“Any minute,” Gina said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Her fingers warmed my dry, icy skin. The orange industrial soap in the jail’s shower was like sandpaper. “You okay?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I finally said, my voice barely a whisper.
“The judge already signed off on the order.”
“No,” I said. The tension in my chest was unbearable, my muscles braided themselves into excruciating knots. “I meant I don’t know if I can see them.” I leaned forward, pressing my upper body against my skinny thighs, and grabbed my ankles. Gina placed her hand on my back.
“If you don’t,” she said, “you’ll regret it. Trust me. You need closure.”
Closure, I thought, is impossible. I was convinced giving them up was the right thing, the best thing for them, but the agony I’d felt after making the decision had shattered into sharp metal shavings lodged under my skin. Every move I made, every breath I took hurt more than the last.
Righting myself, I glanced around the room, a small, square space with brick walls painted gray, the table at which we sat, and a sad pile of dirty-looking toys in a basket in the corner. A crooked poster of Sesame Street characters hung by the door; some asshole had drawn a pair of blue breasts on Big Bird.
“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” I asked Gina, who paused and gave me a long, thoughtful look before responding.
“I think you’re giving them the very best chance you can.”
As though on cue, the door swung open, and a woman with long silver hair entered, carrying Natalie in a car seat and holding Brooke’s small hand. “Mama!” my older daughter shrilled, racing toward me. “Mama, Mama, Mama!”
“Oh, honey,” I said, opening my arms as she threw herself full force into them, clambering up into my lap. Tears blurred my vision and I buried my face in her dark curls. She was warm and smelled like green apple shampoo; she wore a green-and-blue plaid dress, brown saddle shoes, and clean, white tights. I can’t do it, I thought as I hugged her, kissing her sweet face. I can’t. What the hell was I thinking, that I could give this up? It felt as though I’d agreed to have two perfectly healthy and functional limbs lopped off. From that point on, I’d be an emotional amputee.
The silver-haired woman stepped inside and set Natalie’s car seat on the floor next to me. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she said, and Gina thanked her, moving a chair to the corner. She had already told me she couldn’t leave me alone with the girls, that this final visit needed to be supervised. Another reminder of just how unfit a mother I was.
“Where have you been?” Brooke asked, her voice muffled against me. Her small fingers dug into my back. “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you, too,” I said, choking on the words. I looked down at Natalie, who had her big sister’s lavender blanket tucked around her. She’d already changed so much, just in a month. She was bigger, and had more wisps of light blond hair. Her cheeks were rounder and more pink than I’d ever seen, and she had even sprouted two teeth along her lower gums. As soon as she saw me, she began to cry, wriggling under the constraints of the harness. I leaned over, still holding Brooke, and with one hand managed to unhook her and lift her up to my lap with her sister. My girls, I thought. My sweet, innocent girls.
“I want to leave,” Brooke said when she finally looked up and around the room. She sniffled. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“It won’t be for very long,” I told her. “We just get to visit for a little while.”
“And then we get to leave,” Brooke said, her dark eyebrows scrunched together with determination.
“Yes,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask if we would go to the same place. I kissed the top of her head again, as well as Natalie’s. “How are you, sweetheart? Are you okay? Is the house you’re staying at nice?” Brooke shrugged, but didn’t answer, so I tried again. “Why does Natalie have your blanket?”
“So she won’t cry,” Brooke whispered.
“Wow,” I said, and my jaw trembled. “What a good big sister you are.”
“I have my own bed at Rose and Walter’s house,” she said. “And Nat-ly has a real crib. With a mattress and everything.” She had reverted to using her baby voice, transforming her little sister’s name into two syllables instead of three, something she only did when she was truly upset.
“Oh,” I said, hating that my daughter saw having a mattress as a luxury. “That must be so nice.” I paused. “Do you like Rose and Walter?”
Brooke nodded, slowly, looking a bit unsure.