Crazy man.
I SPACE OUT AS MYmother chatters away on the other end of the phone. “Tara bought me this adorable pair of earrings. I loved them so much I made her get a pair for you. They’re in the mail.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I half-heartedly respond.
“How’s the weather?” She changes the subject for the fourth time, trying to engage me. “It’s May and still cold here,” she says frustrated.
“Sunny and eighty-five degrees,” I inform her.
“I’m so jealous. I’m ready for some tropical climate. I keep trying to convince your father it’s time to move.”
I scoff to myself. “You know that man will never leave New York.”
“I know.” I can almost see her pout. “At least we get to visit soon. I can’t wait to see you.”
My parents make a trip out to Hawaii at least twice a year. I love it when they visit. My family is the one piece of my nearly perfect life that’s missing.
“I can’t wait to see you, too,” I respond sullenly.
“Oh, honey. Try not to think about so much.” Her voice softens. “It will happen when it’s supposed to.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She’s resolute. “Dad wants to say hi. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
“How’s my girl?” My father asks the same question in the same parental tone every time I speak to him.
“Fine, Dad.”
“Mmm hmm. How’s that husband of yours treating you?”
“Like a princess.”
“He better be. Don’t want to have to come out there and crack any skulls.”
“Dad . . .” I actually chuckle. You know that old saying girls marry their fathers? I think it’s true. A possessive, overprotective man raised me, and then I went and married one. Thankfully, as much as they are alike, my father and Kayne have a wonderful relationship.
“Miss you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me, too,” I reply, trying to mask my blue mood.
I hang up with my parents and go back to staring at the picture on my computer screen. I’ve been looking at it most of the morning. A survivor and her five-year-old son standing on the Great Wall of China smiling brightly. It was accompanied by a thank-you letter I received in my inbox.
Dear Mrs. Stevens,
I can never say thank you enough for the generosity of your organization. I never dreamed I would leave the country, let alone get to experience another culture in such an unbelievable way. Hope and happiness are sometimes hard to come by, but you have given me both.
Sincerely,
Stacy
I usually love receiving letters like this. Hope and happiness, that’s exactly what I want to provide. I receive so many requests, so many stories of pain and brutality, of people looking for an escape or distraction from their experiences, even if just temporarily. But seeing her hold her child in her arms does nothing but make me sad.
Kayne and I have been trying to conceive for over six months and nothing; not even a late period.
I inspect every feature of the little boy’s face—shaggy brown hair, big blue eyes, and olive skin. But it’s his smile that destroys me the most. He isn’t looking at the camera; he’s looking at his mother. Sometimes I wonder if I am being punished for not wanting to have children in the first place, and now that I do, more than anything, I feel like a failure as a woman. Like I’mincapable of doing the one thing a female is meant to do. Give her husband a child.
