I was thinking about babies at that point. A lot. Not babies with him, but a baby for me. I spent countless nights dreaming of tiny toes and names for little girls. Sometimes I think I jinxed myself, dreaming about babies so often while I slept next to him. How else can you explain getting pregnant while on the Pill?
I thought about the predicament for a while before I told him. Was this a predicament at all? I’d wanted a baby for so long, and now I’d somehow found one in my belly. Maybe we could become a happy family. Maybe he would step up to the plate, hit the home run. (I’ve now exhausted my knowledge of sports metaphors.) Maybe he needed a baby to straighten out his life.
Right.
Her father was horrified in the way most young men would be. He didn’t want a baby; he had his whole life ahead of him. He couldn’t believe I’d “done this.” He was paranoid and irritable, and I told Rose Gold it became hard to discern whether Grant or the meth was talking. I couldn’t bring a baby into his world. I’d have to go it alone.
We wouldn’t be the Brady Bunch family I’d hoped for, but let’s face it: Mike Brady was a drag. I could raise a kid on my own. I’d raised myself, hadn’t I? And I turned out okay. I ended the relationship and started checking out town houses.
Rose Gold pipes up again. “And he died of a drug overdose?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“So you don’t know for sure?”
“I know.” I scowl at my daughter. “All I meant was we weren’t in touch by then. Someone from the neighborhood told me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember,” I say, irritated.
“Where is he buried?”
“How on God’s green earth should I know?”
“I thought you might have heard,” Rose Gold says. She’s being smart with me.
“I’m sorry if this comes off harsh,” I say, “but Grant didn’t want to be your father.”
“Tell me about it,” Rose Gold says, dripping with bitterness.
The movie’s end credits roll, and we watch the names scroll by. I turn the TV off, shrouding the room in silence. Rose Gold yawns and stretches in her baggy sweatshirt.
She takes Adam from me and curls him against her chest. She opens her mouth to speak, but her cell phone vibrates loudly on the coffee table in front of us, stopping her. I lean forward to see who’s calling, but she snatches the phone away before I catch a glimpse.
Rose Gold glances at the screen. The blood drains from her face. Her hands begin to shake. I worry for a second she’s going to drop Adam.
“Can you take him?” she mumbles as she thrusts the baby into my arms. She hurries down the hallway, clutching her ringing phone. A few seconds later, her bedroom door slams shut. The lock clicks into place.
I sit back in my chair and begin rocking Adam again, thinking about what I’ve just seen.
Someone wants to talk to my daughter.
The real question is, why doesn’t she want to talk to them?
6
Rose Gold
When the interview was over, I picked up the paper grocery bag holding all my sleepover stuff and left the café. I got back in the van and typed Alex’s Lakeview address into the map on my phone.
I drove north on Western Avenue and took a right on Fullerton, thinking about the lies I’d told Vinny. Of course I felt bad for Mom. On more than one night in my apartment, I’d gazed at the recliner to my right and wished she were sitting in it. She used to draw the alphabet on my back and braid my wigs. She made up wild vacations, without us ever leaving the house. She gave hugs that squeezed the air from my lungs. She fought for me. In spite of all her sins, I knew how much she loved me.
But no one wanted to hear about the redeeming qualities of a child abuser. I was beginning to understand people needed to put one another in buckets: good or bad. No room for the in-between, even if that was where most of us belonged. Anyone who knew our story imagined Mom was evil. The jury must have slept well the night of the verdict, picturing themselves as my white knights. But they took my mother away from me. Some days I was thrilled. Others I felt like a vital organ was missing.
I mulled over all of this while searching for parking on Belmont. A Patty pity party was not how I wanted to spend my weekend. I had looked up Stockholm syndrome at a stoplight. Vinny was wrong—I wasn’t a captive, and I didn’t trust Mom anymore. Nothing she did to me was justifiable. I locked the van and walked toward Alex’s apartment.
My pocket vibrated.
Phil: Do you have anything fun planned today?
Me: Nope, just working
Phil: I’ve been stuck at my desk all day too
I paused. I thought Phil worked as an instructor at a ski resort? That was what he’d told me anyway.
Me: New job?
Phil: Oh, yeah, the lodge has me doing back office work once or twice a week
The key safe was bolted to the fence. I took the spare key out of it and let myself into the building, like Alex had instructed. By the time I’d climbed three flights of creaky stairs, I was huffing and puffing at the apartment door. Shortness of breath—I knew this pattern from childhood. Soon I would get dizzy. Fuzzy spiders would creep into my vision. If I couldn’t stop them, I’d faint. I would lie unconscious on this dirty carpet until someone found me. What if Alex or Whitney didn’t come home for hours? I could slip into a coma. I’d have to go to the hospital. They’d stick thick needles in me. They might perform surgeries I didn’t need. I knocked on the wooden doorframe, trying to unjinx all the thoughts I’d had. I heard panting and realized the gasps were coming from me.
I braced myself against the door, waiting. The fuzzy spiders never came. I didn’t get dizzy.
“Quit being a freak,” I said, unlocking the apartment door. No one was home.
Alex and Whitney’s decorations almost disguised the cheap furniture and old appliances. Colorful swirly paintings hung over the couch. A big white canvas leaned against one wall. The words “NO SHIT” had been sprayed onto the canvas with red paint, but the words were upside down. I didn’t get it, which made it even cooler. I sat on the blue couch and pulled out my phone to text Alex.
Me: I’m back from my Chit Chat interview. I can hang out whenever
I hadn’t told Alex about the interview until now. Half of me had been worried she’d want to come with me. The other half had been saving the news for a moment I wanted to get her attention.
Thirty seconds later, my phone rang. Alex was calling. I tried to remember the last time she’d called.