Fern’s bedtime routine seemed to be taking an extra-long time. Elise tried to ignore the sense that her wife was hiding out in the bathroom, avoiding her.
When Fern finally appeared, her hair was covered with a terrycloth wrap. Elise smelled the coconut oil Fern used occasionally for deep conditioning. It always reminded Elise of their first vacation together to Negril, where the bedside candles had a similar scent. The hotel, the Rockhouse, was breathtaking. It spanned eight acres of tropical gardens, each “room” a private bungalow perched right on the cliffs of Negril’s West End, overlooking the water. The bungalows were made of timber, thatch, and stone and blended in with the stunning natural beauty of the environment.
Fern was very proud of the fact that her favorite resort was Green Globe–certified. “It doesn’t just look good—it is good,” she’d said. They’d considered having their honeymoon there, but Fern decided they could not celebrate their union in a country that had a major human-rights problem for its treatment of the LGBTQ community.
Six months or so into their relationship, Fern experienced a crisis of conscience about her finance job. She’d reached the point in her life when she wanted to spend her days doing something that “put positive energy” into the world. This talk surprised Elise, because she’d felt that Fern was the focused, practical one of the two of them. But Elise also had a deeply altruistic and spiritual side, and she understood that this was what had drawn Fern to her—Elise was all idealism. In Elise, Fern had found a partner who inspired her to explore the latent side of herself, the aspect that Fern considered the best part of who she was and who she wanted to become.
Away from the day-to-day grind of life in Boston, Elise and Fern saw different sides of each other. Swimming in the turquoise water, dining under the clearest night skies Elise had ever seen, reaching for each other in the middle of the night to the deepest silence and the feeling they were alone at the edge of the world, they realized they were more than a couple: they were soul mates.
Finally Fern climbed into her side of the bed, and Elise reached over and kissed her cheek. “You smell like vacation.” Elise smiled.
Fern looked at her, not smiling in return. “It’s ridiculous to be living in the guest room of this house. I have to go down the hall to use the bathroom.”
“It still gives us more space than the room above the shop.”
Fern said nothing and settled as far on the edge of the bed as possible. She opened the novel she was reading, and Elise reached over to her nightstand for her own.
“Did you just give up on the mosaic class?” Fern said suddenly.
What? Where was this coming from? “No. I didn’t give up. I just don’t have time for it right now.”
Fern shook her head. “I just feel like you made a commitment. You started something, you should finish it.”
Elise sat up straighter and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Well, things are busy around here and I have to prioritize. I’m sure Amelia understands.”
Fern just stared at the page open in front of her.
“What? I can’t believe you’re being so judgmental. I mean, do you want to start an argument over this?”
“No,” Fern said, turning the page. “I don’t.”
Elise opened her own book, but the words swam in front of her eyes. Simmering with anger, she wondered why Fern had to ruin a perfectly good moment with needless criticism. And so she asked her. “What’s with you? Why’d you have to go and bitch at me like that?”
At first, Fern didn’t react. Elise wondered for a second or two if she was just going to ignore her. But then she slowly removed her reading glasses and turned to face her.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.”
Elise froze. “Do what anymore?”
“That situation with Bianca today was very disturbing. If she’s asking questions, other people must be too.”
“Fern, when Bianca was goading me about the house, you said I shouldn’t let her get to me, remember?”
Fern shook her head. “This is different. This is serious. We’ve had that baby for weeks. The mother hasn’t come back for her. It’s time to call the Department of Children and Families.”
Elise’s heart began to race. “They’ll take her away from us.”
“Elise, we have to go through the process.”
“Getting approved as adoptive parents could take months. There will be background checks, financial—”
“We have nothing to hide. What are you afraid of?”
“Where will they send Mira while we’re going through this process? Foster care. What if we never get her back?” Her voice was shrill.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Fern said.
“I don’t know! Once we get a government agency involved, it’s out of our hands. There’s no turning back.”
“Elise, that’s life. We can’t control everything, and we certainly can’t keep on pretending we’re in a legitimate adoption process just to avoid the emotional messiness of the real thing. Enough is enough.”
Elise shook her head. “I’m not willing to lose another baby.”
They locked eyes, neither one blinking. Fern finally looked away. “Well, I can’t be a part of this anymore. I want a child as much as you do. But not like this.”
“Don’t give me that ‘I want a child as much as you do’ crap,” Elise said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that when we found out I couldn’t carry a child, you could have stepped in and tried. But you refused. You said you’d never wanted to experience pregnancy, that wasn’t part of the deal, and it was just over for you.”
Fern jumped up, walked to the closet, started throwing clothes into a duffel bag.
“Where are you going?” Elise said.
“I’m moving back into the room above the tea shop.”
“You mean for the night?”
Fern shook her head sadly. “I think you know the answer to that, Elise.”
Ruth could not sleep.
An hour earlier, she’d heard Ben climbing the stairs to the third floor. She lay in her bed, picturing him in that room, under the sloped ceiling, next to the books and candles she’d bought for Olivia’s arrival. Never had she imagined this situation.
She tried not to think about their reunion in the living room, the strong response she’d felt to his touch. She tried to take Dr. Bellow’s advice about handling a troubling thought: Accept it but let it drift away and don’t give it too much weight. Dr. Bellow attempted to teach her mindfulness, just existing in the moment, not thinking about the past or the future. Ruth was terrible at it. “Remember, you control your thoughts, your thoughts do not control you,” she’d said.
Really? Because at the moment, she felt her thoughts had her on a short leash.
You are not still in love with your ex-husband, she told herself. She repeated the mantra again and again, turning restlessly until she gave up on sleep and headed downstairs.
The entire house was quiet. She lingered for a minute outside of Olivia’s door, listening for any sign that she was still awake. The room was silent, but she suspected if she opened the door, she would see the glow of her iPhone. Although lately, Olivia seemed to be a little less glued to it.
Ruth drifted into the kitchen and opened the cabinets looking for the tins of Fern and Elise’s loose-leaf tea. She found one labeled SLEEP BLEND; the ingredients were chamomile, passionflower, and lavender. Now she just had to locate that metal ball that worked as a reusable tea bag, a device Elise called a tea infuser.
She opened and closed drawers but came up empty.
“Can I help you find something?”
She looked up and saw Elise standing in the doorway, wearing a red-and-white-plaid robe. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and even though her eyes were hidden behind glasses, Ruth could see they were red and puffy. “Um, the tea infuser.”
“I think it’s in the dishwasher.”
Ruth checked the utensil tray in the dishwasher and found it. “Thanks,” she said. “Want some tea?”
“I need something a little stronger,” Elise said, opening a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of Maker’s Mark. She poured a glass and drank most of it standing at the counter. “Thanks, by the way, for the soap. I used it for Mira’s bath tonight.”
“My pleasure. I was thinking…”
Elise started to cry. She turned away from Ruth, put both hands on the counter, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Concerned, unsure what to do, Ruth crossed the room to stand behind her. She placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
“Come sit down,” Ruth said. After a few ragged breaths, Elise followed her to the kitchen table, carrying her drink. Ruth handed her a paper napkin, and Elise pressed it to her nose.
The tea would have to wait. “What’s wrong?”
Elise shook her head, closing her eyes. “Everything,” she said.
“Did you get into an argument with Fern?”
“I guess you could call it that,” Elise said, gulping her whiskey. “It’s this whole situation with Mira.” She seemed to hesitate, then said, “I guess you’re one of the few people I can talk to about it since you know the truth.”
Ruth nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for having confided in Olivia.
“So you know she was left here on the porch. Obviously—you found her. And, as I said that day, I don’t know who left her. But what you don’t know,” she said, “is how desperately I’ve wanted to be a mother.”
The raw emotion in her voice made the specifics of the situation—the unknown origins of the baby—suddenly less important. The urge Elise expressed was so primal and universal, Ruth felt as if Elise’s pain were her own.
“Did you try to have a baby? Before this happened, I mean?”
Elise nodded, finished the last bit of amber liquid in her glass, and spoke slowly and quietly of miscarriages and polycystic ovary syndrome.
“We had so many disappointments,” Elise said. “I wanted to keep trying but Fern had had enough. I agreed to move on. And then…this happened. A miracle.”
Ruth thought back to the day when she discovered the baby on the porch, the expression on Elise’s face when she’d taken her into her arms. Now, looking back on it, the moment took on an entirely new dimension. “So I’m assuming Fern doesn’t quite see it as a miracle?”
Elise shook her head. “She wants me to call a state agency. To go through the proper channels. And I’m just afraid they’ll take her away from me. I need more time. But Fern is done. I don’t know what to do. I chose my marriage over a baby before, but I can’t do it again.”
Ruth exhaled. “You’re in a tough position.”
“An impossible position.”
“I know you’re not asking me what to do, and I wouldn’t presume to tell you. But I do think the important thing here is to keep the lines of communication open with Fern.”
Elise shook her head, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “It’s too late for that. Fern left.”
Ruth, feeling an almost maternal impulse to comfort her, leaned forward and hugged her. Elise cried in her arms like a heartbroken teenager.
“What’s going on?”
Ruth turned around at the sound of Olivia’s voice. She stood near the stove, dressed in her pajamas, her hair up in a messy ponytail. She looked very young, and Ruth was struck by the sad fact that her daughter had never confided in her or consulted her during a breakup or heartache.
“Just some girl talk,” Ruth said. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
Next to her, Elise sniffled but covered up the wads of tissues with her hand.
“No, I’m just getting water.” Olivia looked at Elise and seemed about to say something, then turned and retreated back to her room.
Elise stood, picked up her glass, and stuffed the tissues in her robe pocket.
“Thanks for listening,” she said. “Olivia’s lucky to have you as a mom.”