chapter sixteen
I stare at the brunette in the mirror. Her green eyes stare back at me, then fall upon the growing baby bump that strains underneath my now-too-tight Yankees t-shirt I’m lounging around the apartment in today. It takes me by surprise each time I catch a glimpse of myself. I let Erin pick out the color and she chose dark brown. Really dark, almost the color of Griffin’s. It makes me wonder what color hair Bean will have. Will he have dark blonde hair like I normally do, or will he inherit Griffin’s darker, wavier locks?
I had a dream about the baby last night. It’s the first time that’s ever happened. I was holding the hand of a little boy and he was swinging between me and someone else. But when I looked at the other person, it wasn’t Griffin, it was Erin. What does that even mean?
I shake off the bad feeling of Griffin conspicuously missing from my dream and I finish brushing my hair, happy that I chose not to get the permanent color, but the kind that will completely wash out in about four weeks’ time. Erin did the same. I’m glad she did. I really didn’t want to tell her that I couldn’t imagine her not looking like herself her last weeks on earth.
Especially considering what happened the day we went to the salon. When we were out for lunch, after Griffin’s hairstylist friend gave us the gold-star treatment, Baylor and Mindy came to join us and Erin asked if I was going to introduce her to my friends. It was hard to hide the shock from our faces, but within a few minutes she was herself again, asking when Baylor and Mindy had joined us. Then she proceeded to drop her fork repeatedly. And she cried in my arms when she almost didn’t make it to the bathroom in time to pee. It was the first time I’ve seen her cry sad tears since we shared tears the day she told me she was dying. The headache that came on that afternoon sent her to the doctor who promptly increased her steroid dosage. Still, she ended up in bed for a couple of days.
Today, we’re shopping for baby clothes while Erin’s family and our friends make last-minute arrangements for this afternoon’s surprise. I realize we don’t know the sex of the baby yet. Well, not for sure. But Erin insists it’s a boy and she knows her taste in clothing far outweighs mine. I think this kid will have a wardrobe large enough to clothe a small village by the time she’s done. She wants to shop for furniture next. She’s having everything delivered to her townhouse. I haven’t asked why and she’s failed to tell me. Some things are better left unsaid at this point. I’m grateful she hasn’t pushed. I don’t have the heart to tell her nothing has been decided. She hasn’t come right out and asked if we’re going to honor her dying wish, and Griffin and I are only too happy not to talk about it.
She seems her regular self today. There have been no lapses in memory, no slurred words, no headaches. The only thing I’ve noticed is her right arm hanging limply at her side. The steroids are doing their job and I’m grateful she’ll be able to enjoy the afternoon we have planned. This is by far the largest undertaking and it’s taken dozens of people to be able to pull it off.
As we exit the last designer baby store, she looks at me, questioning the horse-drawn carriage sitting at the curb out front. When a grin takes over my face, she bounces up and down like a little girl and takes the driver’s hand, hoisting herself into the carriage. We had done this once before, and she was so enamored with the horses, I thought it was only fitting this be her transportation to the ball—so to speak.
‘The ball’ is actually a picnic in Central Park. Well, picnic is not really an accurate description. Party is more like it. Everyone will be there. All of Erin’s family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, you name it. We had them all flown in from various locations around the country. Her former colleagues are coming, along with many of her students. Everyone who has touched her life will be there. Why wait for them to come to her funeral where she wouldn’t be able to appreciate each of them?
When we get closer to the party, her eyes go wide as she takes in the tents, the inflatables set up for the children, the endless tables of food and drink, the local band we hired that she said was her favorite a while back when we were at a club together. “Tell me this is not all for me, Skylar.”
I smile. “You said you wanted a picnic in Central Park, didn’t you? We just thought we’d invite a few other people, that’s all.”
“A few people?” She looks around at the hundred or so people that line up along a path as the carriage makes its way to our final stop. “Do I even know this many?”
I laugh. “Yes, you do. And they all love you. You have no idea the impact you’ve had on so many lives, do you?”
Her mouth falls open and tears stream down her face as we pass by the familiar faces of her students, her extended family, her friends. The carriage finally stops and Griffin is waiting to help her down. He takes her into his arms as she thanks us for putting this together for her.
He leads her over to the large grassy area where every food you’d expect to see at a picnic and more is set up in the biggest catering spread Mitchell’s has ever done. She greets everyone in her path along the way before Griffin seats her at the table of honor. He nods at someone in the tent and over walks an older, distinguished looking man, carrying a plate of food. He places it down in front of Erin and says, “Miss Hudson, I trust I won’t have to give you detention for participating in a food fight again, will I?”
Erin jumps out of her seat. “Mr. Segal! Oh, my gosh! How . . . where . . . ?” Tears flow out of her dancing eyes as she draws him into a hug.
“You’ll never know what an honor it is to be here.” He holds her at arm’s length and looks her over. “My star pupil. You did it. You followed your dream. Look at you.” His eyes glisten as he fights to hold back the tears. “When your friend, Skylar, called me and told me your story, it knocked the wind out of me. I’m so sorry, Erin. But I feel so privileged to be here with you and to have been a small part of your life.”
They sit and talk over lunch, being politely interrupted from time to time as long lost friends and relatives offer Erin a hug or a kind word. All the while, Griffin hangs back and captures the moments on film.
Watching Griffin take pictures is fascinating. It makes me feel like I’m a voyeur, as if I’m seeing something private like an intimate dance between lovers. He walks around his subjects quietly, stealthily, and with grace, taking in the scenery, lighting and ambiance, making it all become a part of a story that he plans to tell with his photos.
There is dancing, there are toasts. There are children running about and grown-ups getting drunk. To a bystander, it might even seem like a wedding. The beginning of a life together between two people. Nobody would ever guess that it’s quite the opposite.
I’m dancing with my father when I hear Erin squeal. I look over to see another bright smile on her face as she shakes hands with a familiar-looking handsome man who looks to be in his forties or fifties. She pulls him into a one-armed hug and the poor man is squished against her, Erin style, whether he likes it or not. His hands hesitantly come around her as he looks to Griffin who is watching them intently. Then it hits me. He looks like Griffin. Or, rather, Griffin looks like him. It must be his dad. But how? I tried to reach him days ago, leaving messages with little success. Perhaps one of her sisters?
I watch the three of them talk. I see Griffin’s demeanor change from hesitant to amenable. I watch in awe as Erin works her magic, pulling father and son together like nobody else can. I wish Griffin could see himself like this.
Without thinking too much about how pissed Griffin might be if I touch his equipment, I sneak over to where he’s stashed it and remove one of the cameras that looks like I can just point and shoot. I use a nearby tree as camouflage and zoom in on the three of them. Then I snap a few pictures of Griffin and his dad. His dad looks so happy to be here with his son. I hope when Griffin sees these, he’ll be even more accepting of him. Everyone deserves a second chance. No one knows that better than I do. Like Griffin, I take dozens of pictures, hoping that among them will be the one that shows the perfect emotion of the moment.
I try not to push my luck and quickly put the camera back before I head over to join the conversation. Erin pulls me to her side. “Jack Pearce, meet Skylar Mitchell. My very best friend who also happens to be carrying your grandchild.”
Mr. Pearce looks between Erin, Griffin and me. It’s apparent nobody has filled him in on this little piece of information. He stammers, “Uh . . . okay . . . hello, Ms. Mitchell. You called me the other day, right?”
Erin laughs at the awkwardness of the situation then proceeds to explain the surrogacy to Mr. Pearce.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a bit of commotion and then I watch Gavin run over to us looking happy yet completely panicked. “It’s time,” he says, looking from me to Erin.
Her eyes light up in understanding. “It’s time! Oh my gosh. It’s time!”
As Gavin gets Baylor to the hospital, we politely excuse ourselves from the party, Erin giving last-minute hugs and kisses to those she may never see again. Then Griffin, Erin and I hail a cab. The smile on Erin’s face says it all, and I’m so grateful this is happening now and not when she’s having one of her bad days. Who knows how many good days she has left?
Griffin and I sit in the waiting room, along with my parents and some friends. Baylor had Maddox pretty quickly, so nobody expects this to drag on for too long. The big question is, boy or girl? They refused to find out. As a result, they got a lot of yellow shit at their baby shower.
I look down at my barely-there belly and wonder again about the baby’s sex. Like Erin, I feel that it’s a boy. I’m not sure why. Maybe just because she wants it to be. As if on cue, the little bean flutters inside me and my hand instinctively goes to my stomach.
Griffin gasps beside me. I glimpse over to see his eyes go wide. “Is the baby moving? Can you feel it yet?”
I nod and smile. “Yeah. For about a week now.”
He looks around the waiting room and I follow his eyes. Everyone is busy chatting or reading a magazine. He looks back at my belly. “Do you think I could feel it? I mean, um . . . would you mind if I . . .?”
Griffin is adorable. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man blush like this before. It looks like he’s completely mortified, asking this of me, yet I can tell how badly he wants to feel it. I grab his hand and place it on my belly. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to feel it. The book says it can take other people a lot longer to feel any movements.”
With his hand gently on my stomach, he looks up at me. “You’re reading the books?”
“I’m reading the books,” I say. I nod to my belly. “Did you feel that?”
He shakes his head and then holds still in intense concentration as if that will help him in his quest to feel the baby move.
All I can do is watch his face. I see the wonder on it. I see the fascination in his eyes. I wish I could will little Bean to give his hand a kick. I wonder if this gesture means anything. Is he simply trying to forge a connection with his child? Or is there more to it?
Griffin may not feel anything yet, but I’m more than aware of the sensations coursing through my body from the mere touch of his hand. I try to control my quickening breaths and I hope he can’t hear my pounding heartbeat that I’m sure must be audible through my chest wall. This is the first time he’s touched me since the day he drunk-kissed me. He’s been purposefully keeping his distance, despite Erin’s attempts to get us as close as she can. But the lines have become blurred and there always seems to be a question lurking about how to show respect for Erin while at the same time honor her dying wish.
Here in this moment, with his hand on my belly, I can almost picture us as a family. I can almost picture what it would be like when we’re the ones in the hospital about to give birth and the same people who are here now will be waiting to find out the sex of our baby.
Our baby.
It’s the first time I’ve thought of Bean as Griffin’s and mine. Could it be? Could we really do this? Or am I just fooling myself?
After another minute, Griffin withdraws his hand and I instantly mourn the loss of it on my body. Then, of course, I feel guilty for feeling that way when I think of Erin right down the hall. Would she approve of his hand on me? Or would she smile and pretend it’s what she truly wants when in reality, it’s killing her inside?
“I want to do an ultrasound for Erin,” I whisper to Griffin. “I want to have one of those 3-D ones so she can see as much detail as possible. I want her to know what sex the baby is.”
He nods. “Set it up and let me know when. It’s a great idea, Skylar. Thanks.”
I make a note in my phone to call the doctor’s office to make an appointment. In my phone, I see the reminder to reach out to Griffin’s dad. I turn to him. “Who called your dad? Was it one of Erin’s sisters? I tried to a few days ago, but all I could do was leave a message.”
“I did,” he says.
The look of surprise on my face makes him laugh. “You didn’t think I heard you that day in the hospital, did you?”
“I wondered,” I say.
“I did it for her. I’m not sure I ever would have done it otherwise. He was a jackass. A drunk. A loser. I mean, who checks out on their sick wife and fifteen-year-old son?”
“But you did it anyway.” I smile at him. “Whatever the reason, you did it and now the door is open. He seems like a really nice guy. Obviously he’s changed, Griffin. I can tell he wants a relationship with you. I know it must have been hard for you to reach out to him. You did the right thing. You’re going to make a great father.”
He eyes me speculatively. “I don’t know about that.” He motions to my belly. “I never wanted kids, you know. Erin spent years talking me into it. I did it for her.” He shakes his head as if something has dawned on him. “Everything I’ve done since high school has been for her.” The way he says it isn’t spiteful, just matter-of-fact.
“Well, maybe it’s time you do something for yourself then,” I say.
“Yeah, maybe. I just wish I had a goddamn clue about what that is.” He lowers his eyes to the ground and my heart sinks along with them.
Did he just admit he doesn’t want me? The baby?
As if hearing my silent questions, he looks back up at me. He puts his hand on top of mine. “Don’t read too much into that, Sky. I’m just trying to figure out which feelings I’m having are mine and which are Erin’s.”
Feelings? He’s having feelings? I stare at his hand still resting on mine. I’m afraid if I move a muscle, he will withdraw it. And I really want it to stay where it is. I want to savor the feeling of the heat of his touch. The sensation of his large hand encompassing mine. The feeling that maybe he wants me, too. Even if only in some small way, tucked down deep under lock and key where it can’t hurt Erin.
A door opens and he jerks his hand away. We both look up with guilty eyes as we stare at Erin’s smiling face as she comes across the threshold. Gavin looks happy, but utterly frazzled, walking next to her. He turns to her and says, “Go ahead.”
She blurts out, “It’s a girl!”
Everyone jumps to their feet with cheers and congratulations. We all share hugs and tears as we listen to Gavin and Erin tell us about the birth of Jordan Christine McBride. Sometime during all the elation, I notice Griffin’s eyes trained on my belly. When I catch him staring, he smiles up at me and gives me a nod. I could swear he says more with that nod than he ever has with words. I could swear he’s just told me he’s willing to try this. That after hearing the story of another baby entering the world, he can’t imagine not being present for his. That he may even be willing to put up with someone like me if it means making his wife as happy as she is in this very minute.
Or maybe I’m just reading way too much into it.