“Where are the twins?” I ask when she makes her way over, a large cappuccino in hand. Her nanny takes Thursday mornings off to take college classes.
“My mom’s watching them,” she says. “One hour is the most she can handle, so I can only stay for forty-five minutes.”
It’s no wonder her mother imposes a limit; the boys are human fidget spinners. The last time Sarah brought the two-year-olds to a meeting, they’d all left after fifteen minutes because the boys wouldn’t stop tearing around the room and shrieking.
Sarah froze her eggs when she was thirty-five and without a partner. When she reached forty-one and was still single, she’d had them mixed with donor sperm and implanted.
I spot Lauren’s dark ponytail next. She’s about my age and attends the group as an inquirer—that’s someone who’s considering becoming a single parent. She’s looking at both adoption and artificial insemination. She works as a nurse at Ochsner Hospital, and she’s been coming to meetings for a couple of years.
Finally, in ambles Mac. He’s a tall, shy man in his late forties or early fifties who works as an MRI technician. Mac seems to have trouble making eye contact and is a little socially awkward, but hehas a heart of gold. He’s raising his brother’s teenage daughter, Kylie, because both his brother and sister-in-law were sent to prison for embezzlement. The girl, who is now fourteen, is a handful.
After everyone settles at the table with their beverage of choice, Sarah looks at her watch. She founded the group and works as a psychological counselor, so we happily let her run the meetings whenever she attends. “Well, it’s five minutes after, so let’s get started.”
We all nod.
“I think we should start with a minute of silence for Brooke,” Sarah says. “I’ll set my timer in honor of her punctuality.”
We all laugh, then hold hands. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. The timer on Sarah’s phone buzzes.
“We’re all wondering about Lily,” Sarah says. “So, Quinn, why don’t you start?”
My pulse skitters. “I kind of wanted to be the last one to talk today—I have some personal news to share—but sure, I’ll kick things off with a Lily update. As most of you know, Lily’s living in Alexandria with Miss Margaret.”
Annie’s eyes are warm pools of concern. “How’s that going?”
“Not particularly well.” My heart feels like shattered glass, and a little sliver seems stuck in my throat. “Actually, it’s not going well at all. Lily’s regressed on her potty training, she complains of headaches, and she wakes up in the night.”
“Poor little thing!” Lauren murmurs.
“I call her often, and I’ve been going to Alexandria every weekend to visit. Each time, Lily wants to know if her mommy came with me. I try to explain that she’s dead...” Once again, tears well in my eyes. I hate how I’m a constant wet bucket of emotion, but I can’t seem to help it. “But Lily doesn’t seem to hear it. She changes the subject. Last Sunday at the end of my visit, she started talking about the things we would do together when she goes home and her mother is back. To tell the truth, it was kind of spooky.”
“She’s in denial. Young children can stay stuck there for awhile,” Sarah says. Her expertise has been really helpful to the group. “When they lose someone, they pretend it hasn’t happened.”
I don’t blame Lily. I’d like to pretend it hasn’t happened, too. “When it was time for me to leave, Lily cried and clung to me and begged me to take her home to her mommy. I have to tell you... it completely broke my heart.”
Annie puts her hand over mine. “That had to be so difficult.”
I swallow hard, afraid the lump in my throat will make it impossible to talk. “Miss Margaret is the one who’s really having a tough time. She’s at her wit’s end. She’s following your advice, Sarah, and taking Lily to a child psychologist. The psychologist says Lily’s behavior is pretty normal. Young children have trouble understanding death.”
“Don’t we all,” murmurs Lauren.
“They’re coming to New Orleans this evening so Miss Margaret can put Brooke’s house on the market. I’m taking off work tomorrow to help, and I’ll keep Lily for the three or four nights they’re here. We’ll take her to visit her old home if she wants, but Miss Margaret and the psychologist thought it would be confusing for her to stay there and then have to leave again.”
“I wish Miss Margaret would just move to New Orleans,” Annie says. “That way you and she could care for Lily together.”
That’s what I want, too. I’ve talked to Margaret about it until I’m blue in the face, but she won’t even consider it.
“I can’t just up and move!” Margaret had exclaimed when I’d broached the topic again this past weekend. Her brows had creased, and her fingers worried the pearls on her necklace. “This has been my home for forty-seven years. I can’t handle another huge upheaval right now.”
I’d bitten my tongue and reminded myself of a bit of wisdom from the reparenting book:Let go of the things that are out of your control.
“Miss Margaret is Lily’s legal guardian, and Alexandria is her home,” I say, sounding more stoic than I feel.
“How old is Miss Margaret?” Annie asks.
“Seventy-nine,” I reply.
“Good lord!” Lauren’s eyes widen. “She looks great for her age, but still... she’s nearly eighty! How long is she going to be able to take care of a young child?”
