All the Good Parts (20 page)

“So,” he said, gearing up, “how many people do you think are honest with themselves?”

“I don’t know, much less than the number who think they are?”

“Close enough.”

“Are you saying most people are too afraid to see things as they are?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “They are until something shakes the truth out of them so hard it lands on the floor at their feet and they can’t step around it. You had that happen to you when you were at the doc’s office. You want a baby. That became clear, right? You could see it because it was just you and the decision, nothing else. You were too shocked to let anyone else’s needs come into play. You didn’t think about how you were going to feed the kid or who was going to babysit for you or even how you’d get a baby in your belly in the first place. You had the confidence to make a tough decision because all you could think about was how important it was. You were going to have a baby in your life, and that was that.”

His philosophy seemed clean and neat, orderly and logical, but also suspended in a clear, fragile bubble. “Should a decision be made purely from want?”

“The decision can, yeah, because it’s got to come from a place of strength or else it’ll die out. You’ll start to feel shitty about yourself and tear it down. You’ll worry about what other people will think or question whether your reasons will hold up to scrutiny a few years down the road. In your case, you’ve got other things keeping you from what you want. Mother Nature fights back at us for being such destructive assholes by reminding us every so often that she’s in charge. We get weak, we get sick”—he winked at me—“our eggs turn into duds. After a while, everything is an uphill battle and you’re carrying an eighty-pound pack on your back.”

“How uplifting,” I joked, but my false tone couldn’t cover up my disappointment. Carly had said I wasn’t strong enough to fight for what I wanted. Was Jerry trying to tell me the same thing?

Jerry smiled, and for the first time since I walked in, it warmed his eyes. “Don’t look like that, sweetheart. What I’m trying to tell you is pretty simple. You want a baby above everything else? Ask this guy and see what happens. Be clear, and kind, and accept whatever he says or does. Deal with it. Then move on.”

“What do I have to lose, right?”

He laughed. “You’re already losing. We all are. Isn’t that the point?”

I laughed and hugged him tight. “I guess you’re right,” I said into his ear. “Thanks. You are exactly what I needed today.”

When I pulled away from him, his mouth had gone slack and his blue eyes were swimming with tears. “Take that soft heart of yours and harden up the parts you’re gonna need to do what you need to do. Nothing wrong with that.”

I let myself out. Paul was walking up the driveway, his arms full of grocery bags. Apparently, he’d bought everything green in the store. Stalks surrounded his head and upper body, his disapproving face jutting forward like Bigfoot peeking out from the darkened forest.

“Don’t say a word,” I warned him, finding strength in the small part of my heart I’d already fortified. “Don’t even start.”

CHAPTER 23

Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

Private Message—Darryl K to Leona A

Darryl K:
You are way too hard on yourself. I didn’t respond because I was extremely busy hating everyone but you. The entire world. Personal bull crappity crap. But I’ve dealt with it and now I’ll deal with you. 1. Stop assuming you’ve done something wrong all the time. It implies a lack of imagination. 2. Don’t ever apologize for having a good time. 3. Yes, I will meet up with you. I’ll have my life in some kind of order in a couple of weeks. Consider this: just outside of Rockford is a place called Loves Park. Some single mothers meet regularly at a community center there, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us sitting in to do research for our project. We can interview them for a while, and then head over to a pub nearby, where I’m a—ahem—regular, to compile our information. Also, we can just sit and talk. I think it’s about time we did that without a computer in the way.

Leona A:
Is Loves Park really a place?

Darryl K:
This is what you’re focusing on?

For someone whose life had been moving ponderously, a dinosaur lumbering toward extinction, everything sped up, like those fast-motion films of cities at night, multicolored lights blinking. The fact that men were behind the change didn’t get past me, but I was too hopped up for analysis. Carly wasn’t.

“What you’re doing with Garrett and Darryl,” she asked on the morning of Donal’s party, “do you think it’s feminist or antifeminist?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with feminism at all. Why does everything need to be politicized?”

“You’re a woman. You know the answer to that,” she said while stringing up a banner of Irish and American flags. She held up the end of it and spoke in a low voice only I could hear. “Should I stick with the Stars and Stripes? I don’t want to imply divided loyalties in the photos.”

Carly still seemed to think evidence of Donal’s patriotism would bolster his case at the hearing on Monday. I didn’t think so but kept my mouth shut.

“Do you like Garrett?” Maura asked from her perch at the counter. Her job was frosting cupcakes in red, white, and blue piping. She hunched over them, brow furrowed in concentration.

“I do. He’s a nice man in an unfortunate situation. I’m trying to help him.”

“Auntie Lee has a Florence Nightingale complex,” Carly said with a smirk.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help people.”

“There is when you want to date him,” she retorted. “You know that.”

Maura paused, holding up a sleeve full of blue frosting. “Are you going to ask him?”

“Am I going to ask him what?”

“You know,” she said, flushing pink, “for a donation.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I haven’t decided.”

She squirted some of the frosting directly in her mouth. “I’m not a
woman
yet, so maybe I don’t
understand
, but I think you should do it. He’ll totally say yes.”

“Ease up on the sarcasm,” Carly interrupted. “It’s unattractive. So is talking with your mouth full.”

“I still think she should,” Maura mumbled, a line of neon drool escaping the corner of her mouth.

“Should what?” Donal said as he entered the kitchen. He picked up a sponge from the sink and began wiping up the smudges of frosting from the counter. House cleaning had become an obsession with Donal since Carly found out about his possible deportation. They were waiting until the day after the party to tell the kids, figuring the buildup to the hearing would be excruciating for everyone if they knew. I agreed with them, but the secret felt heavy in the house, like everyone was on the verge of catching the flu. Irritable and off-kilter, the kids acted like they were already fighting something they knew was coming but didn’t quite know what it was. It gave everything a desperate edge, and Donal’s obsessive need for order sharpened it.

“I’m not even done yet, Daddy,” Maura scolded. “Ease up on the OCD cleaning.”

Donal sighed and, head still down, asked when people were arriving.

“You need to get your costume ready,” Carly said, not looking at him either.

“Is it really necessary?”

“It is. Hal Michaelson is dressing up as George Washington, wig and all. It’s the least you can do.”

“And what’s the most?” he said before slinking upstairs.

The Brophy garage could have doubled for an Independence Day float. A thick curtain of red, white, and blue streamers hung from the rafters, obscuring the upper half of the tallest bodies and tickling the scalps of the smaller ones. A keg stood upright in the corner, next to a table overflowing with staples of American suburbia—burgers and dogs, spinach dip, potato chips, seven-layer salad, honey-encrusted baked beans, and a sheet cake topped with berries artfully constructing the Stars and Stripes. “I like my cupcakes better,” Maura told me as she dipped a finger into it, dislodging a strategically placed strawberry.

“Aren’t your friends coming?”

She glared at the younger kids playing on the driveway. “I don’t have any.”

“That’s not true.”

Maura blinked back the tears threatening to fall. “How would you know what it feels like to be alone because everyone hates you? You have a friend. He’s coming down the walk.”

“Maura—” Calling after a teenager stalking away is an effort in futility. I watched her tug a basketball from Patrick’s unwilling arms and toss it cavalierly toward the garbage bins. She rushed past Garrett, who was ambling up the block, his cheerful greeting to Maura ignored.

“Is everything all right?” he asked as he approached. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure. People always referred to teenagerhood as “that age,” and everyone would smile knowingly, but did that mean that all teens were the same? There was only one Maura. I worried for the hurt she was carrying around, for the burden that might become unbearable once Donal shared his news.

“I hope it will be,” I answered Garrett. “Being thirteen sucks.”

“It’s the time when you know all the secrets of the world but feel you’ve got no one to tell them to,” he said as he took in Carly and Donal’s house of chaos. Garrett wore a white undershirt upon which he’d drawn the American flag with markers, and his dark hair hung loose, curling wildly over his shoulders. “I’m Abbie Hoffman,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, and meant it. Garrett’s polite glance tried to take me in without staring. I’d spent so much time helping Carly with her costume, I’d slapped mine together quickly—baby-doll dress from the ’90s, John Lennon glasses, Doc Martens, and a shower cap on my head. “Betsy Ross,” I said to save him the guessing game. “Punk version. Or maybe a cross-dressing Benjamin Franklin.”

“Either one works for you,” Garrett said, and I tried to ignore the shiver of hope his appreciative glance sent jumping up my spine.

I threaded my arm through his. “Let’s do some party things. Eating. Drinking. Introducing you to people you won’t remember thirty seconds later.”

I half dragged him over to Donal, who was dressed as the skinniest Captain America ever, and offered a quick introduction.

“You’re the one helping Maura pass algebra?” Donal asked, sharpening his gaze.

Garrett’s voice took a turn toward Southern hospitality when he answered. “She’s passing on her own, sir. I’m just helping things along.”

It was the right answer. Donal clapped him on the shoulder and promised a beer, pronto. He motioned to Carly, who made a beeline for Garrett, red boots clapping on the cement.

Her costume was a work of art. Tinfoil tiara and cuffs, spandex everywhere with Spanx underneath, my raven-haired sister made a supersexy Wonder Woman. “How are you, Garrett?” she asked loudly, tugging him down for a kiss on the cheek. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

“Er, thank you,” he managed, trying not to stare.

I looked up and spotted the very pregnant Sophia Carver-Wittelstein, dressed as a very pregnant, pink-suited Jackie Kennedy, staring at Garrett as though he were steak on a platter.

“Let’s grab our drinks and head inside,” I said quickly, and Garrett agreed, features straining with nerves when he realized how many more people were in the garage. I knew this was probably difficult for him, and the last thing he needed was Sophia Carver-Wittelstein asking pointed questions. Garrett deserved his privacy, and I didn’t want him to feel forced into giving it up simply because he was a guest at Donal’s party.

We grabbed drinks and dumped food on our plates, then tucked ourselves into the side entrance to my basement apartment. “Want to see where I live?” My voice was embarrassingly husky.

“Yeah.”

I hadn’t cleaned. Half the contents of my closet lay in piles on my unmade bed. Harsh afternoon light filtered in through the blinds, and I turned them down, flicking on the sconce above my bed, adding softness to everything.

“You’re going to do great on Wednesday,” I said, hoping I wasn’t overdoing the confidence building.

“Yeah?” Garrett tipped his cup and gulped down some beer. “I don’t know.”

I took a drink of my own and sat down next to him on the bed. “I do.”

“Are you going to tell me to just be myself?”

I moved closer, infinitesimally. I always felt like a predator with Garrett, the cat inching toward the canary. His moving toward me should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. I wanted to do more for him, this man who’d done so much to hurt himself. I moved closer, and he did the same, and our thighs touched, his denim rough against my tights. “Of course I think you should just be yourself,” I said softly. “Yourself is pretty good stuff.”

He threaded his fingers through mine. “You almost have me believing it,” he said, but his voice sounded far away, like part of him had already given up and gone home.

I wanted to kiss him, to bring him back. It felt right, the softness in the room, the hum of voices outside, being closed up in our basement cocoon. We owned this moment; it was something we could have—it was something
he
could have—this man who had so very little. I shifted, nuzzling the side of his jaw with my chin. Garrett took blessed action. He caught my mouth with his, lips moving against mine, and Carly was wrong, there was no desperation, only a brief hesitancy, then a promise, then a slow infusion of confidence, a remembrance of how things could be.

“Leona?” he said, after breaking away, his voice a whisper. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t present you with a box of chocolates. You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, don’t—” Garrett ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. Tufts of it stuck out in different directions, and I fought the urge to smooth it down. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I hadn’t known,” he said, gazing at his beat-to-shit shoes. “Maura told me about the baby. About what you want to ask me.”

I sat back.
Damn it, Maura!
“She told you that?”

“She’s been hinting at some big favor you wanted to discuss, but she didn’t give specifics until she felt comfortable with me. I believe she’s of the age to find romance in everything. Or maybe she thought she was being helpful?”

Did he think I was delusional, fueled by fantasy? Humiliation brought heat to my face, but I couldn’t stop looking at him, waiting for his reaction. When he realized I wasn’t going to take over, he swallowed audibly and went on.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever thought that much of me, to ask something like that. To trust me like that.” He turned to me, bright blue eyes burning into mine. “I want to help you. I do.”

“But?”

He sighed and gently placed his hand on the back of my neck, long fingers toying with the elastic on my shower cap. “It’s just that I don’t think I can be a dad. I wondered, after she’d told me, if I had it in me, but I don’t think that I do.”

“I’m not asking for you to be a dad, I’m asking you to help me be a mom.” It sounded almost harsh when I said it, but it was true. I didn’t know how it would affect the idea of him and me, but I said it because in that moment I realized what was most important. It felt both good and sour, the possibilities intermingling, struggling in the water, one coming up and pressing the other’s head under.