“But when it comes down to it, I don’t know if I actuallywantany,” she continues. “I feel like I’m missing that mom gene or something. I adored my parents, but they weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. And you know what my aunt and uncle are like.” Ivy’s parents died when she was twelve and her aunt and uncle took her in; I never met the Chens because they moved back to China a year or so before I met Ivy, but from what I’ve heard they’re about as warm as the far reaches of Siberia.
“So you’re worried about how you’d be as a parent?” I ask.
“Yes and no. Hugh would be an amazing dad, so I’m sure I’d learn a lot from him. Plus instinct is supposed to kick in once you actually have kids, right? I just want to be sure if I have a child it’s because Iwantone and not because Ishouldwant one. Parenthood shouldn’t be an experiment.”
A bittersweet smile twists my lips. Ivy tilts her head back, shaking out her hair. Her eyes meet mine, and they go so wide it’s almost comical. “Oh my god, Mer, I’m sorry, I—”
“Stop. It’s fine.” I squeeze her hand. “I completely agree with you that parenthood shouldn’t be an experiment.” And while I do agree with her, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. At the time I was born, my mom was a children’s aid worker, dealing mostly with young, single mothers. My biological mother, who was barely seventeen when I was born, had already had a baby who’d been taken away and placed into foster care. For whatever reason, when she got pregnant with me she was determined to keep me and give me a good life.
My mom worked closely with her from the moment I was born, and my birth mother seemed to give parenting her all for the first two weeks. But then one day my mom got a call to meet my bio mom at her apartment; when she arrived, the place had been emptied, and I was lying in my crib in the middle of the room. My mom took me home with her, nursed me back to health, and fought her hardest to keep me. After months of red tape and mountains of paperwork, she was given the green light to go ahead with adoption papers, and I was officially hers.
I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the boulder of emotion stuck there. I can’t allow even a single tear to fall because this isn’t about me. It’s about Ivy and her feelings and whatsheneeds, and right now she needs me to be strong. Ivy’s hand tightens around mine, making me realize I’ve been squeezing hers with bone-crushing intensity. So much for not showing my emotions.
“You need to talk to Hugh.” If Ivy notices the wobble in my voice, she doesn’t react. “I know he’s busy, but he’d be the first to say he’s never too busy for you. Find a time where it’s just the two of you with no distractions, and tell him everything. Tell him about the pregnancy scare and the fact you were relieved when you realized youweren’tpregnant. Tell him about your doubts and fears and what you want from your future. You might be on the same page and all your worry is for nothing.”
She nods along as I speak, her lips pressed together. I feel like there’s something she wants to say, so I bump my leg against hers, raising my eyebrows. Finally, she says, “Hugh loves kids, Meredith. That’s the whole reason he started Santa’s Village and then turned it into a year-round thing. It’s the reason he started the Bookworm program for underprivileged kids.”
“Just because he loves kids doesn’t necessarily mean he wants any himself. Maybe he just loves to make them happy and help them, but considers it something to leave at the office, you know? Either way, you won’t know until you talk to him.”
Ivy lets out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard. “You’re right.” She tugs on my hand, drawing me closer so we can hug. “You’re amazing.”
“You’re pretty great yourself,” I murmur into her hair. “And hey, you can talk to me anytime, you know that, right? I may have a lot going on, but I always have time for you. Okay?” She makes a small sound of agreement and I jiggle her until she starts laughing.
“Okay, okay, I promise I’ll talk to you!” She releases me and I notice immediately how much more open her expression is. “I’m going to go get a cookie before they’re all gone. You coming?”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Save me something good, ’kay?”
Ivy leans over to kiss my cheek before popping out of her seat and heading for the refreshments. I sit back in my chair, turning my attention toward the window and the dark evening beyond. Despite nearly every conversation I have lately making me miss my mom fiercely, this one has also left me with a case of the warm fuzzies, knowing I helped someone I love feel better. But it’s also made me realize how wrapped up in myself I’ve been. I’ve been so busy and so stressed I didn’t even see Ivy was going through something until it practically slapped me in the face.
Ivy would be genuinely dismayed if she found out all I’m dealing with on my own, especially after my insistence she talk to me about her problems. I just can’t bring myself to open up about everything. Not yet. There’s nothing anyone can do except sympathize, and I’m afraid that sympathy would erode what’s left of my strength.
But I need to remember I’m not the only one going through stuff. I need to be a better friend.
“Meredith, I’ve set aside the last two shortbread cookies for you, but I’m afraid someone’s going to fight me for them,” Piper calls from across the room.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I jump up and head for the refreshment table. It’s going to be a long night, but right now I need to be present for my friends. When did life become such a juggling act?
