’d told myself I wasn’t going to shed any tears today, but they came anyway. A boy. As if by some magic spell, my love for him grew.

Dr. Brandt cleaned off my belly and told me to dress while she printed a picture. When I stepped into the hall, she placed the first photo of my son in my hands. In the waiting room, Mom jumped up, worried by the tears on my cheeks, but as soon as I handed her the photograph and told her the news, her face mirrored mine. Arms around each other, we walked to the car. Again, we stopped for ice cream on the way home, and at Sprinkles Ice Cream Parlor, I picked out a name—Ethan.

Waiting for Neil to come over after school the next day was agonizing. Jill had texted me to let me know her mother needed her help again at the store that evening. Which meant there’d be no rushing my visit with my boyfriend so I could get to the girls’ weekend.
And
his uncle had given Neil the day off work in exchange for Black Friday. I filled the day with as much studying and homework as I could to keep busy. The faster I finished junior year, the better; the baby was due in April—barring any complications, of course. But about every hour, I pulled out the picture of Ethan, just to look at him. Each time, I cried like someone turned the garden hose on in my head. Somehow, I needed to figure out how to turn off the crazy emotion switch. My nose was sore from blowing it again and again, and my eyes looked like they’d been tattooed with Christmas-red ink.

When the doorbell rang at three o’clock, I leapt out of my chair and sprinted for the front door and then yanked it open with a grin.
Finally
. Then my heart skipped a beat.