40

Hazel

When I get home, I walk straight into the house, past Mom, who’s getting Charlie out of her car seat. Mom calls after me, but I don’t answer her.

I think about telling her to give me Charlie. That she’s my daughter and I want her. But I’m tired, and I just want to go to sleep. I just want to hide from everyone. From Mom and Gran and Dad and Charlie. I want to hide from myself and all the things going through my head because I don’t like them. I don’t want them there, and I don’t know how to stop them.

About Charlie. About what a terrible mistake I made last summer when I decided to keep her. I still don’t think I could have had an abortion, but Mom’s argument for adoption keeps coming back to me. Proof I’m a terrible mother. And I feel so guilty even thinking about what it would be like if I didn’t have Charlie anymore.

I go to my room, lock the door, and lie down on my bed. Eventually Mom comes upstairs and knocks, calls my name, but I don’t answer. She has Charlie with her because I hear her talking in a quiet voice, saying things like, “You can’t have Gigi’s earring,” and “Give me that nose.”

I hear Charlie making cute baby sounds.

I roll over and close my eyes and pretend I don’t hear either of them. Pretend I’m asleep. When Mom goes back downstairs and then texts me, I turn off my phone. I don’t even text Jack back after he texts, you k? call me.

The sound of someone knocking on my door, much later in the day, wakes me up.

“Hazel?” It’s my dad. He’s home from work. He knocks again.

I sit up, leaning against the headboard, and draw my knees up. I stare at the door. I have to pee, but there’s no way I’m leaving this room. At least not with him standing in the hall.

“Daisy . . . honey, we need to talk.”

I stay quiet.

Enough time passes in silence that I think maybe he left, he was just quiet about it, but then I hear his voice again. “You have to come down for dinner. Nonnegotiable. We need to talk about Charlie.”

He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds really sad, which makes me start to cry, but softly so he can’t hear me.

“Dinner is at six thirty,” he tells me from the other side of the door. “And a family meeting. You owe it to Charlie to come down and be a part of this.”

I hear him walk down the hall to his room. About twenty minutes later, I hear his footsteps again and he goes downstairs. I sneak out of the room, go to the bathroom, and run back in my room and lock the door before anyone catches me. When I’m in the hall, I hear Charlie’s swing. It’s playing Chopin. Not because it will make her smarter. Gran said that playing classical music to her would make her smarter, but I researched what’s called the Mozart Effect. It’s bullshit. There’s no scientific evidence classical music will make Charlie smarter. We play it because it soothes her.

I have no intention of going downstairs at six thirty to talk about Charlie. There’s nothing to talk about. She’s mine. Nobody can make any decisions about her except me. Nobody has that right but me. Well, I guess, legally, Tyler has a right, but he’s a nonissue. He couldn’t care less about Charlie.

I turn my phone back on and check the time. It’s six twenty. I really don’t want to go downstairs.

But I feel like I should.

Because I love Charlie.

And I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since the Doritos last night.

I wait until six thirty-five. No one comes upstairs and bangs on my door. I wonder if, because I’m still a minor, Mom and Dad can just take Charlie from me. I don’t think they can, but I don’t know.

When I smell food, I creep downstairs.

Mom, Dad, Gran, Aunt Beth, and Sean are all at the dinner table passing around containers of Korean takeout. It’s from a new place in town; Mom and Dad always like to support local businesses.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Sean, taking my chair. Someone’s put a plate and silverware and a glass of water at my place.

The swing is set up between the kitchen and the living room. Charlie’s asleep. The swing is playing something classical I don’t recognize. The swing plays, like, twenty songs. And it’s one of the safest swings on the market; I did the research before I let Mom buy it.

“Mom asked me if I could come.” Sean shrugs and uses a chopstick to push bulgogi, a beef dish, onto his plate. “Not leaving for California until Wednesday. Thought about coming home anyway.”

“My sister said I had to come,” Aunt Beth puts in. She’s ladling the spicy tofu stew, soondubu, into a bowl.

Everything looks so delicious. It smells so good. I put some rice on the corner of my plate and wait for Dad to hand me the kimchi. “You get bibimbap?”

“Without egg,” he tells me. He smiles at me, but his smile seems tight. “Just for you.”

“Here it is.” Mom hands me a plastic container.

Everyone puts what they want on their plates. Aunt Beth is the first one to speak up after we’ve been eating for several minutes in silence. “This is going to be awkward, so let’s move it along for the sake of everyone.” She sets down her chopsticks and picks up a full-to-the-rim glass of wine. “And I’ve got somewhere to be tonight.”

“Beth,” Gran says, folding her cloth napkin just so. “I think we should let Liv handle this.”

“Nah, I’m going to do my big sister a favor.” Aunt Bethie swings around in her chair to face me, ignoring Gran. “Instead of beating around the bush for half an hour before anyone actually says what they think, I’m going to say it.” She takes a big swig of red wine. “Hazel, you can’t take care of that baby.” She shrugs; she’s wearing a black cold-shoulder T-shirt that’s a size too small. “You can’t take care of her and you don’t even want to all that much.”

“I do wanna take care of her,” I argue. “I didn’t mean to stay out all night. I fell asleep. I’m sorry.” I open my arms to her. Then I look at Gran, because she’s the one I owe an apology to. She was the one who took care of Charlie all night. I guess until Mom came and got her in the morning. “I’m sorry, Gran. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t, because I’m not watching her anymore,” she answers stiffly. “You took advantage of me, Hazel. You’ve been taking advantage of me. Of your father and your mother, too”—she points at me—“when you can get away with it. Although I know Liv won’t admit it because she’s been playing the bad cop in this soap opera.”

I look down at my plate, then back up at Gran. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of anyone.”

She surprises me by smiling at me. A sad smile. “I know you didn’t. Apology accepted.” She takes a bite of rice. She’s the only one at the table not using chopsticks. “I love Charlie to death, but I’m not babysitting again. I’m too old and too cranky.”

I drop some cucumber kimchi onto my plate, not as hungry as I was when I came down. I knew this is what we were going to talk about, but I didn’t think we’d start right in on it. I was thinking maybe we would eat and talk about stuff that doesn’t matter first.

“You have to let Charlie go, Hazel,” Mom says, looking at me. “You’re not ready to be a mother.”

A tear somehow makes its way to my nose and drips off the end onto my plate and into my rice.

“Oh, Hazel.” Mom, who is sitting beside me, takes my hand and squeezes it in hers. “You have so much to look forward to in life. But you need time on your own. You need to finish high school, and go to college, and then do whatever you want to do after that. Someday you can have more children.”

I stare at my plate, tears running down my face. Because Mom’s right. I know she’s right. I just hate so much that she is right. That’s she’s always right. I hate that her predictions were entirely accurate. Tyler didn’t stay with me and I’m too young to be anyone’s mother.

I feel like my heart is breaking. I’ve heard that phrase a million times, but I never really understood it. I understand now. “What? You think I can just have another Charlie someday?” I demand, trying hard not to cry. Not succeeding.

My dad clears his throat. When he speaks, I can tell he’s trying not to cry, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad cry. “Daisy, no one is saying you can ever replace Charlie. What your mom is saying is that you can have more children when you’re older, when you’re settled and have lived some. When . . . when you’re able to care for and financially support not just yourself but someone else. When you have a husband or . . . whatever.”

Aunt Beth chuckles. “She’s not gay, Oscar.”

“You know what I mean,” he says to me, ignoring Aunt Beth. “When you have a committed partner. Someone to share parenting with.”

Everyone is quiet for a minute. No one is really eating anymore.

“You tried,” Sean says clumsily. His eyes look wet, too. “Don’t keep her just to be stubborn. Because you don’t want to do what Mom wants you to do. You gotta do what’s best for Charlie. She’s a baby. She can’t decide what’s best for her, but you can.”

“Hazel, please don’t think this is easy for any of us,” Mom says. She’s crying, but she’s keeping it together. “I think we all need to put our own feelings aside and do what’s best for Charlie.” She looks around the table. “We need to help Hazel do what’s best for Charlie. Because . . .”—her voice cracks—“. . . because she’s her mother.”

Dad puts his arm around Mom’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear.

I just sit there, staring at my plate.

Charlie keeps swinging in her swing, asleep, having no idea what we’re talking about. Not knowing her life is about to change.

“Hazel,” Mom says slowly. “You’re not ready to be a mother. You can’t keep her.”

“But I love her,” I say, my voice sounding like I can’t get enough air.

“I love her, too.” Gran pours wine into her empty water glass. She never drinks wine. “But that doesn’t mean I can be her mother, either.”

“Gran, you . . . you thought I should keep her. When I got pregnant you said I should keep her.”

“I was wrong.” She crosses her arms over her chest. No apology, no explanation. Which is so like her.

“We’ve all talked about it, sweetie,” Mom says. “And we think you need to put Charlie up for adoption.”

I chew on my bottom lip so hard that I taste blood. “You mean give her to you?”

Mom looks at Dad and then back at me. “No.” It comes out as not much more than a whisper. “I mean put her up for adoption. She should go to a young family. Someone who can care for her the way she deserves to be cared for. The way she deserves to be loved.”

I stare at my mother, wondering if I can die from this tightness in my chest that I know is my broken heart. I feel so betrayed by her. “I can’t believe you won’t take her,” I whimper. I look at my dad. “I thought you wanted her.”

“It’s not that we don’t want her, Daisy.”

Mom presses her lips together and then says, “I think that would be best for Charlie.”

I start to come out of my chair, my fingers laced together, my hands on top of my head. I feel like my brain is going to explode. “I don’t understand . . . I thought—” I look at Dad. Then back at Mom. “I thought I came down here to—I thought we were going to talk about you and Dad adopting Charlie. Not giving her away to strangers.”

Mom wipes her mouth with her cloth napkin. She meets my gaze. Exhales as if she’s tired beyond exhaustion. “I can’t do that, Hazel. I love Charlie. I love her so much.” Tears trickle down her cheeks and I realize she looks like she’s been crying all day. “But that’s not what’s best for Charlie. Not being raised by grandparents.”

“I can’t believe you want me to give her to a stranger!” I scream. “I can’t believe you thought I would do that!” As I get up, I accidentally knock my chair over. It hits the wood floor with a bang and startles Charlie. She starts to cry. I go to her, unbuckle her from her swing, and lift her out of it. “I’m not doing it! You can’t make me give her away!”

I run out of the dining room, holding my daughter in my arms. I run up the stairs and into my room and slam the door shut. Charlie screams louder. I lock the door. I put Charlie in her crib, stuff her pacifier in her mouth, and go to my closet. I come out with my suitcase.

“If they don’t want you here, then they don’t want me here,” I tell Charlie. “We’re out of here. I don’t know where we’re going, but somewhere far away.”

I start throwing clothes into the suitcase. Anything I grab goes in: jeans, a sweater, a pile of shorts, T-shirts. I yank out my whole drawer of underwear and bras and dump everything in, into my suitcase.

There’s a knock at my bedroom door. “Daisy?”

“Go away!” I scream at Dad. “Leave me alone.”

“Hazel, let me in so we can talk. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”

“But I don’t want to talk to you!” I throw a sneaker that’s in my hand and it bangs against the door and bounces off.

Dad rattles the knob. But the door is locked and he’s not getting in. I turn my back on the door.

“We’re not staying here,” I mutter, yanking shirts off hangers and throwing them into the suitcase. I toss a tray of jewelry on top. “We’re going to be fine, Charlie. We’ll figure it out.” I retrieve the sneaker I threw and wedge it in.

Charlie is still crying.

Dad’s gone.

I add another pair of shoes and, realizing my suitcase is full, I drop to the floor on my knees. “We’re packed,” I tell my baby. “We’re out of here!” I start zipping it up, shoving stuff in so it will close. I’ve almost got it zipped when I sit back, pulling my hands off the suitcase like it burned them.

I just stare at it.

I packed a suitcase. I’m ready to go.

But I didn’t put a single thing of Charlie’s inside.

My whole room is full of diapers, and blankets and onesies, and leggings and tops for Charlie. And I didn’t put anything in the suitcase for her. Not one thing.

Crying so hard, I can hardly get up, I go to the crib. I pick Charlie up so gently, and I hold her against me, rocking her. I breathe deep, trying to imprint on my brain the feel of her in my arms. “I’m sorry,” I whisper in her little ear that looks like a lima bean.

I slide to the floor and lean against the crib. And miracle of miracles, she starts to calm down. “I can’t do it,” I tell her.

I kiss her chubby cheek.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” I sob. “But I can’t take care of you.”

I nuzzle the little red curls at the back of her neck.

“You deserve a mom and a dad. Adults. Adults with jobs and a way to take care of you.”

Charlie looks up at me and makes sounds like she’s talking to me.

I pull her against me and hug her, smelling her baby smell that’s a combination of Mrs. Meyer’s lavender fabric softener, diaper rash butt paste, and formula.

And I sob. I cry like I’ve never cried before.

Eventually, like Charlie, I stop crying. I look down to see that she’s fallen asleep, sucking her Binky that I gave her. And she’s so beautiful.

Being careful not to wake her, I stand up. I walk to my door and unlock it. I open it and then I lean against the wall and wait.

Only a few minutes pass before Mom is standing in my doorway. “May I come in?” she asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice yet.

She looks at the suitcase, then back at me.

It feels like a long time passes before I find my voice. But when I speak, I’m surprised by how loud it sounds. Like I’m not crumbling to pieces inside. “You’re right,” I say, holding Charlie against me. “I can’t take care of her.” I take a breath, my whole body shaking. “I want . . . I want to put her up for adoption. If . . . if you and Dad don’t want—”

I look at Mom to see her crying. “We can’t. I can’t.” She mouths the words.

I take another breath. “If you don’t think you can take her, then I want to put her up for adoption. I want someone to adopt her. Someone who can’t have babies.”

“Oh, Hazel,” Mom says in what sounds like a sigh.

She comes to me and wraps her arms around me and it’s like the two of us are holding Charlie.

“I’m so proud of you, Hazel,” she murmurs. “So very proud of you.”

I nod, still crying. I squeeze my eyes shut because I can’t imagine handing Charlie to someone she doesn’t know.

“So proud of you,” Mom says again. “For being smart enough, brave enough to do this. Because you know what?”

“What?” I ask, not taking my head off her shoulder.

“I wasn’t mature enough to have a baby when I had Sean. I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant. But your dad wanted a baby and I wasn’t brave enough to admit I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t as brave as you are, Hazel.”

For a long time I just stand there, letting Mom hold me and Charlie in her arms. And then she carefully takes Charlie from me and puts her in her crib while I just stand there watching her. And then she takes my hand and she leads me past my suitcase to my bed.

“You need to sleep. We can make plans in the morning,” she whispers.

I climb into bed in my clothes and lay my head on my pillow. Mom pulls up the sheet and kisses the top of my head the way she used to when I was little. Then she starts stroking my hair and I drift off to sleep.