She stared at the date. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God.”
It was a date we all dreaded, each of us, separately, on our own little islands of pain, a reminder of what we’d lost.
My baby brother’s birthday.
Chapter 29: Jenny
Mom tucked me into bed in her guest room. I lay there in the gray light that filtered in through the curtains, a cool washcloth on my forehead.
I was a big believer in signs. Of all the days of the year, all 365 choices, my due date would fall on November 27.
Mom tiptoed back in the room. “Thought you might want this,” she said. She sat on the edge of the bed and passed me Mr. Critter, a threadbare bunny I’d slept with when I was small.
I pulled Mr. Critter into my arms and held him close. “Thank you.”
“It makes sense,” Mom said. “I got pregnant with Bryan in the spring too. You were three. We didn’t have the due date calculator sites, so I had to wait until we got to the doctor. Of course, the due date is just a guide. Bryan was a week late.”
“So the baby might not come on Bryan’s birthday?” I felt like I didn’t know anything.
“Probably not,” she said. “But it is still a powerful sign.”
My head popped up. My mother was ever practical. She never talked about coincidences or karma or anything other than cold hard facts. It comforted me that she was bending a little.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said. “I don’t even have a job.”
“You can finish out your degree,” she said, smoothing the covers. “Graduation is in June. One good thing about babies, they take a long time to arrive. You’ll figure things out by December.”
I laid my head back down, my thoughts swirling. A baby. Baby! The closest I’d gotten to one in the past ten years was Corabelle’s stepson, Manuelito, and he was four. Potty trained and all.
“I don’t know how to put on a diaper,” I said in a panic.
“You’ll figure it out,” Mom said. She patted my shoulder. “And you’ll be an expert within a day. They go through a lot.”
“I guess I should see the doctor.”
“Make an appointment. They won’t see you for a few weeks yet.”
I drew my knees up tighter to my belly, then brought them down again.
The baby was in there somewhere. I pictured a grain of sand floating around my gut. So much trouble over something so small.
“Do you…” Mom hesitated. “Not know who the father is?”
I buried my face in the pillow. The washcloth fell away. I didn’t want to talk about this.
“Is he married?” Mom asked. She was clearly trying to come up with a logical explanation.
“His name is Chance,” I said.
She exhaled in relief, glad, I guess, that I wasn’t screwing half of San Diego.
“Are you going to tell him?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I would if I could. But I had no way to find him.
“Jenny? This is important. He should know there’s a baby.”
I turned my cheek to the pillow. “He’s a traveling musician,” I said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Surely he has a schedule or a phone or something,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” I said, and now tears threatened again. What was that about? So much emotion. Uggh.
“Do you not want to find him? Is he a bad person?”
I rolled onto my back. “Mom, I don’t know him that well. It was just a — a one-night thing. We weren’t planning on ever seeing each other again.”
Admitting this to my mother was about the worst thing I’d had to tell her.
She sat a little straighter, as if this was a simple thing, something to be dealt with. “The problem,” she said firmly, “is that it’s not a one-night thing anymore. Did you like this boy?”
My voice caught as I tried to decide what to say. “He was nice. He was a really great singer. Amazing, really. He just didn’t seem interested in, well, you know, ties. He likes to roam.”
“Well, his roaming days are over. He’s just as responsible for this as you are.” She adjusted the washcloth back on my forehead. “I assume you protected yourself and it just failed.”
I nodded under her hand. “I was on the pill.”
She sighed. “This is where life's led you. I say we find this boy. Let him decide if he wants to be involved or not. At least you’ll know. You can make him help financially, even if he isn’t around.”
Ha, Chance didn’t even have a home. But one thing about moms, they were usually right. He ought to know about the baby. Maybe he would tell me to abort it, or whatever. Then I’d cut him off. But at least he’d know.
“He was singing with a local band when I met him,” I said. “I could probably track them down and find out where he is.”
“That’s my girl,” Mom said. “Problem solving.” She stood up. “You get some rest. When you’re feeling better we’ll go shopping. You’re going to need different clothes.”
I had a feeling this was coming.