A Necessary End (8 page)

W
e all go to dinner in the city after the meeting with Hal—at an expensive restaurant along the water at the Embarcadero, ostensibly to celebrate—but Gabe is barely talking. Leah and I carry the load, mocking Hal's pompous talk about maternal instinct and breast-feeding when he's probably on his third wife and there were no pictures of kids anywhere in that office. It's the most bonding Leah and I have done so far, so you'd think Gabe would appreciate that. After all, I can tell he's growing fond of Leah, something I intend to use against him later. Well, not against him, more like for the baby.

Alone, in our bedroom, I go down on him, hoping he'll relax, and he does for just a second. Then all the tension returns. I didn't even know that could happen so quickly.

I cozy up next to him and run my hand up and down his arm. Through the gauzy embossed mint fabric of the canopy bed, I see the sandalwood candles that are scenting the room resting on top of our vintage dresser. I can't imagine a more relaxing, sensual setting. But then, I am the one who designed it. I painted the dresser and armoire green and then distressed them myself; I picked out the fabric and
draped it over the bed (it's actually from a sari store on University Avenue, in Berkeley).

Maybe Gabe needs something more masculine. I could look online for a candle that smells like pipe tobacco.

But for now, I just hold on to him. “It's going to be okay,” I say into his chest hair.

“I'm not sure it is,” he says. His brow is furrowed, and even though I'm touching him, it's like he's across the room. There could be a sign with a skull and crossbones and
KEEP OUT
, that's how closed off he seems.

“Hal is one of those people who assume that because something's not typically done, it should never be done. Contract law is about playing it safe and covering asses, including his. He doesn't know us. He doesn't know how much we love each other or how determined we are. He doesn't know Leah, and the fact that she one hundred percent does not want her baby and one hundred percent wants us to have him.”

“Nothing's one hundred percent. You know that better than anyone.” A veiled Patty reference, no doubt, highlighting that he sensed something was off long before I did. I don't need any reminders, not when I worked so hard to exorcise that ghost and he barely did a thing to help me.

I sit up so we're no longer touching. “Leah's different. And I think you'd agree, I'm very different this time around.”

He drums his fingers against his upper arms. The percussion puts me on edge, but I can't show it. I need to radiate calm. “What if we fall in love with the baby and she does, too? What if we end up fighting over him? We go to court, and someone wins, and someone loses. Probably the kid. He loses someone right out of the gate. Like Hal said, what kind of a start in life is that?”

“We won't lose. You think she'll have money to hire a good lawyer?”

He stares at me. “So you want to screw her out of her child?”

“She came to us. She chose us. Because we're going to give her baby a good life. Even if she changes her mind, we're still going to give the baby a good life. Because he's meant to be ours.”

He looks away. “What if he's not?”

“He is. I can feel it. Last time, I was forcing it. This time, it's organic. Look at her. Look at me. If that's not a sign, what is?”

No answer from Gabe, just a deepening frown.

“He's meant to be ours, and I'll tell you why. It's
because
we're taking the tougher path. Sure, we could tell Leah no, this is too complicated. We could listen to Hal, and we could bail on her. But how I know that we're meant to have this baby—this one, not the next one—is because we're willing to fight for him, if it comes down to it. We're willing to deal with the complications because he's that important. It's trial by fire. We'll have proven ourselves worthy.”

I didn't even know I was going to make that argument until it was flying out of my mouth, but it's incontrovertible. Last time, it seemed too easy, too good to be true. I let my guard down, and I got burned. Immolated, really. Now we're in a brave new world.

“And then there's Leah,” I say. “You want to help her, don't you?”

“Do you?” He searches my face, as if for hairline cracks in drywall.

“A year with us could do her good. It's like I said. She'll get her life together, with our help, and then when she comes to visit on Thanksgiving or Christmas or whenever, our son will get to see a birth mother he can feel proud of.” It's not like I'd mind Leah benefiting; it's just not a priority.

“What if she wants to come by more often? She talks like she'll just be down the street. Can you handle Leah having a real relationship with him?”

I try to picture Leah as a member of our family—“Aunt Leah”—and I just can't do it. I can't imagine sharing him like that, day-to-day. She needs to be distant. In the most likely scenario, she'll lose interest over the years. She'll get wrapped up in her own life; she'll
move away; she'll have her own family. But if that's not happening, we'll go to Plan B. I'll put in a call to Hal and make sure the contract has no prohibitions against our moving away.

All problems have solutions. Hal was being histrionic, and he's infected Gabe, who's been less than enthusiastic about the adoption process since the beginning.

“I can handle anything,” I say. Patty proved that. “Don't hide behind Hal. If you want to back out, say so.”

He glares at me. “I'm not some pussy-whipped teenager, Adrienne. I'll say what I want, and I'll do what I want.”

“Shh. Leah will hear you.”

He shakes his head angrily. “I'm not going to live this way for a year. With the shushing and the nicey-nice bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You. You're not yourself around her. I don't want this Stepford Adrienne for a year.”

I'm about to protest that I don't know what he means, but yeah, I know what he means. “You've said what you don't want. But what do you want? Do you want this baby or not?”

The silence is fraught. It feels like there's a spiderweb stretched between us, and one of us is supposed to try to walk across it. This situation with Leah is the most dangerous trapeze act of our marriage. But that's just another reason to do it. I've always assumed Gabe and I are indestructible. If we're not, I need to know. I'm not getting any younger.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, I think I want this. I want Leah to be the mom.”

“The birth mother. Not the mom.”

“You know what I mean. I just hate all that PC adoption talk. Birth mothers and adoptive mothers.”

“Well, there has to be some way to distinguish.”

I'm glad Gabe said he wants this, but I don't like how he said it. Not “I want us to be parents” or “I want to be a dad.” Not even
“I want Leah to be the birth mother.” What he said was “I want Leah to be the mom.” I wonder—and not for the first time—if something else happened on their day in San Francisco. What he left out, and why.

“I'm going to go watch TV in the living room,” I tell him. “I've got Summer Jackson on DVR.”

He starts to make one of his derisive jokes about how man-hating commentators like Summer and missing women go together like chocolate and peanut butter, but I'm in no mood to laugh along.

I don't sleep well, and in the morning, I don't much like driving away, knowing Leah's on her own in my house. I find myself wishing I'd thought farther ahead and bought some of those nanny-cam teddy bears to place strategically in all the rooms. It's too late now. If they suddenly appeared, she'd know something was up. She's shrewd.

Oh, sure, we're on the same team for the moment: Leah and me versus Gabe and Hal. The optimists versus the pessimists (Hal would say “realist,” but that's what all pessimists say). I just don't know how long that will last, how long it can last. Two mothers, one son—there's always going to be tension.

I'm trying to be a good host, though. I printed out different potential destinations and bus schedules. If she takes the bus to the BART station, she can go into the city. “That's always fun!” I told her, way too happy. Gabe's right, I'm not myself around Leah. What he doesn't seem to realize is that's no accident.

Our house is a mile away from the nearest shopping center, and Leah doesn't seem up for much walking. She doesn't look big, but she says she can feel every step vibrating in her belly. She's complaining, yet I'm envious. I want to know what it feels like, all of it, even the unpleasant parts. Even labor and delivery, especially that—I'd kill to give birth.

That'd be a funny slogan on a T-shirt.

It's only a fifteen-minute drive to school, and every second, I'm thinking about Leah. Where she is, what she's doing, if there's anything
for her to find. Our medicine cabinets are innocuous. Sure, there are all my antiaging products, and tons of hair products, and that's slightly embarrassing. But they work. I look good. Leah must have noticed that.

I got rid of all my skeletons years ago. My closets are stripped clean. When we moved to California, we were truly starting over. As far as anyone can tell, we're just a loving couple with palpable chemistry. (I don't mind her snooping in our toy drawer, as long as she doesn't try to use any of it.)

She might find one of my stashes of baby gear. But that wouldn't look weird, now that she's here. It would look thorough. We're prepared.

But are we really? As soon as those papers are signed, we need to make lists. To-do lists, checklists, shopping lists.

Hal said he'll have the papers ready by Friday. That's a lot of time for Gabe to consider, and reconsider. When we went to bed last night, he seemed to have come around. He said he wanted the baby, didn't he? I just don't know what the next days will bring. Gabe does a lot of second-thinking. And third-thinking. And fourth . . .

Leah's signing those papers, no question, no hesitation. Unfortunately, at the moment, I feel surer of her than of my own husband.

W
hen Hal presents the contract, his manner practically screams, “It's your funeral.” We could have gotten a new lawyer, but that would have delayed the process. The good thing about Hal's discomfort with our decision is that he clearly wants this over and done with, posthaste. It's like he's trying to make a quick getaway from a crime scene. I've been edgy enough just waiting a few days; my poor students need this contract to be completed.

Gabe and I have continued to play tour guide to Leah. It's exhausting to fake good cheer. I can't wait until she has the baby and she can just lie around in her room, recovering, watching TV.

I can't wait until she has the baby, period. I am so ready to be a mom.

We're in the conference room instead of Hal's office, and there's a young female whose job is to keep all the papers in order. She might also be there to witness his repeated disclaimers: “You know I advised strongly against this . . .”

Blah blah blah.

“. . . I've written this to your specifications as I understood them. If you have any questions or see any errors or inaccuracies, speak up. We can still make changes. Once you sign, it's binding.” He clears his throat and then looks sternly at each of us (with the exception of his assistant/witness/mistress). “The contract stipulates that Leah will reside with you for a period of one year, commencing with the birth of the baby. Should Leah miscarry, or if the baby is stillborn, the contract is nullified.” I remind myself that he's only protecting my interests, but I'm jarred by the starkness of the language. “Shall I continue?” I nod. Gabe is staring at the table like a boy in detention. Leah seems composed. “During that year, Gabe and Adrienne will provide food and lodging for Leah. They will pay the monthly premium for her and the baby's health insurance. They will also pay for any medical expenses not covered by insurance. They're responsible for all copays and deductibles for her and the baby. They will provide four hundred dollars per month for her discretionary spending—meaning, they have no say over how that money is used.”

When Gabe's father died, Gabe got Michael's share of the inheritance. It wasn't all that much, since most of the money went to the stepmonster, but we did come away with enough to pay for a couple rounds of IVF and still have some savings. I have a teensy worry about how we're going to cover all that health insurance, plus the baby's expenses, plus Leah's stipend, but we'll manage. We always do.

Hal fixes his gaze on Gabe and me. “You will be solely and entirely responsible for meeting the baby's practical and emotional needs. That is, Leah will not be required to engage with the child
in any way. She doesn't have to change a single diaper or do a single feeding, should she choose not to. But should she desire contact, you must allow up to two hours per day—all at once, or in increments—and she is entitled to privacy inside the home. If she wants to leave the home with the child, she has to get your approval. She has declined to breast-feed, and I have stipulated that she will not be permitted to do so, unless it is with your express approval.”

“That seems a little harsh,” Gabe says.

It's the first thing he's said since we arrived, and it is not an auspicious beginning.

“The contract isn't saying she can't breast-feed,” I say. “She just needs to get our approval.”

“But it's her—” Was he going to say “her baby” or “her body”? I can't know because he broke off at the sight of my face. “I just don't want to feel like a dictator, that's all.”

“It's not a dictatorship,” I say. “We'll all talk about things. This is just a way to start an open dialogue.”