Holding On (Hooking Up) (20 page)

She shook her head. “It’s all I’ve been doing. I’ll admit it. I’ve been living in the past for years now.”

“I won’t deny that.”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about Maria. The mail I told you about the day you moved into your new house? It was from her.”

“It was?” I was mystified. All this time I thought it had been from Michael, my ex-boyfriend. Why would my mom write to her? I glanced at Gran’s face and was surprised to see something suspiciously like pain on it. Tormented pain. Strange, coming from a woman who prided herself on her toughness.

“She let me know she was very ill. I thought she was just trying to scam you and me both. I didn’t believe her.”

“Did the letter say anything else?”

“It said that her biggest regret was waiting so long to get to know you. She said she envied me, how close I’d been to you for all these years.”

“She said she was sick? She actually wrote you and told you that?”

“Yes. She said she was so glad you’d have a woman to look after you once she was gone. She asked me to take care of you.”

We exchanged a long look, and in her eyes I saw the same grief I’d seen when Shelly and Keith died. I’d been too young to recognize it, too full of my own grief to really see what their death did to her, but I remembered that look on her face. It shocked me. I knew she mourned her daughter, but was she mourning my mother as well?

“You don’t have to take care of me. No one is holding you to that. She’s gone. It’s not like she’ll know.”

“I would. I want—no, I need, to talk to you about some things. I’d rather do it now, if that’s alright with you. I know you’re probably emotionally spent.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said softly, my heart thumping in anticipation. Would she finally sever the last tie and tell me she wouldn’t be coming back again? Would she finally succeed in throwing me out of her life? Or was it something else?

“I know. Catie, I’ve learned a few things over the past several months, and I have to thank you for making me see. You and your mother. She was a wonderful woman, wasn’t she?”

I nodded, tears spurting into my eyes again.

“When she wrote me that letter, she said a lot of things about why she gave you up. She said she would have been honored to keep you and raise you, but her family made it impossible. She told me how much she truly loved Shelly for agreeing to raise you, for accepting you wholly as her own daughter even though there wasn’t a blood tie between you. She said she saw a lot of Shelly in you, in the way you took care of Benjamin, even though he wasn’t your blood. She said you loved him like he was, and that was all that mattered. And it made me realize how small I’ve been.”

“Gran, you were dealing with your daughter’s death. That’s something no mother should have to face. You had a lot on your shoulders. I don’t blame you for being upset, really.” And I didn’t. Not anymore. I’d forgiven her, finally, and moved past what she’d done to me when I was young. It took too much energy to stay angry with her. I loved her, despite it all, and I didn’t want to hate anymore.

“But you should, Catie. Don’t you understand? Instead of wrapping myself up in bitterness and grief, I should have helped Shelly live on in you. Instead, I shunned you, the one link I had to my daughter. But I shut you out, simply because you didn’t have the good fortune to be birthed by my daughter. You were hers, and I disgraced myself by not taking care of what she left me. I made a horrible mistake.

“I really thought she was out to take your money and leave you high and dry. I tried to protect you, the only way I knew, by warning you about her. I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I went about it the wrong way. Again. Another mistake.”

“Gran, you’re human. We all make mistakes. I’ve made enough of them, if you recall.” I smiled at her wryly, trying to do anything to lighten the moment. The conversation had gotten uncomfortably heavy.

“Catie, I wish to God I’d been as strong as you are, as you always have been. You forged ahead despite all the grief I gave you, and you’ve made something of yourself. You work with kids to help them heal, and you’ve taken a child into your home who needs a mother desperately. You give him that, Caitlin. You give him love and affection, just like a mother should, just like I should have given you. How you can be so open and giving and loving after what I’ve done amazes me, but it’s what Shelly did, what she would have done, so maybe it’s not such a surprise after all where you got it.

“I went to the funeral. I wanted to see for myself if what you’d said was true. And I saw everyone at the gravesite, mourning your mother, and it struck me again how wrong I was to judge her when I didn’t even know her. But you never judge anyone. You’re just like Shelly in that regard. She was always the child who would go play with a classmate when no one else would. I remember once when she was in kindergarten, a young girl was getting picked on because she had an old, ratty black coat on instead of a nice new pink one like the other little girls had. My Shelly stood in front of that little girl, Joan, I think her name was, and she demanded that everyone stop picking on her because she was her friend. Shelly played with that little girl all day and wouldn’t let any of her classmates say an unkind word. My Shelly stood up for the underdog. My God, she even offered that little girl her coat. She protected those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. Just like you. And it seems Maria was the same way. She had every reason to judge me due to the way I treated you, but she chose to take the high road and pour her heart out to me, to thank me for helping you grow up into who you are. It humbled me.”

“Gran, like I said, it’s done now. Water under the bridge. We can’t change what happened. I wish we could. I would have brought Shelly back for you. But we can’t do that. We just have to learn from it.”

“I have. I know now how wrong I was about everything. I want to change. I wish I could remember how to forgive and find peace. But it’s been so long. I’m not sure I can.”

“I can help you, if you’d like.” I gazed at Gran, who looked more open and human than she ever had before. She had tears in the corners of her eyes and she looked at me with warmth and a great deal of regret. I had a feeling she thought it was too late, but I knew better. Like Isamu always said, “Love, when given away, doesn’t diminish or dwindle. It simply grows. The more you share it, the bigger it gets.” My grandmother just needed a healthy dose.

She just looked at me, and I realized she was waiting for me to say the words she needed to hear.

“Gran, I forgive you.”

She shuddered once, as if the words poured over her like water, cool and healing. And she stood to sit on the edge of my bed. I shifted to make room and willingly gave her my hand when she reached for it. She stroked my hand with hers and looked at me gravely.

“Thank you. Catie, I want you to know I’ve learned a lot from you. I’ve learned that I’m going to end up alone and unloved if I don’t get rid of this grief hovering around me. I’ve learned how wonderful you are, and how good a woman you’ve turned out to be. I’ve learned that family isn’t always about blood ties. It’s about who you can always count on to be there during the good times and bad. You’ve never once stopped caring about me, my dear, even when you had every reason to. And I want you to know how much it cost me every time I turned you away. I’m sorry for all of that. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I know I did, on countless occasions. I can’t ever make it up to you, but I do everything I can to try.”

“Gran, there’s only one thing I want from you.”

“What, my dear?”

“Acceptance. I just want you to accept who I am. I’m not perfect, and I’m pretty clumsy and impulsive and maybe not the best mannered, but I’m me, and even though I’m not a blood relative, I’m part you. I’m part Shelly and part Keith. I’m part of everyone who raised me. And I want my kids, Benjie and this one here,” I patted my stomach, “to be a part of you. I want you to be a part of them. We need you, Gran. Ryan, Benjie, me and the baby. We love you. Just accept us. All of us. We’re your family.”

“I do. At long last, I do. Thank you, dear Catie.” She hugged me and the baby kicked at the faint pressure of Gran’s arm on my stomach. Gran placed her hand on my undulating stomach and laughed in wonder at the life moving within me.

“Strong little bugger, isn’t he?”

“Could be a she, but yes. Very strong and vigorous. We have a feeling this baby will turn out just like Benjie. And if that’s the case, get your running shoes on and try to keep up.” I shot Gran a grin she returned hesitantly.

“I look forward to getting to know him.”

“That’s good, ‘cause I’m right here, Granny,” a little voice called from the hallway. We both looked toward the door to find Ryan and Benjie standing in the doorway.

“Granny?” Gran said, mystified and slightly apprehensive.

“Just go with it,” I suggested, smiling as Benjie raced full-speed to the side of the hospital bed.

“Hi, Granny. Hi, Catie. Hi, Baby,” he said, patting my belly and resting his hand there to feel his young sibling kick.

“The baby says hello, Benjie. Did you have a good nap?” I asked, tousling his downy curls.

“Yep, but Mo woke me up. He was sniffing my face and he got his tongue up my nose.” Benjie’s little face lit up with proud disgust.

“Nice,” I said, properly impressed. Then I hissed as my stomach bunched into a giant contraction, the first I’d had that actually hurt. “Holy crap. What was that?”

“What?” Ryan asked, panic filling his voice as he raced to my bedside. “What was what?”

“A contraction, I think.”

The nurse walked in from the hallway and said, “Caitlin, did you feel that? The contraction monitor picked up a mild one.” She motioned to the weird belt thingy strapped around my stomach.

“Oh, yeah. I felt it. That was a contraction?” If that was the case, I was a bit nervous for what was to come. I wasn’t due for another week or two.

“Sure was. But that was only a little one. Let’s get the doctor to check you and see where you are.”

The nurse ushered everyone out except for Ryan and the doctor came in to examine me. I was stunned to hear that I was four centimeters dilated and almost one-hundred percent effaced. In short, it was baby time! Since I was already there and my blood pressure was a concern, the doctor decided to break my water and give me some Pitocin to start the contractions coming in earnest. I was told I wouldn’t be leaving the hospital until I’d had the baby.

Ryan took the news fairly well, only turning ashen and slack-jawed for a moment before composing himself. He pulled out his cell and put a call in to Isamu, who was our babysitter for Benjie while we were in labor. Isamu assured Ryan he’d be there soon, and Ryan took up his post as Lamaze coach when the contractions started coming fast and furious after the introduction of the Pitocin.

Gran stayed at the hospital. After her confession and apology, I half expected her to leave. After all, we couldn’t expect too much so soon, but she surprised me. She hovered on the other side of the bed, mopping my brow and feeding me ice chips when I grew thirsty. I was so grateful. I’d been looking forward to sharing this moment with my mom, and the fact that she wasn’t here with me hurt, badly. But Gran was great. She’d been through labor before, and she knew just what to do to make me comfortable. She was a pillar of poise, which helped Ryan remain calm. My cop, so brave in the face of danger, looked slightly wilted around the edges. I think the enormity of the situation was finally striking him. I helped him breathe and meditate a little when his anxiety got the best of him and secretly smirked over our role reversal. But lucky for him, he didn’t have to deal with contractions, which felt like they were getting worse with every passing hour. Things were moving along splendidly, I was told, but it seemed to take forever.

Isamu arrived and smiled widely at Gran. He stayed and visited for a few minutes before he took Benjie home, but not before giving me a huge hug and kiss and whispering in my ear, “I told you so.”

I finally called for pain management and the anesthesiologist came in to administer an epidural, which helped my discomfort immensely. Ryan, seeing my face relax from a pained expression to a happy one, seemed to calm down a bit and start enjoying what was happening. He pulled out our camera and snapped picture after picture. It was cute, but it started to get annoying when the pain returned, breaking through even the barrier of the epidural. I was about ready to take the camera from him and smash it when the doctor came in and checked me again.

“Well, Catie, are you ready to have your baby? It looks like it’s time.”

“What? Time? Now?” Ryan asked, panic leeching the color from his face and making his hands shake.

She smirked at him. “Yes, now, Dad. Alright, everyone assume your positions.” The doctor pushed Ryan to the right side of the bed and Gran took the left. My nurse and the baby’s nurse bustled in and arranged the bassinette for our new addition and broke down the bottom of the bed. The nurse put my feet in stirrups and brushed away the sheets so the doctor could get down to business. I was past modesty at that point and didn’t care that my stuff was hanging out for all to see. It was time to have my baby!

Labor, for lack of a better phrase, was a lot of work. I’m not really how long I pushed, but it felt like hours. The only thing I could focus on, besides the pain and the feeling of being ripped in two, was the sound of Ryan’s voice in one year, whispering words of love and encouragement, and the sound of Gran’s voice in my other ear, excitedly telling me to push, push, push!

Push I did, and our daughter was born at 11:21 pm. At eight pounds, five ounces and twenty inches long, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. When they placed her in my arms, she gave one tiny, mewling cry and stared up at me with stunningly dark blue eyes. She looked bewildered, like she’d just been hurtled through space and deposited on an alien planet. Then she blinked and yawned, apparently done crying for the moment. I fell in love right there and marveled over her dark brown, wispy curls, her tiny fingers that looked too small to be real, her little pug nose that looked just like Benjie’s, and her legs, strong and sure to either execute karate kicks or pirouettes when she was older. She was a miracle. Our miracle.