THE PAIN IS NOTHING at first, because Marla forces herself to think about women like Hannah who will never get pregnant no matter how hard they try. But it’s worse than she thought it would be. She squeezes Liam’s hand at the beginning, then doesn’t want anyone else touching her. Soon she can’t think about the baby, because there is only searing pressure and heavy mashing muscles. When the nurse checks the baby’s heartbeat, Marla remembers again how Hannah and Josh are going to be such good parents and they want a baby so bad. How someone has called them by now and they’re waiting by the phone, thinking of her, waiting to hear what they’re having and when they can come in their fancy car with big balloons and stuffed toys for the baby. And the pain again.
Marla thinks if she could just sleep for five minutes it would be the most amazing thing she’s ever felt. Just five minutes, but then the thought is gone. It’s winding up again, rushing at her, and she lets out long, low sounds she didn’t realize a woman could make.
“You’re doing it,” Liam tells her, and his voice brings her back. He holds a straw to her lips and she sucks on it, feeling horribly vulnerable, yet all taken care of. Safe. Liam supports her under the arms, and Marla leans into him, swaying her hips like they taught her in baby class.
People move past her and touch her and Marla doesn’t see them, hardly feels them. Liam is there with his hands on her back, but it’s as if her body doesn’t really belong to her. It’s become abstract and yet perfect. Like a goddess. There is only strength and gravity now, inevitable and perfectly right. She hollers, feeling pain and pride and sheer force.
As the baby is crowning, she reaches down to touch his soft hair, then like magic, the pain is all gone.
The baby is soft and warm in Marla’s arms. She shakes with shock and feels like she might throw up as nurses cover her and wrap the baby. They prod her, and something happens down there with the placenta, but none of that matters at all. There is nothing so real as this, so right, so deserved. A daughter, her black eyes open and staring. Of course. It has been this way all along.
“Can I hold her?” Liam’s voice is softer than she’s ever heard. His arm on her shoulder is disorienting. She had forgotten anyone else was there.
Marla nods, and Liam takes the baby awkwardly, as if he is afraid of her just a bit. He cradles the baby’s legs back into her body and speaks to her as if she is a kitten. “You are a good baby,” he says, stroking her. Crying.
Their daughter is weighed and checked and wiped while nurses badger Marla about eye drops, stitches, bleeding. It means nothing to her. “Give me my baby.” As soon as she says the words she hears how wrong they are, even before the nurses look at her with both pity and alarm.
Baby niece. Healthy, beautiful. Here.
In the middle of the night, Gavin gets out of bed and scrubs Marla’s baby things by hand, water full of vinegar and baking soda that he’s crying into.
When Marla and Liam are finally alone with her, their baby is two hours old, and they have less than a day to say goodbye.
“I have to go home,” Liam says.
She finds herself holding onto his shirt sleeve. “You can’t stay?”
“Hospital policy,” he says. “I can come back at six tomorrow morning.”
Marla consults the ticking clock. “That’s only three hours from now.” She is thankful he doesn’t ask her if she thinks everything will be alright.
“I’ll see you soon.” He takes the baby to kiss her, to uncurl her little fingers and smell her hair. He sets her in the bassinet, then swallows, standing up straight. And then he is gone.
Marla makes sure the door is closed and takes her daughter back into her arms. She tries not to sleep, to spend this time memorizing, to keep this image of her daughter with her kiss-shaped mouth slightly open and her black baby hair tufted and softened by vernix. She strokes every part of her baby, loving her until—
Suddenly she is awake because the baby in her arms is crying, not just whimpering, but really screaming. The door is still closed. Marla looks around like someone should be here, but she is alone. The baby arches her back, and Marla shushes her, jiggling her on her lap. The sound of her baby is tremendous, getting right inside her head. Her baby crying is the most horrible sound in the world.
Marla sticks a finger inside the baby’s diaper, and yes, it is puddly, as are her clothes. She takes all of it off, not even throwing the diaper in the garbage, just letting it drop beside the bed. She wraps her daughter in a blanket, naked and screaming, and remembers what to do. She takes the baby close to her, folding the baby’s body around her own and opening her gown to nurse.
It’s harder than it looks. Marla tries to wait until the baby’s mouth is open, but feels like she’s suffocating her. How can the baby breathe with so much flesh in her face? The baby screams. Marla’s breasts don’t feel any different; maybe there’s nothing in there. She squeezes her other nipple, just to see, and feels somehow very gross.
Nurses power in, two of them. One is releasing the brakes on the bassinet, because it apparently has wheels and is a baby transporter. The other looks at Marla with a horrified expression. “There’s no need for that,” she says, gesturing to Marla’s open gown. She takes the squalling baby and places her gently in the bassinet, then pulls her hand back and gives Marla a dirty look. The blanket is wet. The nurse diapers the baby with brisk efficiency, talking to Marla the whole time. “Go to sleep. We’ll bring her back in the morning.”
Marla is sitting up, then following them to the door, her eyes on her daughter. She didn’t know this is how the baby wriggled inside her, with fists waving, legs jerking. That was such a comfort, the baby growing and moving inside of her. But the sound of this baby, the horrible redness of her face, the way her cries carry down the long hallway to the nursery pulls Marla down. She sinks to the floor as her daughter turns her head from side to side, looking for Marla. Looking for a mother.
When it is light out, Marla wakes with only one thought. I will see her again. I must see her again.
She hurries down the hall in bare feet, worried she might be late somehow, the nursery filled with other women cuddling her baby.
Her baby is asleep. “She just took another bottle at five,” the nurse tells her. “She should sleep for a few hours.”
Marla reaches into the bassinet to pick her daughter up and thinks Liam is right. They absolutely should have chosen a name, because this is a person with fingernails and a ferocious amount of black hair, not just a bump that gave her heartburn and a lower centre of gravity. Hannah and Josh no doubt have their own names picked out. She clenches her jaw, and surprises herself with how much she hates them, their perfect life, and the kid they already have. Their money and their wicker furniture and their jobs.
The baby cries as Marla walks back to her room—not at all like a grownup’s wail or wet hiccup—instead, a panicked series of sharp yells with each breath. Marla smooths her hands over her baby until the screaming stops and the baby stares at Marla, taking her in. Her lips are soft and round, and Marla worries one day she’ll have a boyfriend who will dump her or the people she thought were her friends will laugh at her. How can she stomach her baby out in the world without her?
A nurse brings her a note. “Phone message for you.”
“You guys still do that?” Marla asks, glancing at the phone on the bedside table.
“It’s from last night. Breakfast is in an hour.”
Marla folds the note in her hand, knowing what it says. She strokes her baby’s face, her soft, downy cheeks. There’s a tiny blister on her lip from where she took the bottle. A bubble of spit at the corner of her perfect mouth. Marla feels like the luckiest person in the world holding the only miracle that could ever happen, and she doesn’t want to be alone. Everyone should be here.
She calls Liam. “We’re awake.”
“I’m just parking right now. I’ll be right up.” His voice fills her with relief. As an afterthought, he asks, “Did you sleep?”
“Sort of. You?”
“No.”
“Please hurry.” She strokes the baby’s face, the same arch as Liam’s eyebrows, his earlobes. Perfection.
“I will.” There’s a staticy space. Then: “I love you, Marla.”
In this moment, those words lift her, envelope her in ways she didn’t know possible. “I love you, too,” she says, trying it on again because it’s something they can both hold onto.
The note says Hannah and Josh would like her to call them when she can, and so Marla does.
Hannah answers right away. “Marla,” she says. “How are you?”
Marla blinks. “Fine, I’m fine.”
“No, tell me everything.”
Marla does, about the back labour and being afraid to go poo. About the baby peeing on the scale when the nurse weighed her and about Liam crying. About being afraid. “I’m holding her right now,” Marla whispers.
Hannah is calm, an ocean. “What would you like from us today?”
The baby sighs in her sleep, and Marla feels a jagged feeling in her stomach: ripping love. “Please come in the afternoon. Like we said. I think that would be best.”
“Of course. We’ll be there whenever you like.”
Gavin carries a bouquet, not sure how he feels. He makes a list in the elevator, the feelings like spokes on a wheel, melting into each other in the middle.
•afraid of hating Marla for this
•nervous about holding a baby or (worse) not being asked to
•off-balanced by the antiseptic smell of this place
•hungry because couldn’t eat this morning
•worried that now there’s no reason to be here and Liam will produce a plane ticket to Toronto
He reads over them. None are happy feelings, so he adds:
•honoured to meet my niece
Fifth floor. Liam is there to greet him and gives Gavin a big hug. “This way.”
The little room is full of people, but all Gavin sees is Marla, Marla and a baby. “It’s a girl,” Marla says. Her cheeks are flushed, and, except for her red eyes, she looks radiant. Beautiful.
Gavin leans his crutches against the wall and lays the flowers beside her. He can tell she doesn’t know what to say. He steps back, but she pats the bed for him to sit beside her.
When she looks at him he can feel all of her, the anger and the shame, but also older emotions, stronger ones like courage and love. Things they have shared for a long time. “Thank you for coming,” she says.
“Of course,” he says, signing, “I love you.” She signs back to him.
Gavin’s niece is the softest person he has ever seen. Tufts of black hair, little nostrils that flare while she sleeps. Perfect skin. Gavin strokes the curl of her ear, and she looks at him. “Hello, lovely,” he says. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Marla puts the baby in his arms, and it’s as if the world starts over again. He looks at his niece, and then his sister, and knows that everything will get better if he lets it.
Marla watches her daughter sleep in Gavin’s arms and thinks it is the most bittersweet happiness. Her brother has his head up, strong and proud, crying.
Elise pokes her head around the doorframe. “Marla?” she asks, as if Marla might be someone else. She looks out of place, and suddenly small.
Dave is behind her, carrying takeout bags. “We brought burgers and fries because we know you hate hospital food,” he says, trying to smile, but he has to set the bags down and squeeze Elise’s shoulder. She’s frozen in the doorway, pressing her fingers over her mouth like she will scream.
“I’m glad you came,” Marla says, reaching for Elise. And she really is glad. This woman who used to fashionably rip Marla’s jeans and then sew the frayed bits so the pants would last longer and still look cool is absolutely her mother. They hold onto each other, and Marla wants it to last all day.
But of course, they don’t have all day. As Gavin hands Elise the baby, her eyes flutter open, and Elise draws a finger across her eyebrows, coaxing her back to sleep. Marla is amazed to see Elise do the same thing she’s been doing, memorizing the baby’s face. It must be a mom thing. “She has your ears, Liam, and Marla’s little chin.”
“She’s perfect,” Liam says.
“Yes,” Elise agrees, never taking her eyes from the baby.
In the hall, two voices belt out an inappropriate set of limericks. Dani’s here. “Okay, be quiet now,” she tells Kamon, the door opening. He stands in the doorway while Dani wraps her arms around Marla. “You look bitchin’ for a girl who just gave birth. Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner—we missed the bus.”
“You should have phoned,” Liam says. “I would have come to get you.”
“You’re not staying at Liam’s?” Marla asks.
“No. We’re at your place, fixing the shit out of it. Literally, I think.” She and Kamon both make gross-out faces on cue, and Marla feels tired. Your place.
Dani edges up close. “I’m sorry, I had to bring him. Do you want me to take him downstairs?”
Marla shakes her head, glancing at Kamon, the sweetest boy in the world, who’s mesmerized by the baby in Elise’s arms. He reaches out one finger to touch her. “She’s got white shit on her,” he says, and Elise startles.
“White stuff. You did too, buddy.” Dani reaches for the baby, and Elise gives her up, reluctantly. Dani sits on the bed with Marla to hold the baby and nods, swallowing. “She is fucking amazing, Marla. I mean it.”
Dave clears his throat and opens the takeout bag. “We might as well tuck into this, hey? Lots for everybody.”
Everyone eats except Marla. Her burger is greasy and thick and full of relish. Yesterday she would have eaten two.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Dave asks.
“Are you going to be sick?” Liam asks.
“No,” she says.
“Look at me,” Dave says, and Marla does. “I’m so proud of you.”
Marla shakes her head. “They’re coming this afternoon. I’m scared.”
“You will nail this,” Dani tells her. She puts the baby in Marla’s arms. “You’re strong as hell.”
Elise holds her knees. “You can still change your mind,” she says, and Gavin almost nods.
“Oh, no,” Dani says, shaking her head. “Don’t start.”
“I just never thought you would have a baby, honey,” Elise says. “What if you don’t have another?”
“What kind of comment is that?” Dave asks her.
Liam gives Marla the eyeball, the one that asks if he should get everyone out of here. She shakes her head. No.
Everyone talks at once but it is easy to ignore them with her baby in her arms, a baby who will grow and who Marla will visit once a month so she can hear about new words and be given sloppy kisses and macaroni birthday cards, and then be sympathetic about the bossy friends or the annoying brother, and much later, be worried but proud at the decisions this woman will make about where to go and who to be with and how to live her life. The baby stirs in Marla’s arms, opening her soft lips, and she is so right and beautiful that Marla feels inside herself a surge of confidence that everything is going to be just fine.
Everyone else is struggling: she sees grief, people poised on the cusp of huge emotions. She can help them. “I’m glad you’re all here. We need your support.”
Dani nods. Elise starts to interject, but Dave hushes her.
“Our baby has a beautiful family.” Marla bites her lip and keeps her eyes on her daughter. “She’s going to meet them today,” she whispers.
It’s Gavin who starts it, snapping his fingers repeatedly like the kids at the open mic. Dani does it too.
“What are we doing?” Dave whispers to Elise.
“Quiet clapping,” she tells him, tears in her eyes. “For our daughter who’s doing a courageous thing.”
Everyone reaches their hand out to Marla, on her shoulder or her head or her leg. Marla feels their warmth, the bones in their hands, and the weight of their arms. She leans her head down onto her baby’s and sends all the tender feelings she can summon into the little person in her arms, wrapping her in an invisible blanket of love.
When Cynthia arrives, Marla sends everyone away to the cafeteria. Gavin knows it’s half an hour before Hannah and Josh are supposed to be there.
“Are you sure?” Dani asks.
Marla nods. “Just me and Liam, okay?” She repositions her daughter in her arms, taking the little knitted hat off so her entire face is visible. Then she shuts the door.
In the elevator, Gavin feels hot air on his back. Dave and Elise look alarmed, and Gavin turns around suddenly, dropping his crutches, worried there’s a fire.
Inexplicably, Kamon is yelling, his face strained and red. Dani laughs. “We’re doing an experiment. Kamon, it’s true! He couldn’t hear you at all!”
Gavin feels like he might cry. “You’re a great mom,” he says. “He’s lucky to have you.”
Dani shakes her head. “No. I’m lucky to have him.”
Gavin nods, his throat tight. Even Dave and Elise look impressed, but the fragility is overwhelming. “Let’s get Kamon some pop,” Dani says, and everyone nods, grateful.
They sit at a plastic table in the cafeteria. Gavin wonders if other people would be able to guess how they know each other, or why they’re here.
“Are you staying around town?” Dave asks Gavin.
“Yeah. I think so. I’m meeting some deaf people, volunteering.” His time with Justin feels silly and far away now.
“Super,” Dani says.
“What about you, Dani?” Elise asks.
Kamon pulls on her arm. “I’m done, Mommy. I want a donut.”
Dani shakes her head, then rolls her eyes as Kamon glues himself to the display case with the baked goods inside. “I have Kamon with me two afternoons a week unsupervised now. Maybe I can have him overnight when I get my own place.”
“That’s so good,” Gavin says, but it feels hollow. Everyone jumps. Kamon has knocked over the post and chain that shows people where to line up to pay.
Dani touches Gavin’s arm, and he feels his heartbeat quicken.
“I have to take him outside. Come and get us after, okay?”
Gavin nods, deflated, watching her walk out the door. Dave sips coffee, and Elise fiddles with her phone. Gavin’s glad they can’t see the elevators here, or the doors, because two people are going to walk into this building with an empty car seat and leave with Marla’s baby.
Hannah and Josh are exactly on time. She’s wearing a print dress, nothing fancy, just summery and comfortable, not showing too much skin. Josh’s wearing belted black shorts and a fitted golf shirt, carrying a bouquet of flowers. Not an overly big showy bouquet like Marla hates, but a nice, appropriate bunch of flowers. Hannah has a diaper bag.
“Marla, honey, you look beautiful.” Hannah smiles, her arms open in a hug aimed at Marla before she sees the baby. “Oh,” she says, clasping her hands to her heart. “Oh.”
Marla holds her daughter tight, and Liam leans down to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay, however you want to do this.” Cynthia stands beside the bed, with perfect posture, like a sentinel. Everyone is looking at Marla.
Josh puts his hand on Hannah’s back, and they stand like a couple getting married who were just told no one could find the music for their first dance. Stalled.
Marla thinks of Kamon and Cynthia and Gavin. Foster families she had and packing up her stuff in grocery bags. Dave being proud of her. The teary smile breaking out on Hannah’s face and the way her shoulders settle as her whole body moves forward. Marla’s arms shake. Her child is the heaviest thing she has ever held out to someone else, and when Hannah takes her daughter in her arms, Marla becomes weightless.
“She’s amazing,” Josh whispers. He strokes the baby’s head with his fingertips. Hannah’s tears roll down her face and puddle into the receiving blanket. She tries to speak and can’t, and Marla’s heart surges. These people love her baby just as much as she does.
Liam gets Hannah the chair, and the baby starts to whimper. Hannah shushes her, patting her over a shoulder in a practised way, but the baby fusses, her fists clenched. She stands up, jiggling. “Shhhh, honey. It’s okay. I’m here.” She glances at Marla and stops. “We’re all here.”
Marla’s body seems to grow smaller with each breath, as if her ribs are caving in. She forces herself to inhale, be open to this moment, because she wants to remember it forever. She smiles, and it hurts. “What will you call her?” she says, just to hear words come out.
Hannah smiles like only new mothers can. “Beatrice,” she says, her eyes on Josh. “Beatrice Angel.”
“Beatrice,” Marla says, trying it out. The name feels stiff and old.
Hannah looks upset. “You don’t like it?”
Marla wants to like it. She wants Hannah and Josh to know she is going to be a great birth mom and not a pain in the ass. She swallows. “I love it. It really suits her.”
Hannah reaches for Marla’s hand and squeezes. As she leans forward, baby Beatrice audibly fills her diaper. Everyone laughs, and Marla starts breathing normally again.
It takes all four of them to coordinate the wiping and positioning and repositioning necessary to change the diaper. Marla keeps her hand on Beatrice’s head, looking in her eyes as she kicks her chubby legs. Then Liam picks her up.
Cynthia clasps her hands, the room suddenly all business. “I’m so glad she’s awake for this moment.” She nods at Liam.
Marla feels her stomach hit the floor. She watches Liam’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows, the look in his eyes as he holds his daughter in his arms. “I’m glad to be a part of your life,” he tells her. “I promise to do my best.” She blinks at him, and he smooths the black hair on her head, lost in emotion. He passes their baby to Marla and sits on the bed beside her, curling around her. “I hate goodbyes,” he says, his voice breaking.
Cynthia says things about adoption being the most beautiful gift and how strong everyone is and how thankful, but Marla stops hearing her. It feels like time has ended. Marla holds her daughter’s soft weight to her chest, feeling her breathe. It is the simplest thing. Everything from two people in one embrace. “There’s no one I love more than you,” she whispers. Her ears hurt from holding the tears back, so she lets them go. “I’m keeping this moment forever,” Marla says, and taps her heart. “Right here.” It’s sweet and horrible and perfect. Marla realizes their daughter won’t remember any of it.
She stands with her baby, Liam with his hand on her shoulder, and Cynthia nodding. I can do this, Marla tells herself, kissing her daughter on the forehead. And she can. Marla sets baby Beatrice in Hannah’s arms, telling herself it’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay. “I know you’ll take care of her.” Marla’s nose drips, and she wipes at it with her arm.
Hannah passes the baby to Josh and holds onto Marla like they are the only two people in the world. “I promise,” she whispers. “Thank you, Marla. She means everything to us.” Marla hugs Hannah for a long time.
Josh brings in a car seat they had the foresight to leave in the hall. As he buckles the baby in, Hannah gives Marla a little box. Inside are two silver chains, each with a heart. “One for each of you,” Hannah says. Marla kneels to put the tiny chain around her baby’s neck. She kicks her little feet, oblivious. Happy.
Marla takes Gavin’s handbook from her bag. “This is for Beatrice,” she says. “We all worked on it.”
Hannah takes it with reverence. Liam and Josh are shaking hands, and Marla knows it’s almost over. Cynthia passes around papers to sign.
The proud parents stand at the door, smiling down at the car seat. Marla can’t see her baby’s face anymore.
“Goodbye,” Marla says, and they nod and smile and walk out the door.