“Well, I certainly don’t mind helping out. It feels like the least I can do, to actually contribute a little to the household right now.” I pleated my napkin into tiny folds. “I know I’ve kind of been deadweight since I moved back. No pun intended.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Willow. You know that Daddy and I are here for you as long as you need. And also for whatever you need.”
My father cleared his throat. “But since you’ve brought it up . . .“ he began. “Have you given any more thought to what comes next? You know—” He nodded toward my ever-growing belly. “After. If you’re still thinking about adoption, there are probably a few things we should start considering. You know, to get the ball rolling. To see what your options might be.”
“I haven’t quite decided—"
“John, would you stop pushing this adoption agenda on her?” Mom dropped one hand to the table sharply, rattling the dishes and silverware. “We agreed we were going to let Willow make this decision without any influence from either of us. You promised that you wouldn’t try to sway her one way or the other.”
“I’m not influencing. I’m just asking!” My father’s voice boomed, making me wince. “And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with investigating all of the options. These last few months are going to go quickly. And before any of us know it, there’s going be a baby here. If Willow wants a chance to move on with her life, then she needs to start talking to some people who can find the right parents, the right family for that baby—"
“I cannot believe you are trying to give away our grandchild to strangers.” My mother shook her head. “I just don’t understand you.”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I just want Willow to be aware of—"
“But youarepushing. Just by asking, you’re pushing,” my mother insisted. “You know how much Willow adores you. Anything that you suggest is going to carry extra weight with her.”
I sat there watching the volley go back and forth between my parents as though I was a spectator at a ping pong game. Only, it felt like in this scenario, I was the ball being smacked back and forth.
Finally, when my mother paused to take a breath, and my father had not interrupted her again, I coughed a little and raised my voice.
“Listen.”
Both of them turn to look at me. I noticed the faint surprise on my mother’s face, as though she had forgotten that I was still sitting here.
“I don’t want the two of you to argue. I don’t want to become … something that comes between you.” I pressed one hand into my chest. “This ismyproblem. My situation. And my choice.” I took a deep breath. “I know it’s not fair for me to say that when I’m living in your house, eating your food, and depending on you for my medical care and everything else.”
My mother reached out her hand and laid it on my arm. “Willow. That’s not the point here at all. No matter what you decide—" She slid her eyes to my father. “Daddy and I are happy to be able to help you. We are not going to kick you out if you decide to keep the baby or if you decide on adoption.”
“Your mother is right.” My father’s expression was oddly vulnerable. “We’re coming at this from different angles, but the end result, what we want for you, is the same. We want the best for our daughter. And only you can say what that is.”
“I understand why Daddy thinks adoption is a good idea,” my mother said slowly. “There’s no question that in some ways it would be far easier for you. For all of us. You could be at grad school this fall. You could have the job that you wanted. And all of us would go back to living the life we planned.” She pressed her lips together and her eyes filled with tears. “But as a woman, as a mother, I can’t imagine what it would be like to carry a baby, to give birth to that baby, and then to hand it over to strangers.” She lifted both of her hands as if to forestall any argument from my father. “I know, I know. Adoption is noble. I’m grateful for the women who are strong enough to do it, who make that decision, and allow other couples to be parents, other women to be mothers, when otherwise they could not be. And if Willow was four or five years younger, maybe I’d be leaning that way, too.” She swallowed hard and glanced at me again. “If you go that way, Willow, I will do anything and everything to be supportive. But I can’t help telling you how I feel while you’re still trying to make the decision.”
I nodded. “I know what you mean, Mom. I’ll be honest, the idea of adoption was a lot easier before—thisall felt real, or maybe more real.” I laid one hand on my stomach, smiling a little as the baby turned and kicked against my touch. “It was much easier to imagine going on with my life, thinking I could pretend this never happened, before I felt the baby move. Before I could see the evidence of it growing and thriving every day.” I sniffled. “But I’m still not sure—" My voice was thick. “I’m still not sure that I am ready to be a mother. Not the mother that this baby needs. What if I make a decision now, and then in a year or two years, I resent the baby for taking away from me the life I planned on living? That would be worse and more painful than just walking away now. It might be better to decide on a break sooner rather than making all of us miserable for years.”
The dining room was silent. I bowed my head, staring at the empty plate in front of me, my mind spinning with all of the possible scenarios that I’d constructed over the past six months. It was the uncertainty that killed me. I had no idea how I would feel when I held the baby for the first time. I had no idea how I would handle sleepless nights with an infant, or working a monotonous, low-paying job if I couldn’t get anything else.
My mother cleared her throat. “Have you talked about any of this with Dean . . .” she ventured almost timidly.
I shook my head definitively. “Not really. I mean, he knows that I am still deciding what I want to do, but we don’t sit around and discuss it.”
It was true. And for as much time as Dean and I spent in each other’s company, we were both studiously careful not to talk about what had brought us together in the first place. I never said anything that I thought might make him feel guilty about his own decisions regarding my pregnancy, and he never asked me if I’d made up my mind yet.
Although our mutual ignore-the-bump rule had sort of been blown out of the water on New Year’s Eve, when he felt the baby move for the first time. Watching his face as the child we had created together moved beneath my skin, I had wanted to cry. It felt so cruel, so unfair, that we weren’t sharing that joy the way a typical couple might. We didn’t snuggle together afterward and dream about our baby’s future. I had to admit, and not for the first time, that night had forced me to wade briefly into the waters of what might have been.
Since then, when we were alone, and there was no chance of anyone walking in on us, he would ask me if the baby was kicking. And for my part, if I could feel the subtle flutters that were becoming so much more defined every day, I would take his huge hand in mine and splay it over my belly, oddly and humbly grateful for those moments when I could pretend that this whole situation was different.
“Why would Willow talk to Dean about this?” my father demanded. “He doesn’t have anything to say on the matter.”
“Because they’re friends,” my mother replied, casting Dad a withering look. “And it would be good for Willow to have somebody who isn’t us to talk to about this.” She turned toward me again. “And just maybe Dean is starting to be more than just a friend? He’s over here whenever he can be. And you both seem very chummy. Very close.”
Panic made my heart patter, and the surge of adrenaline that accompanied it must’ve hit the baby, because its kicks grew more frantic. “No.” My tone held an ominous finality. “Dean is a very good friend. I’m grateful that he seems to like hanging out with me as much as I enjoy being with him. But that’s the end of it. He’s not interested in me that way.” I heard the tiniest thread of self-pity in my voice and worked to eradicate it. “I mean, we are not interested in each other that way.”
“I can’t say that I can agree with you on that,” my father remarked. “Maybe you’re just too close to the situation to see it, Willow. But from where your mom and I stand—" He nodded at my mother. “It seems to us that that young man is sweet on you.”
Unexpected tears filled my eyes. “You’re wrong.” I worked hard to keep my voice steady. “And even if he told me that he was, if he said that he was interested in—" I sucked in a steadying breath. “How in the world could I believe him?”
Dad frowned. “Why wouldn’t you believe him? What motivation does the boy have for lying to you about how he feels?”
