The months passed and I got my GED. I met with the adoption agency a couple of times, flipped through their photos of families, but I’d stare at the men’s faces, wondering if they drank, if they were mean. Dani got on my case about it a lot, said I had to pick a family soon. I told her I would, but the weeks drifted past.
Late in my last trimester, I still worked every day at the hotel, and sometimes an evening shift if someone needed me to cover. One night, in the middle of April, I felt a little rush of fluid like I’d peed myself but knew I hadn’t. I checked in the bathroom. My underwear was wet. I rolled it up into a ball and stuffed it in the trash. I was walking downstairs to find the manager when I felt more water trickle out between my legs. I used the pay phone to call Dani, who took me to the hospital in Patrick’s van. Courtney was out.
I was terrified, the first contractions worse than anything I’d imagined, the physical exam horrible, the doctor’s hands reaching up high into my body. They gave me drugs for the pain but it still hurt. I couldn’t find any position to escape it, could only moan and cry. I walked the hall, soaked in the bath, nothing helped.
My body labored all night and into the morning. Nurses stared at the monitor, making notes, adjusting the strap around my belly, murmuring that I should try to rest between contractions. But by early afternoon they were too close together for that—and coming harder and harder. My throat burned with each gasp, my lips dry and chapped. Dani spooned ice chips into my mouth, her face pale. She stroked my hair back from my forehead, put cool cloths on me.
“You’re doing great,” she said. “Not much longer now.” She’d said that hours ago.
“Is Courtney here yet?”
“She’s going to come later.”
Even in my haze of pain and drugs, I knew what that meant. She didn’t want to see the baby.
The contractions came in waves, urging my body forward. The nurses gripped my legs apart and told me to push. I bore down hard, felt something tearing.
They ordered me into different positions, rested my feet against a metal bar. I wanted it over, wanted it all to be over, begged them to help me, to make it stop. They urged me on. Dani gripped my hand, rubbed my forehead, whispering into my ear, “It’s okay, hang on, just push.”
The agony went on. I writhed on the bed, pleading for relief.
“Please, I can’t do it. Just get it out!”
Then I felt something breaking free, a release of pressure from my body, and they were putting the baby on my chest.
“It’s a girl!” the doctor said.
The baby was crying, her mouth open, searching. I gave her my pinkie finger, felt her little mouth latch on, marveling at the sensation. They took her away, examined her, weighed her, and cleaned us both up. I watched from the bed, her wails making me want to get up and hold her. The nurse brought her back and placed her on my chest again.
“She doesn’t want to feed it,” Dani said.
I was already guiding the baby to my nipple.
“I just want to see what it feels like,” I said, even though the adoption lady was waiting outside for me to make my final decision on a family. Dani, who had called her from the hospital, stood back, her face scared.
The nurse came over, stroked the baby’s head, adjusted her so her chin tilted back and her mouth opened.
“You’re doing great. You’re a natural mother.”
I was a mother. I stared in awe at the baby, her tiny mouth suckling at my breast, her perfect eyebrows, her damp, dark hair.
“I’ll get you something to eat.” The nurse left us alone.
“You can’t keep it,” Dani said.
I looked up at her. “I know.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I just needed to feed her.”
“They have bottles.”
“You don’t get it.” I was crying now, my body weak from pushing the baby out, the emotions running through me, tearing me open again. “Once I give her away, I’ll never know if she’s okay.”
“It’s better that way.”
“For who?”
“For everyone. You’re fifteen years old, Jess. Think of the baby. She deserves someone who can take care of her.”
I felt a hot stab of anger. “I’d take good care of her.”
“You don’t have any money.”
I looked down at the baby again, blinking back tears. “I’ll do it in the morning.”
“If you wait, it will just be harder.”
“You don’t know,” I said, my voice rising almost to a shout. “You don’t know what’s best all the time. This is my baby—not yours.” The words hung between us. The baby mewled. Dani looked at it, tears in her eyes.
“I can stay at the hospital with you.” Her voice sounded sad, defeated.
“I just want to be alone.”
Now Dani looked hurt. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She got her stuff together, stood by the doorway for a moment looking like she wanted to say something else, then turned and walked out the door.