Tonight was amazing—from hearing Faith say “cheese” for pictures at dinner to watching her blow out the candles on her cake afterward. But none of it compares to this moment. We’re all settled into the couches in Sarah’s living room and Faith’s snuggled on my lap, her eyes heavy and a half-smile curling her lips.
“Mommy, tell Aunt B about the day that I was born. The day you ’dopted me.”
“The day I adopted you?” Sarah says.
“Yes. That day. Tell her about the day I was born.”
Sarah and I exchange a look. “Aunt B doesn’t need to hear that old story.”
“I bet you could tell it,” I say, looking down at Faith. “You’ve heard it enough times.”
“I am a-dopted,” Faith says with a very serious look on her face. “And that means that I didn’t grow in my mommy’s belly. I grew in another lady’s belly. The day I was born, she went to the hospital and my bi-logical mother put me in Mommy’s arms and said . . .” She turns to Sarah. “What did she say?”
Sarah’s face twists with emotion as she holds her daughter’s gaze. “She said, ‘I already love her so much, and I feel like I’m giving you a piece of my heart, but I know you’ll be the mother she deserves. You can give her what I can’t.’”
Faith nods. “Yes. And she told Mommy to take care of me and give me a family because she couldn’t, and that’s what Mommy did. And that’s why I’m Mommy’s daughter and not someone else’s, and that’s why my skin’s a different color than Mommy’s.” She holds her arm next to mine. “Mommy says she’s white, but I think she’s more like a peach crayon like you, and I’m more like a light brown crayon because my bi-logical dad was Mexican American.”
“That’s right, baby,” Sarah says.
I swallow, but the lump in my throat stays put. I have to give Sarah credit for this much. She’s never tried to hide the adoption from Faith, and I like that they talk openly about skin color and ethnicity. Even if Faith doesn’t know Nic’s name, I like that she has an idea where she comes from.
Faith wiggles out of my arms to scoot over on the couch beside Mason. She turns and holds her arm against his. “But your skin is even darker than mine, so your mom and dad must be Mexican American.”
Mason chuckles and studies their arms next to each other. “That’s a good guess,” he says. “But actually, my dad is white like your mom, and my mom is African American—or sometimes we say black. That means her skin is dark like mine.”
“Oh yeah,” Faith says. “African American, like my friend Grace. She gets to put her hair in such cool braids. Does your mom have braids?”
Mason shakes his head. “Not anymore, but I think she did when she was a little girl.”
She sighs dramatically. “Lucky duck.”
“Your hair is very pretty,” Mason says.
“Mommy says so, too.”
“My friend Mia has hair like yours,” he says. “She’s Mexican American, too.”
“Mia is a pretty name,” Faith says, yawning. “I hope I can meet her someday.”
“I bet she’d like that a lot,” Mason says. He lifts his gaze from Faith to me. Maybe I’m just sick of being saddled with secrets, because I think he knows. I must be more exhausted from the weight of silence than I realized, because I hope he knows.
Mason’s quiet on the drive home. It’s a weird feeling, thinking he might know a secret I’ve never shared with anyone else. I was able to hide my pregnancy pretty easily. I never got very big, and by the time my belly really popped during those last couple of months, I was staying with Sarah, so nobody back home knew. At least a hundred times since Faith’s birth, I’ve thought of telling Mia. After Nic died, I wanted nothing more than to let her know that her brother was still here in a way. But I was too selfish. I was afraid Sarah wouldn’t forgive me for breaking my promise and would let me see Faith even less than I do now. And even if I could get Sarah onboard, what if telling Mia after so many years of keeping that secret to myself just made her hate me? I was terrified she’d be hurt and I’d lose her.
But as strange as it is to have Mason know, at the same time, it feels right. On the drive home, he reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it in his. The warmth and tenderness that rushes through me is so overwhelming, my throat goes thick with it.
When we get home, I follow him inside. He puts his keys in the dish by the door and kicks off his shoes before going to the kitchen and pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge.
Standing at the counter opposite me, he pours two glasses. He hands me one. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I open my mouth then close it, still holding the secret close just in case I’m wrong and he didn’t figure it out. Mason just did me a bigger favor than he could ever imagine. Not only was he the key to getting Sarah to invite me to dinner, he somehow convinced them to bring Faith over for a visit next week. After giving me a gift like that, now is not the time to play coy. But after six years of silence, I don’t know what to say. “I’m not sure I know how,” I admit. “I’ve never talked about it before.”
“Not even to Nic?”
Air leaves me in a rush, and the backs of my eyes prick with tears. There it is. He knows. I draw in a deep breath for courage. “Not long after I found out I was pregnant, he was convicted.” I shrug, as if that moment hadn’t crushed part of me forever. “I had his baby growing in my belly, and he was on his way to prison.”
Mason reaches across the counter and grabs my hand. It’s the gentle reassurance I need.
“I was just a kid with dreams of having a better life than my mom’s, but there I was, following right in her footsteps. Then there was Sarah. She had her life together, you know what I mean? She’s ten years older than me, and she and her husband, Greg, had been trying to have a baby for a couple of years with no luck. Because of our age difference, we’ve never been that close, but I thought to call her to confide my secret. It was like it was meant to be. We were on the same wavelength from the beginning. We both knew there was only one right choice. I was due at the end of the summer, so we made plans that I’d come stay with her until the baby was born, sign over my rights, and be back home in time for the start of my junior year of high school. It was the right thing to do for Faith, if not for me.”
“What happened to the husband? Greg?” Mason asks.
I blow out a sharp breath. “Faith was a toddler when he decided this life wasn’t for him. This baby they’d been praying for had all but landed in their laps, but it wasn’t what he wanted or how he wanted it to happen.” My gut twists. “He said he didn’t feel the connection. That he’d wanted his own child, and Sarah had pushed the adoption on him, but I swear he’d been onboard until they brought her home.”
Mason narrows his eyes. “What an asshole.”
“I have no way to prove it, but I think he couldn’t stand that she didn’t look like him. He’d complain to Sarah about how people would stare at them when they were out in public and he felt like they were trying to figure out why his child wasn’t white.” I shake my head, anger at my asshole brother-in-law as fresh as if it had been yesterday and not years ago. “Sarah told him that people stared because Faith was a beautiful baby, but he was so insecure, so worried people would think his wife had cheated on him.”
“People adopt babies who don’t look like them all the time,” Mason says. “This isn’t 1960.”
I smile at him, warmth blooming in my chest and pushing away that old anger. “I know, right?” I sigh. “He felt trapped. Family life wasn’t for him, he said. But he moved to California, and within a year he was remarried with a baby on the way.”
“I’d like to punch this guy.”
“You and me both. It ripped Sarah apart. It was hard for her, you know? He didn’t make a ton of money, but he had a decent job. She’d always stayed at home, first doing the homemaker thing while she tried to get pregnant, then as a stay-at-home mom to Faith. And then he left, and he didn’t just leave her and Faith. He left his job. For about a year, the only income Sarah had was from the odds-and-ends jobs she could do with Faith by her side. She almost lost the house, could barely afford groceries.”
He toys with my fingers and looks up at me through his thick lashes. “And then?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
“It got better,” I say, not sure what he’s waiting for. “She made it through, and things got better.”
“She made it through because you started stripping and sending her the money.”
My heart tugs so hard that I instinctively squeeze his hand. He sees me so clearly that he guessed the truth. Years later, even Sarah, who took the money, can’t forgive me for my choices, but Mason understands. “It seemed like the least I could do. That whole time was hell on Sarah. A year before she adopted Faith, she lost a foster baby. They had her from the day she left the hospital until she was nine months old. They really believed they’d get to adopt her, but the judge put her back with her mom. It wasn’t rational, but I think Sarah was afraid she’d lose Faith, too.”
“Do you want her back?”
“No!” I shake my head, and a tremor passes through my whole body, as if I need to shake off the secret thought he dared bring into the light. “I mean, yes. On a completely emotional, non-intellectual level, I’ll always wish she could be mine. And if something were to happen to Sarah, I’d hope that I’d get to be the one to raise Faith. But Sarah’s her mom, you know? I believed I was doing the best thing for her, and despite all the unexpected bumps in the road, I still believe I did. There was hardly enough room for me and Mom in our trailer. I can’t imagine bringing a baby into that space. And then would I have finished high school? Would I have gone to college? Would I have been able to do anything other than strip to care for her? What kind of life is that? Mom’s gone every night, waiting for Daddy to get out of prison and praying he stays straight once he does? It’s complicated. I can’t pretend that I don’t wish she was mine, because I’ve walked around with a piece of me missing since the day I handed her over in the hospital. She’s wanted, but I loved her enough even from that first day to choose to walk around halfhearted. I love her enough that I’d make that choice again.”
“I wish I’d had half your courage when I was younger.” He shakes his head. “Half your selflessness.”
“That’s why I’m making the scrapbook,” I say. “She’ll never meet her father, so I want her to have these pictures. I want her to have something of him.”
Mason puts his wine glass down and studies me. “You amaze me.” Stepping around the island, he takes my glass out of my hand to put it on the counter. He pulls my body against his and lowers his mouth to mine, and I melt into him. We’ve kissed thousands of times before tonight, but now something’s changed. He knows about Faith. I’ve been frozen in ice, and he’s the sun, slowly setting me free.
His hands are gentle on me, sliding over my hair, slipping under my shirt, skimming across my belly. Every touch makes me want to get closer, to show him more. My love for Mason has kept me on the precipice for years, and I’ve always been afraid to jump. In this moment, I believe he’d catch me. He’d forgive me.
He unbuttons my jeans, but I stop him before he can push them from my hips. I can’t let this just be about me. Not tonight. I fumble between our bodies until I find the button to his jeans. It releases, followed by the slow slide of his zipper. I slide a hand inside his briefs, and we both groan. I drag my fist over him in long, tight strokes.
His hips jut forward as he thrusts himself against my hand. With a handful of my hair in his fist, he brings my mouth back to his. His kisses are harder now, deeper and more demanding. When we break it, our bodies rocking toward each other, I lock my gaze with his before I drop to my knees.
“Fuck, Bailey,” he breathes.
I keep one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and settle the other on his hip as I open my mouth and slide it over him, taking him deep, using my tongue and my cheeks. He loosens his grip on my hair, and I moan as he gently guides me back and forth over the length of him. I can tell he’s trying to slow me down, trying to make this last.
It’s not long before he guides me to my feet, and I’m so desperate for him, I don’t object. He leads me upstairs and into the bedroom. We watch each other while we strip, and when we climb into bed, he settles on top of me, his hands framing my face, his length positioned between my legs.
After tonight, I feel as if I’m naked for the first time, as if he’s really seeing me and isn’t running away.
“I can get a condom,” he says. Other than our one time without in the pool, we’ve been using protection. “If you’re worried about . . .”
“I’m on the pill, but if you’d rather . . .”
We stare at each other for several breaths before he grins. “I’d rather have nothing between us. I’m trying to be considerate.”
“It’s okay. I was on nothing but stupidity when I got pregnant with Faith.” I lift my hips. “I like you like this.”
His eyes close as he slides into me, and the sound of his satisfied exhale is as exhilarating as the way he fills me. “You feel amazing,” he murmurs against my mouth.
We’ve had sex a hundred times, but tonight we find a new rhythm. Our movements are slower, our caresses more lingering. I’m liquid set free and slowly rolling out to meet the sea.