Leaving Haven (19 page)

Georgia threw her phone down on the bed. She looked at the clock; six more hours until Liza got home from school; almost twelve hours until John would return. She tried to imagine Chessy in labor. She thought about Ez, who was so shy he had spent almost forty-five minutes repairing a clogged drain in her kitchen one night when she'd had him over for dinner, because it meant he didn't have to spend as much time trying to talk at the dinner table. She tried to imagine Ez coaching Chessy through her labor. She thought about her own labor, about John's face when he had first seen Liza. He had been so excited (or so disgusted, because the baby was coated in blood and that white stuff) that he hadn't been able to figure out her gender. “Go ahead, Dad, tell Mama the sex,” the doctor had said, holding the baby up in John's face. And John had just stared, his mouth a round O of surprise. “I don't know!” he said. They had all had a good laugh about that later. She wondered what it would be like when she gave birth to this baby.

She stared at a crack in the plaster ceiling—a crack she now knew intimately, like the lines on her own face—and tried to think about something else, like cakes. Over the past weeks she had distracted herself, or tried to, by designing different cakes in her head, things she'd never tried before, like a cake in the shape of Briggs Stadium, her father's favorite ballpark, or an Eiffel Tower cake with fireworks shooting out of the top. She was sick of cakes.

She reached across the bed for her phone and called Alice, who had been oddly out of touch these last few weeks. She and Alice usually talked on the phone at least once a day, and got together several times a week to walk or have coffee or a glass of wine. Georgia would have expected Alice to drop by even more often now that she was confined, to cheer her up in her usual efficient, no-nonsense Alice way. But instead Alice had been absent, too busy to even chat on the phone.

Maybe Alice felt weird about the egg donation, Georgia thought, now that the pregnancy was a reality. Or maybe she felt guilty about the fact that Georgia was on bed rest, felt like she'd contributed a faulty egg. Or maybe she felt strange about her genetic connection to the baby now. It was hard to know
what
went on inside Alice's well-coiffed head.

Georgia herself felt better and better about all of it. Georgia wanted a baby that looked just a
little
like her, and given the fact that she and Alice had the same color hair and similar eyes, this baby would. Even more important, Alice's eggs were a known entity, no risk that ten years hence the baby would turn out to be a psychopath or suffer some horrible genetic illness because of a history that hadn't come out in the egg donor questionnaire. And now that her breasts were tender and her abdomen bloated and her body
felt
so pregnant, she realized that it was just like being pregnant with Liza. This baby would know the steady beat of her heart, her sudden flushes of anxiety. And she would know if the baby was energetic or calm, liked tomatoes or bluegrass music (which Liza had responded to in utero). Already she felt that the whole process of carrying this baby created a bond as real and strong and true as John's connection to the baby, or Alice's. This baby was Georgia's, her beloved, her own. She could feel it in her bones.

Alice's phone rang and rang, and Georgia hung up without leaving a message. She picked up the laptop computer, which lay beside her on the bed, and flipped it open. Liza had borrowed the computer last night to work on a homework project, and Georgia was pleased that John, who had been more thoughtful than usual throughout her time in bed, had brought it back down from Liza's room this morning so Georgia wouldn't walk up the stairs. Over the past weeks she had streamed every episode of every television show that had ever caught her attention, and a few that hadn't. What else was there to do?

Liza's Facebook page was open on the screen. Georgia saw a series of messages, a back-and-forth between Liza and Emilie.

Wren is causing big problems,
Emilie had written.
She's telling everyone you're a bitch. Today she told everyone at lunch you're just jealous. She says you
wish
a guy would want to actually have conversations with you, and that's why you did it.

I hate Wren,
Liza had written back.
She wants everyone to hate me.

From Emilie:
She was crying in English today. She told Ms. O'Connell that you were really mean.

From Liza:
She is going to get me in so much trouble.

Georgia stared at the screen in shock for a minute, and read the messages again. Wren! How dare she! What a terrible way to treat Liza, especially after all their years of friendship. Georgia could feel her heart pump faster, the anger fill her veins. Why, they were like sisters.
Sisters.
Shit. Georgia sat up in bed. She and John and Alice and Duncan had spent two whole counseling sessions discussing what and when to tell their daughters about the egg donation. They had finally decided to wait until after the baby was born, in case something went wrong during the pregnancy. And while Georgia had anticipated that Liza and Wren might not stay as close as they had been as kids, she had never imagined that they might actually hate each other one day. What now?

Georgia picked up her phone. This time, she didn't call Alice, since Alice never answered. Instead, she texted Alice, three words:
Liza and Wren?

Her phone buzzed seconds later.

“Georgia?”

“Yes! You are so hard to reach these days.”

“I'm sorry. Work has been crazy—finals are next week. What's this about Liza and Wren?”

“I don't know. Why don't you tell me?”

Alice paused. “Did Liza say something to you?”

“About what?”

“I don't know. About Wren? Why do you think there's something going on between Liza and Wren?”

Georgia drew in a deep breath. “Because I just read a bunch of messages on Facebook about Liza and Wren. Liza left her Facebook account open on the computer. And it seems pretty clear from what I read that Wren is bullying Liza.”

“What?”

Alice's voice was so shocked, so outraged, that Georgia felt a little better. Alice
should
be shocked and outraged that Wren, of all people, would be cruel to Liza.

“I've got the messages right in front of me.”

“Wren is bullying Liza.” Alice said this as a statement, but her voice sounded confused, as though she were trying to convince herself that such a thing might be possible.

“Well, yes.” Georgia read Emilie's message out loud to Alice.

Alice responded with a long silence. “I'm sure there is more to it,” she said at last.

“More to
what
?” Georgia said, feeling outraged herself. “Wren is telling other girls Liza is a ‘bitch.' And she's telling
teachers
bad things about Liza. What more do you need to know?”

“I'll talk to Wren,” Alice said. “You shouldn't worry about this right now.”

Georgia felt the same fierce rush of maternal love she had felt when she had held Liza for the first time. “I'm on limited bed rest, Alice, which doesn't make me of limited mental capacity.”

The words sounded harsh, harsher than she intended, but there they were, slicing through the easy rapport of all the years of their friendship. But friendship was one thing; her daughter was another.

“Of course not. I didn't mean it that way.”

Georgia sighed. “I'm sorry. But the idea of these girls attacking Liza, or spreading rumors about her—kids can be so mean, and now with the Internet and cell phones it's even worse. It makes me feel like killing someone.”

“I understand,” Alice said. “
Believe me,
I understand. Listen, Georgia, I wasn't trying to insult you. And I know it must be agonizing to be stuck in bed. But let me talk to Wren and see what's going on. Just give me a little time before you talk to Liza.”

“Why?” Georgia said. “What difference does it make if I talk to Liza?”

“You don't need all this drama.” Alice sounded flustered.

“Well, I've got it, don't I? I can't give up on mothering just because I'm pregnant.” After the words left her mouth Georgia realized how ridiculous they sounded.

Alice exhaled, a long, slow breath. “I know,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

Georgia's anger diminished, a little. She felt sorry for Alice. It would be a shock to find out your child was a bully, a kind of commentary on your own parenting. And Wren wasn't a bad kid. To tell the truth, Georgia wouldn't have imagined that Wren—still so immersed in her ballet slippers and Gail Carson Levine books and American Girl decorating tips—could get caught up so quickly in this adolescent Mean Girl bullshit.

“It's not you, Alice,” Georgia said, trying to make her voice warm and generous. “Kids do strange things. Even though Wren is involved in this bullying, I'm sure it won't last. And I'm sure you'll handle it the right way and she'll learn something from it.”

But she was talking to the air. Alice had hung up.

L
IZA
WANDERED
INTO
Georgia's room after school, an apple in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“Hey, Doodle. How was school?”

Liza sat down in the armchair across from the bed, threw her legs over the arm of the chair, and rolled her eyes. “Please do not call me ‘Doodle.' Fine.”

“What's going on?”

“With what?” Liza took a bite of her apple.

“With school?”

“Nothing. It's middle school. It sucks.”

“Don't say ‘sucks,' ” Georgia said. “How's Wren? I haven't seen her in a while.”

“Wren?” Liza put her apple down and swung her legs around, so she was sitting upright. “What do you mean? Why?”

Georgia looked at her daughter. “You left your Facebook open on the computer, honey. I saw some messages there between you and Emilie, and I'm worried. I know Alice is my best friend, but if Wren is bullying you, you can talk to me about it.”

Liza blushed a furious red, and looked down at the floor, then up at Georgia. “I can't believe you read my Facebook!”

“It was up on the screen, Liza.”

“It's private.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Wren is not bullying me. Stuff is always going on with the girls this year.” Liza slid down in the armchair until her chin was almost resting on her chest.

“I read what Emilie wrote, about the things Wren has been saying about you. That's not okay.”

Liza sat up again and faced Georgia. “
Mom
. Were you ever in middle school? People say mean stuff about each other all the time. You can't worry about it.”

“Of course I worry about it.”

Liza sighed. “Well, don't. Dad says you're not supposed to worry about anything right now, because of the baby.”

Lord. John and Alice, between the two of them, were so overprotective that Georgia was starting to feel sorry she had told either one of them she was even pregnant.

“I can handle it. Do you want to tell me what's going on with Wren?”

“Nothing.” Liza fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. “Everyone loves Wren. She's tiny and pretty and nice and good at everything. She dances and she's a cheerleader and she's good at every sport. Everyone loves her.”

Georgia looked at her daughter, with her too-long legs and arms, her too-tight jeans, her beautiful face covered in too much foundation. “People love you, too, Liza.”

Liza shrugged. “Not like they love Wren.” She put her apple down on Georgia's dresser. “I have a ton of homework. Do you need anything before I go upstairs?”

Georgia wished she could pull Liza into bed with her and cuddle her the way she used to when Liza was two, or six, or even ten, her arms wrapped around her, her chest pressed against Liza's rib cage. When Liza was tiny, a bright-eyed toddler of one or two, Georgia used to spoon her and whisper nonsense into her ear: “I love you more than applesauce. I love you more than cupcakes.”

“Honey—”

“Don't worry, Mom. Everything's fine.” And she was out the door and up the stairs before Georgia could even remind her to take her apple core from the dresser and throw it away.

A
LICE
STOPPED
BY
at midday the next day, with a batch of carrot-ginger soup, a salad with apples and walnuts, and a crusty baguette from the expensive little grocer Georgia loved. Georgia felt some trepidation when she heard Alice's voice in the front hall, her cheery “Georgia? Lunch!” and the sure tap of her heels on the hardwood floor.

Georgia had hoped when she heard the knock on the front door that it would be Chessy, who had given birth to a daughter at 5:55
P
.
M
. the day before and had promised to come by with the baby as soon as she left the hospital. “Tell me everything,” Georgia said, when Chessy had called with the news. “I'm not telling you anything,” Chessy said. “I'm not one of those women who goes on and on about my dilation and effacement and every push. Forget it. It was
intense,
that's the only word for it.” And Georgia had had to be satisfied with that, at least until she saw Chessy and the baby in person.

Alice heated up the soup and brought a tray in to Georgia, with a linen napkin and a bud vase with a late-blooming camellia she had plucked off the tree by her back door.

“You're babying me,” Georgia said. “I am allowed to get up to make lunch.”

“So enjoy being babied,” Alice said. “You'll have your hands full soon enough.”

Georgia scootched up against the headboard, and Alice put the tray on her lap. Alice sat down on the end of the bed, by Georgia's feet.