That place can’t forgive.
For a long time, I imagined a scenario where I found out Jamie had cheated on me with Sasha, and we broke up and Finny and I got together, and the whole trajectory of our lives would have been different. I can’t even predict where we would be now if we had known we were in love last spring.
“Autumn?” Angie asks. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was in my head.”
“You looked sad.”
“I was wishing I had known they slept together when it happened instead of weeks later, because maybe Finn and I…” I shrug once more. “It’s pointless to think about, but it’s hard not to.”
Angie nods. “I know that feeling.” She looks at Guinevere asleep on the floor. The sun has moved, and the room is darker. “I’m glad to have you here, Autumn. Please don’t—”
And then I know that she knows I was in the hospital, because she struggles to find the right thing to say.
“—go anywhere?” she finishes.
“I won’t,” I say. “For a little while, I thought being dead might be better, but that was before the baby.”
Angie keeps staring at her daughter. “You’ll need more than that,” she murmurs.
“What?”
“I—sorry.” She looks back at me. “It’s better to be alive, Autumn. Please don’t forget that again, okay?”
“I won’t,” I say, and then to distract her, I add, “You should tell me your birth story again.”
“I don’t want to scare you,” she says but then launches into the tale.
When Mom picks me up forty minutes later, I know a lot about episiotomies. I wish I didn’t know what one was, to be honest, but now that I do, it seems important to be well informed. I’m going to need to make a trip to the library.
“How was it?” Mom asks as I buckle my seatbelt.
“Good” I say. “It was nice to see her and Guinevere.”
“Were you able to catch up?”
“Sort of. So much has happened. It was almost more than we could talk about.” I pause. “She seems different. Not in a bad way, but it’s like—” I struggle to find the words and am not fully happy with the ones I find. “It’s like she’s confident and resigned at the same time.”
My mother surprises me by nodding. “It sounds like she’s adjusting.”
When the car stops at an intersection, I catch her looking at me.
“Did it make it feel more real?” she asks. “Seeing the baby?”
“A little,” I say. “In an overwhelming way.”
She nods. There’s nothing to say or do to make this situation less overwhelming. I’m surprised then that Mom continues.
“You know, Autumn, if Finny were alive, I would tell you to think about what you wanted more than what he wanted. And I should tell you to do that now too.” She takes a deep breath, and I’m glad we’re pulling into the driveway in case she starts crying.
“Do you not want me to have it?” I ask.
She puts the car in park. “I want you to have this baby more than anything,” she says. “But you must want it, Autumn. You have to want it more than anything. Especially as a single mother.” She takes off her seat belt and turns to me. “Angelina and I will give you all the support in the world, I can’t overstate that. But you still have to want this and want it for yourself. Not for me, not for Angelina or for Finny, but for you.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure how to answer her question or if she’s really asking me a question.
“I want to have Finny’s baby for me,” I finally say. I look at my hands in my lap and pick at my thumbnail. “But I probably wouldn’t want to if he were alive,” I admit. “And I don’t know how to love this child without Finn.”
My mother sits back in her seat and faces the windshield like me. She sighs.
“All we can do is live in the reality we’re in. Maybe you would have still had the baby if Finny were alive, maybe not. But he’s not alive, and…” She pauses. “If you think having this baby is the right thing for you, then you should know that I’m not worried about you loving this baby. That will come.”
“But what if I can’t?” My voice sounds hoarse. “What if something is broken inside me?” I wrap my arms around my middle. “The baby deserves a mother who can love it properly.” I close my eyes and grit my teeth. Finny’s baby deserves better than me.
“The first step to being a good mother is questioning whether you can be a good mother. And it’s okay if you’re feeling broken, Autumn, because becoming a parent breaks you in a new way. It’s the most joyful and heartbreaking thing you’ll ever do.” She shakes her head. “Losing Finny was a tragedy, but you’re strong, Autumn, even if you can’t see it now, and you’ll be a good parent.”
“I think I’d be a better parent if Finny were here.”
“But we’ll never know,” my mother says. “Especially since you think you wouldn’t decide to be a parent if he were here.”
I shrug and look away from her. Briefly I see Finny and I as college students trying to decide what we’re going to do with the pregnancy. She’s right; I don’t know what we would have decided together. I’m not used to having deep conversations with my mother.
“Would you marry Dad again if you had the chance to do it over?” I ask. It’s been on my mind since before everything that happened.
Mom sighs. “I wouldn’t change having you, that’s all I know. If it was just about your father? If I was to time travel back to age nineteen when I got engaged? I wouldn’t want to have a different child with him or do things over again with him a different way. Time travel isn’t real, so it’s not a problem to solve.” She reaches for my hand, her foray into tangential speculations done. “Look at me.”
Her tone is urgent, and I turn to meet her eyes.
“When this child is alive and breathing in front of you,” my mother says, “I promise you will love it. And you won’t care about what you would have done under different circumstances. Children have a way of making you live in the present.”
Her face is solemn, familiar, and tired. Losing Finny hurt her too, and then she almost lost me, yet she’s carried Angelina and I through these last few weeks without complaint.
“I suppose that’s another thing I won’t understand until it happens?”
“Parenthood has a lot of those,” she says.
“I want this,” I say. “Thank you for asking.”
“All right,” she says. “Let’s go.” She means into the house, but it feels like so much more.
three
It’s stunning how little Dr. Singh’s office has changed over the years. I wish other things in the world were as static as the pictures and diplomas on his walls, the piles of patient charts on his desk.
The only thing that has changed is the green plant on the top of his bookcase, which has continued to birth new leaves, one after another, in a long chain that almost reaches the floor.
Dr. Singh was very pleased when he weighed me this time.
“You are looking very healthy,” he says. “When I saw you in the hospital, it was—” He throws up his hands. Apparently there aren’t words. “But now? You have some color. You have some weight on you. How are you feeling?”
“I think I’m done with the nausea,” I say. “So that’s good.”
“That is good, that is good,” Dr. Singh says. “And how is the new therapist? I’m sorry Dr. Kleiger didn’t work out.”
I can’t help making a face. “I didn’t like the new lady either. I don’t want to go back. She didn’t feel right.”
Dr. Singh frowns. “It can be hard to find the right therapist. But you are in dire need, hmm? You were suicidal not that long ago, and with a baby coming? Did you know that the brain changes more during the months of pregnancy than it does during all the years of adolescence? It’s amazing! But—” He shakes his head. “It is a lot. So I am here to make sure that the new medication that’s safe for you and the baby is working, but you need someone to talk to every week, Autumn. You have so much work to do.”