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She is beautiful. The curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow, the beautiful feel of her skin. I see Warren in her, in the shape of her eyes, I think. I see me around her mouth. He stayed for a week before we finally agreed that he should move on. He tried to convince me to keep her, but in the end, I convinced him that he is not ready to be a daddy any more than I am ready to be a mommy. I want her to have a better life than we had.
Warren has gone back to St. Louis, said Elliot’s Child was getting back together. Their demo had gotten some attention out in LA. I laughed when he said it. “That’s awesome,” I said, and I meant it, even though not five minutes before, he’d said he was gonna give up music for me. I knew he wouldn’t; he can’t. That’s one of the best things about him, and I would never want to be the reason he walked away from it.
I let out a long sigh, and she looks up at me, waving a fist. The fact is, I don’t want to be with Warren. I don’t want to be with any man. I give her my finger and she wraps her hand around it. Minutes pass like days. Seconds are hours. The hour I’ve had with her is a lifetime. It is all I will get.
I received a letter from Cici a couple of weeks ago. She said her cousin has a spare room for me if I want to head west. I hadn’t really thought about what I would do after Little Miss was born, but California seems like as good an idea as anything. Especially if I have a place to live. I sent her a letter back and asked what the rent would be and if there are any hospitals or nursing homes nearby. My CNA certificate qualifies me to work as an aid, and I figure I can start taking classes to become certified for paramedics after working a while. It makes me feel a little hopeful, going away from the Midwest. I want to see the ocean.
I am sitting on the bed, letting Little Miss hold my hand, when Tom and Meredith are led into the room. I won’t let them take her without talking to them. It was part of the agreement—this hour with Little Miss, and meeting them.
She is mine, mine, mine. I rub my finger over the soft spot where her ribs meet. She is beautiful, with the slightest little sprinkling of down on the top of her head. Her eyes are dark blue, and I’ve read that babies’ eyes don’t turn the color they will ultimately be until sometime later. I wonder if they will stay the storm-cloud blue of Warren’s or if they will take the green that comes down the line from my mother, from my grandmother.
Meredith smiles at me, a small quivering smile, and I see the fear in her eyes. What does this meeting mean? I can see her wondering. Does it mean that I’ve changed my mind, that I’m now going to want to parent this baby that they have waited so long for? I give a small smile, hoping it reassures her, and I see Tom squeeze her fingers. This is the handover; he knows it. The social worker is hovering in the background, trying to give us privacy.
“You have dogs?” I ask, trying to sound calm and friendly, trying to put them at ease.
“Oh, yes, but they are friendly, and they won’t ever be with her without one of us.” She has misunderstood; she thinks I’m worried that their dogs will hurt her.
“I loved the picture you chose for your booklet,” I say. “The dogs looked so happy. You both looked so happy.” She smiles, and I see a glimpse of that woman, a glimpse of the woman who was lit up by her smile.
“They are funny dogs,” she says, and I see the pride in the slight wrinkling of her nose. I was right. She has an abundance of love.
“I’m glad. They look like it.” They are itching, I know, to touch her, to get their hands on my Little Miss, but I’m not ready to let her go yet.
“So, I never really knew my mom. I mean, she was there, but I never knew her.” I swallow hard and try to clear my throat. “I’m trying to do the right thing here. You understand?” Meredith nods. She comes a step forward but no further, not wanting to crowd me. “I figure that someday she might want to know something about me, and why I let her go.” My voice catches, and I turn to look out the window at the pale blue sky until I can speak again. “I wrote her a letter. Kind of. Will you give it to her if she ever asks? You can read it. I don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Tom says, and I hear in his voice that he feels it, this thing I am doing, this right thing I am doing. This huge thing I am doing. I motion to the little table beside the bed, where I’ve put the letter. On the front I wrote the words Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong. I shouldn’t have written that. It may be confusing.
The social worker steps forward and takes the envelope, nodding to me, placing the letter in the file. “Have you thought about a name?” I ask, and a tear tracks down my cheek. Meredith steps away from her husband and comes to sit on the bed. She doesn’t look at the baby. She looks at me, with my chin puckering and my eyes swollen from the pushing.
“We thought of Emily. Emily Ann,” she says, and then we both look down at the little girl, her little fists waving in the air. “Do you like that?”
I recognize this small gift that she is giving me. I nod because I can’t speak. We sit in silence for a moment, and I draw the baby up into my arms, pulling her in and away from Meredith.
I give myself time to come back under control, breathing in the smell of her, my eyes closed. I feel Meredith rising off the bed. I test out the name, in my mind. Emily. Emma, Emmie, Em. Finally, I say, “That’s a really good name.”
I give you, Emily Ann, Little Miss Can’t be Wrong, Baby, this, the only gift I can. I give you a better mother than I can be right now. I give you a father who will protect you and keep you safe, I give you a family like I never had, like I never knew. I give you the gift of “having” and not of “having not.” Do good things in this world. Do amazing things with this chance you are being given. Be a good daughter and be a little girl for as long as you can. Don’t rush to grow up. Love your puppies. Love your mommy. Love your daddy. Read lots of stories, sing lots of songs, and paint beautiful pictures. Live a good life. Live a better life.
These are words that I say to her without speaking, the way I have talked to her all through the last many months, and I know she hears me. I know she feels me. She waves a fist into my lips, and I drop a kiss there. I draw her down to look at her, solid and real. I swallow hard and edge my way to the side of the bed. Janice, who has stood in the background all through my silent hour and then this meeting, steps forward, holding my elbow to help me to my feet. Meredith and Tom step toward me, too. I look at baby Emily Ann, and then I look up at Meredith, with Tom at her shoulder, “Well, little Emily Ann . . .” I say. I, her birth mother, am the first one to ever call her by her name. I lick my lips, which are so dry. “I think . . . I think it’s time for you to go to your mommy.”
I lift her up and away from my body, and Meredith is there, scooping her into her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks where now mine are dry. The quavering smile on her lips and the way her fingertips touch Emily’s nose and chin . . . I know that I have done better. I have done it right.
She is placed in the bassinet, because the babies are not allowed to be moved from one room to another in arms, and I stand, with Janice at my elbow, lest I lose my strength, as they head toward the door. Meredith steps out of her husband’s arms and comes to me as the door is opening. She is taller than I am, and she bends her knees so she is eye level with me. “Thank you,” she says, cupping the sides of my face. She leans in, and her lips press light on my forehead. “Thank you,” she says again. “She is such a gift.”
She squeezes me before her husband takes her by the elbow, gently, agreeing that, yes, she is such a gift. I nod and nod and nod until they have gone out of the door. I sit back down on the bed, because my legs won’t stand, and I fold myself over, into the pillow, and let the tears come. Janice lets her hand settle on my shoulder, calm and kind. It was the right thing. It was the right thing. The words sing in my blood, whooshing with my solitary heartbeat. Emily Ann. Emily Ann. Emily Ann.
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