Aria for a Soprano – A Kintsugi Companion Piece

It was the penicillin. She'd known, cerebrally, that antibiotics could interfere with birth control. It just…had not seemed germane in the moment. Delighted that she could finally fully be with her beloved, she quietly contacted her doctor and started low-dose birth control. After all, it hardly seemed likely that Erik could even have children. Moreover, they did not want children. Christine's popularity soared ever higher, without any apparent ceiling. The opera house, with its orchestra and chorus full of Cinderella (and Cinderfella!) stories, was no less beloved. There simply was no time for morning sickness that plagued her nor the mandatory naps she seemed to be taking with ever-increasing frequency.

Christine never regretted her promise to Erik until that cursed little plus sign appeared on the dipstick. She sat in the bathroom staring at it with hundreds of scenarios running through her head. He would panic. He would leave. He would be angry with her. He would be calm, but not want the baby. He would be delighted. He would become frantic between incipient fatherhood and managing the opera house. And on, and on. But it was a coward's game, and futile. She marched herself down the stairs and to the door of his studio.

"Erik?" Good. She sounded calm.

"Mmmm…" He was composing. Naturally. Of course.

Christine blew out a long breath and prepared to wade in. "Erik, could you take a break and come talk to me for a minute?"

"A moment," came the distracted response.

"No, now." Her calm cracked, but her voice remained steady.

"Very well," and a massive sigh of put-upon patience. A moment later, the door opened. "Is it so very important, Christine?"

"Well, yes. I took a test."

"A test? Is this one of those online…" his thin lips pressed together, his eyes were still off in whatever music he'd been writing.

"No! No. …a pregnancy test?" The words came out as a question.

"Pregnancy." Moments ticked by as Christine waited for him to work through this piece of information. At last, he spoke. "Did you…pass?"

Christine blinked. A new scenario bloomed in her imagination: he flips, loses it, and ends up on heavy tranquilizers. She held up the dipstick. "I don't know if this is 'passing ' or not, but it's positive."

"You are pregnant."

"I am pregnant."

"And the child is mine." It was not a question. Pieces of an impossible puzzle scattered in his mind and he spoke each piece of information aloud, trying to fit them together. He stood still, so very still, and Christine knew that stillness in Erik did not equate to calm.

"It better be," she joked senselessly. Those words, 'the child', rang in her ears, settling the reality more firmly in her consciousness. "There's nobody else it could be."

"Then…" Erik cast about for the next logical piece. "…then you must go to the doctor."

"Yeah, I'm going to call them next, but I thought I'd tell you first. You know, like we agreed." Christine popped up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then turned and walked away, getting her cell phone out of her pocket as she went.

He nodded. A child, his child, and Christine would go to the doctor. His child…

"Christine!" her name exploded from his lips, loud and unexpected.

She stopped dialing and looked back over her shoulder.

"They will do tests, will they not?" Unconsciously, his hand went to his face. "To…to make sure the child is…" and he petered off, not knowing how to finish.

"I'm sure they'll do all the tests to make sure there's nothing wrong with it," she soothed.

"Don't." The word was a whisper, barely audible.

"Don't what?" Christine held the phone, number half-dialed.

"Don't call the child that."

"What?"

"It." Erik raised his chin, his tone strengthening. "Don't call the child 'it'."

"But, Erik," she said reasonably, "we don't know if ih…if the child is a boy or a girl yet."

He stared at her, struggled to find the words, but only a muddle of music boiled in his mind. What if…? Mute, he only shook his head forbiddingly.

"Fine." Christine did not know whether she wanted to laugh or shake him. At least he was not opposing fatherhood. She mentally marked one nightmare possibility off the list.

….

The appointment was set for a week out, and an unspoken agreement formed itself in their mutual avoidance of the subject. Certainly, Erik brought Christine tea often and at odd hours. He suggested earlier bedtimes and more frequent naps. Their eyes often met uneasily before one of them suddenly found an important something-else to do. No words on pregnancy or children were exchanged until the morning she set out for the doctor.

"May I accompany you?" Erik waited at the garage door, for first time in months covered head to toe, his mask in place.

In answer, Christine grabbed him and hugged him before towing him to the car.

She was happy to have him along, but the obstetrician's office staff felt differently.

"Sir, you can't wear a mask in here. It's upsetting the other patients." The receptionist's tone was annoyed and a little querulous.

"Ma'am, I assure you: it is preferable to my taking it off."

"Sir, I will have to ask you to leave if you won't take it off." Her hand was already on the button to summon security.

Christine patted his hand. "You go on outside. I'll explain to them, see if I can get them to let you back in." Already overwhelmed, she could not manage a fight in this moment.

His eyes spoke worlds of distress to her, but he simply nodded and left, head hanging low.

In the end, Erik was not invited back in. Christine explained. She pulled up his picture from the theater's website and tried to get them to see reason. No matter her efforts, the staff insisted that their patients must not be upset, and that the father was welcome to wait outside. The obstetrician brought up the subject of genetic testing before Christine could even get up on the table. With a furrowed brow and irritation that had nothing to do with hormones, Christine agreed. After all, Erik would want to know.

"And we won't know the results for a few days," Christine huffed, still angry with what she perceived as a lack of compassion on the part of the clinic. "She said everything else looks fine, though I'm a bit 'small' for how far along I am." This last was tossed out casually, though her heart had raced when the doctor informed her that she was at least twelve weeks in, and hadn't the slightest baby bump.

But when the results came, they were inconclusive. There were anomalies, but they matched no known genetic or chromosomal disorder. Before she could repeat the information to Erik, Christine chanted it to herself. 'No known disorder.' But her baby was not fine, the only result she wanted to hear.

"What shall we do, Christine?" Erik paced the music room with long, fast strides, as though he could run from his fears.

"We get the ultrasound," she answered blankly, fighting down the urge to remind him that she had never done this before, either. "Dr. Brown says weird results that mean nothing happen sometimes. So, we get the ultrasound."

"You misunderstand me." His thin lips were drawn back from his teeth and his hands were fisted tightly at his stomach. "If . What shall we do if…?"

It was the question she dared not ask herself. The doctor had briefed her on her options, like any other patient, but there seemed to be ice between her and that soft, clinical voice.

"I don't know. I just don't." Those inconclusive results dragged up images in her mind of a baby with Erik's face, and all she had wanted to do was look away. It was not fair: not to the baby, and not to her. "You can come, though. I refused to come in for the ultrasound until they let you come, too. I'll go alone to all the other appointments, but I want you there for that. So, we'll go in for an eighteen-week ultrasound, and we'll see. They're going to hold the clinic late, just for us. I told them I can pay whatever it costs, and they said 'fine'."

"Thank you," he replied, slowing his pace and coming to hold her hands tightly in his. "Thank you, thank you."

…

Life could not stop for some troubling test results or something so mundane as early pregnancy. Through strange cravings, random spurts of joy or tears, and mild nausea, Christine kept singing, kept performing. She dropped not-so-subtle hints to her understudy that diligence would likely pay off with a performance. She watched Erik as he stopped eating, paced more, and glued himself to her side. Would this all go away if the ultrasound were normal? Would he find peace then? If not, what shall we do? His question haunted her like an uneasy ghost.

When the time came, Erik prepared himself to remain calm. Whatever appeared on the screen, whatever the doctor told them, he would be calm and quiet. He would support Christine, no matter her decision. After all, she was the one who would have to carry the child and bear him or her.

If she chose to keep the baby. If…

They walked into the darkened office building, noting the echoing emptiness of the halls that would have been teeming with women and babies and proud daddies during business hours. A lone nurse waited at the door of the clinic. She kept a wary eye on Erik, even as she held open the door to let them through.

"They're ready for you," she said, tilting her head towards the hallways. "I'll walk you back."

The obstetrician and ultrasound technician sat in one corner of the room, having a hushed conversation that cut off abruptly as the couple entered and took their places: Christine on the table and Erik close by her side.

The technician began prepping Christine's belly. She shot nervous looks at Erik, but said nothing. After all, the couple was paying overtime to be here with the man masked. Out of curiosity, she and the doctor spent the time to look the man up. As far as she was concerned, he needed to go on wearing that mask. There were things she did not want to see up close and in person.

Dr. Brown, by contrast, itched to get a closer look. Given his closed posture and cold glower, she doubted she'd get the chance. She settled herself on a rolling stool and crossed her arms. "You can make yourself comfortable, Mr. Valliere. We all appreciate your understanding that some of our patients are…uncomfortable…with masked men. Men in general, really. But those precautions are hardly necessary now."

"If it's all the same, doctor, I believe I'll remain as I am." Erik lowered his gaze. The doctor's eyes carried too much of a curious gleam.

"Whatever floats your boat." She turned to Christine. "All right, Ms. Daae, let's see what we have going on here."

The technician pressed the transducer to Christine's belly. The sound of the ocean filled the room, punctuated by a rhythmic thump.

"The heartbeat. Erik, that's the heartbeat!" Christine felt her face stretch in a painfully large grin.

Erik's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. 'My child,' he thought, and no other thoughts would come.

"That's right. Now, let's see if Tammy can find your little visitor."

Erik gripped Christine's hand as the baby came into view. That was definitely a baby. A baby. A living child. His child.

He and Christine looked on, delighted, failing to notice the darkening features of the medical professionals.

"Hmmm." Dr Brown moved in and pointed a few times, directing Tammy's efforts. Then, a moment later, "Hmmm."

Christine clued in on the second 'hmmm.' "What? What is it?"

The doctor did not answer for a span of seconds, during which the room seemed to have no air.

"I think we may need a better look. Tammy, book the 3D/4D." To the couple she said, "I am recommending a 3D sonogram for your 26th week."

"Is that really necessary?" Christine's voice quavered. "What's wrong?"

"The bones. The hands," Tammy said, pointing. "And the…" she broke off and shot a fearful look up at Erik.

"The face," Erik finished for her. "You know what us wrong, Christine."

The doctor nodded slowly. "Maybe. It is early, very early, to be concerned about such things. There are obviously some structural differences that suggest further observation may be prudent." She sat back and cast a quizzical eye towards Erik. "Would you like to share more of your own medical history now, Mr. Valliere?"

"I have none."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Brown raised her eyebrows.

"He really doesn't. He won't go to a doctor. Too nosy." Christine had fought this fight and lost months before. Her lines delivered, she went back to staring at the screen, where Tammy was trying to get a better look at something that interested the mother-to-be very much.

"Never? You realize that if the baby has inherited your condition, medical information about you is absolutely critical to its…"

"Her." Tammy's voice cut in. Christine echoed the verdict, her voice bubbly with excitement. "Her. She's a her."

Dr. Brown leaned in and looked. "Sure enough," she confirmed. "As I was saying, your medical history maybe critical to your daughter's health."

Erik stared intently at the shadowy form on the screen. A daughter. No 'it'. A little girl.

"You." He nodded towards Christine's obstetrician.

"Me?" she shook her head, confused.

"You may…make an examination. Find what needs to be found." His eyes never moved from the screen.

"Mr. Valliere, I am an obstetrician. I do not work with…"

"It's a better offer than I ever got, even when I begged him to go. " Christine interrupted. "You know we can pay."

"I was fine." Erik spoke forbiddingly. This was bad. So bad. He had no idea what the doctor would require of him, but it was certain that he wanted no part of it. Exposed, again. Under a curious gaze, again. And she'd likely want to touch him. Still, his daughter… "It was merely a cough."

"A two-month cough. And you couldn't even get out of bed. You missed several rehearsals and you could barely function for a couple of months after you returned."

"Yet here I stand." He sniffed, his point made.

Dr. Brown was not a sentimental woman; the poignancy of the love between the singer and the deformed man did not touch her heart. She cared little for their fame. She knew these two could pay through the nose, had already done so, but that hardly turned her head. The chance for discovery: now that piqued her interest. There were abnormalities in the tests, but they matched no known chromosomal or genetic disease or disorder; she'd told them so herself. If he was telling the truth, this man -and his condition- was unknown to the medical community. Despite her cautiously unspecific comments, there was obviously something wrong with the fetus – and its anomalies matched its father's. And she would be the first to discover the cause.

"Very well, but after clinic hours."

"When?" Erik turned his attention wholly to the matter at hand.

"The sooner, the better, I'd say. I'll need to draw blood and get several tests run…" Dr. Brown began making notes. "Does tomorrow work for you? I will need to ask the phlebotomist to stay after…"

Erik's hand still encircled Christine's, but now she was the one giving comforting pressure. "And you will not share what you learn…with anyone?"

Dr. Brown quickly made a mental note to prepare consent forms. The iciness of this man's hard stare suggested she might need more than the cursory explanation before he would allow her any leeway with her 'discovery.' "Not without your written consent. That would violate HIPAA law."

Erik glanced at Christine and saw that she appeared satisfied. He knew nothing of HIPAA law; as for 'violations' , privacy meant something much closer to the skin in his world. "Tomorrow, then."

There were things that should not be in this world. As a physician who worked with women delivering babies, Dr. Brown had seen many of them. Deformities happened every day in her work: some severe and some barely noticeable. It was not the deformity that twisted her lips into a horrified scowl.

"Dear God," she whispered.

"I had a difficult childhood," was all Erik would say in response to her horrified questioning stare.

"I…I see that." Shaken, Dr. Brown continued her examination, though her touch became gentler. "Between what ages did this…happen?"

Erik shrugged. "My youth." What did his scars have to do with his daughter? Nothing. And so, he fell mute except to curtly, precisely answer her medical questions. Probes about his 'social history' were met with a shrug and a headshake. Each medical indignity ('just need to take some blood;' 'just need you to provide a urine sample) he bore with equanimity and cold quiet.

Erik's mutism lasted out of the office, through the drive home, and past dinner. Christine let it go; she, too, carried an immense burden in her mind.

When they were both in bed, with blankets tucked firmly under her chin, Christine finally spoke. "Thank goodness I got pregnant."

Erik eyed the lump of blankets that was his wife. Something in her tone told him she was not referring to the baby. He feigned ignorance. "You are pleased then, about the child?"

"I'm pleased about you, you…" she cut herself off and reached for a neutral tone. "Your kidneys would have failed. The doctor said that with blood pressure like that, you only had a few years until your kidneys failed." She burrowed more deeply into the blankets. "And you never told me about any chest pain."

"It did not seem important." Erik shifted uncomfortably.

"You would have died. Not 'could have', Would have," she spat.

"…with my dignity intact." Erik's voice took on the emphatic tightness of a conversation being terminated.

Christine ignored his forbidding tone. "It's not an indignity to go to the doctor."

"Indeed, perhaps it is not, if you have never relieved yourself in a bucket while people watched and laughed." It was an acerbic statement, meant to sting.

"She didn't…"

"Ah, but she was curious was she not? Far more than needed for simple information-gathering."

"Maybe," Christine defended, "but it saved your life."

"I do not fear death, Christine."

His blasé flatness suddenly infuriated her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out until he understood. "Yeah, well, I fear your death. I know you're going to take those pills and everything will be fine, but right up until now, it could have killed you. Before now, it would have killed me to lose you. Now, if you die, I have to live. And, I'll be left alone with a baby that might be…"

They were both sitting up now, glaring at each other across the blankets and a divide of life experience that felt as wide as the sea.

"Might be what?" His eyes narrowed, their colorless gaze hard and sharp.

Christine wondered if her little girl would have those same weird eyes. Or that gaping lack of a nose. Or that high blood pressure and 'chest pain' that might be due to his 'condition' or might be the result of a lifetime of suffering. Nothing was sure. Nothing at all. Her comfortable world was flying apart, and he didn't care whether he left her or not.

"I don't know. All I know is that I could have lost you." She rubbed her eyes hard and swallowed sobs that wanted to come. No hormonal outbursts, now, Christine. "Why did you go through it? You didn't have to. You could have refused a lot of that stuff."

"You wanted me to do this. And…" he lay back, breaking the standoff. "…and she may need it." There was a pause, then, "You will need the information to decide what to do."

"What am I deciding, exactly?" She still sat stiffly, staring down at him as he averted his gaze.

"We never meant to have a child, angel; let alone a child that might be…" There it was again: that interrupted phrase that wordlessly said so much. He lay there for a while, running his hands lightly over the blankets, his fingers tapping out a tune on an invisible keyboard. "Do we tell anyone? I note that you have not called your mother. Or that woman, Megan." When she did not answer immediately, he nodded to himself. "It is best that we do not. It is too much of a shame, what we have done."

Christine threw herself back onto her pillows, grabbed tissue and blew her nose. Was it a 'shame' that they'd made love? That they may have burdened a child -a girl child- with a face like Erik's? That she baby would have to live with performers as parents? She did not think so, though she knew full well that it would be said. All that, and worse. "Let's…let's just not, okay? We don't even know anything about the baby. I'm barely showing yet." It was true. Her stomach showed only a little extra roundness, her face the tiniest bit of plumpness. "Let's wait until after the 3D. Then we'll make decisions and tell people and all that stuff. But until then, can we just…not?"

"If it pleases you, Christine." But sleep eluded him that night, and many nights.

…..

The machine looked no different. It had the same screen and the transducer looked just the same. Maybe it was a little larger, but then, so was Christine. Dr. Brown and Tammy were both there, busily preparing charts and notes and instruments. Beyond the initial greetings, no one spoke. The transducer moved over Christine's belly and the screen did its work, showing the baby in highly defined detail.

"Well, now we know." The doctor cleared her throat and made several notes in the chart. "There are definite deformities of the skeletal structure, including the face and hands. The similarities to her father's condition are obvious. It is time to discuss options."

"What about her heart?" Christine asked.

"It seems to be fine. None of the previous testing shows any defects."

"So…so, is she viable?" Her voice trembled slightly.

"There's no way to know, to be perfectly honest. This syndrome is unknown. Mr. Valliere's 'difficult childhood' could have caused many of the complications found at his last visit, or it could be part of the condition. It's a gamble. As far as I can tell, she seems to be an otherwise healthy little girl. Christine, I'm sorry I can't give you more." Dr. Brown concluded, patting Christine's hand and avoiding Erik's eyes – which were glued to the screen.

"Is there a problem with her brain? Or her…her anything?" Christine could not formulate the question she wanted to ask.

Erik listened to her floundering. He'd thought from the beginning that this was what he wanted. Christine could decide, and he would follow. She was the angel; he, the monster. That all crashed down around him as he watched that thin, alien face on the screen.

"…doesn't matter," he whispered.

"What?" Both women stopped talking and turned to him.

"It does not matter," he repeated, then turned to Christine. "Please, angel. Say it. Tell me it does not matter."

"Of course, it matters," Dr. Brown began to explain. "We will need to decide on treatment and follow up. The hospital will need to be on alert for…"

Christine waved a hand and shushed the doctor. Erik's eyes continually flicked away from hers and towards the screen. They held an expression of gentleness and warmth: he had fallen in love.

"No. It doesn't," she whispered back, smiling for the first time in weeks. "It doesn't matter at all."

…

"I thought you weren't going to have kids," Meg blurted. She twizzled some pasta around her fork and stuffed it in her mouth. "Like, you said it a million times."

"It wasn't exactly planned, Meg," Christine explained. "See, I had that sore throat, remember? And they gave me antibiotics, and now here we are."

"When are you due, dear?" Elaine chimed in next, a gracious smile on her face. It wasn't a terribly sincere smile, but she did her best.

"Well, I mean, a little more than a month from now." Christine shrugged at all the gaping mouths and disbelieving eyes. "I've been wearing really baggy clothes."

"I thought you were just getting fat…" Meg grinned. "Just goes to show you what I know."

Erik glared at her, but kept his peace. His mother was staring at him and there was no polite smile on her features. He returned her stare calmly. If she had something to say, she'd have to come out with it on her own.

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" Elaine smacked Meg's leg and rerouted the conversation.

"A girl." Christine held up a restraining hand before her mother could get going. "We're not doing the frilly frou-frou thing though! Just neutral nursery colors."

"Great, Chrissy, I'll buy you The Feminine Mystique and A Room of One's Own for bedtime stories." Meg grinned mischievously. "Maybe a little Rosy the Riveter onesie…"

The light banter went on for several minutes, until Natalie cleared her throat.

"Is she…healthy?" she asked in her soft, uncertain voice. "Have you had testing?"

Shrimp scampi sat cooling, untouched, in bowls. Everyone sat with forks in hand, trying to decide what to do with their eyes, their expressions.

"We did have testing, and an ultrasound," Erik replied.

"And?" Natalie took a small bite and chewed, trying to look nonchalant.

"She's…healthy," Christine said, but she did not look up from her plate. "Heart beat is steady, she finally started growing, she's kicking me all the time: everything is coming along nicely."

Elaine and Natalie exchanged significant looks across the table. Nadir, having held his peace, put down his fork and entered the fray.

"I find myself unconvinced." He lowered his brow and leaned in. "Is there more we should know?"

Erik nodded slowly. He tightened his jaw in rebellion against whatever censure may come. "My condition appears to be genetic."

"Ah." Nadir picked his fork up and stared at it for a moment, looking for wisdom. "I'm sorry."

"Aww, honey," Elaine cooed. "That's why you didn't tell us sooner?"

Christine couldn't find words.

"Well, you could have. You know we're just going to love her to death no matter what." Elaine looked up and down the table for confirmation.

"Yeah," Meg said. "But that means you'll have to let us dress her up in frilly, lacy stuff!"

"And why is that?" Erik's tone darkened. The Giry woman would forever be a thorn in his side.

Christine cringed, waiting for something horrible to come out of Meg's mouth, as was her wont.

"Chill out there, Papa Bear." Meg lifted both hands in mock-defense. "We've got, like a month and a bit before this baby's born. We've got to throw a baby shower, do up a nursery, buy all kinds of crap with tons of batteries and tiny pieces that you'll step on later, and shove six months of fawning all over Little Mama over there into just two. She's going to be a beached whale, and you're going to be a nervous wreck. Just look at you already! So, you know who's going to be doing all that? Huh?" She pointed her fork, complete with a dangling shrimp, around the table. "Us. That's who. So, if we want to put a purple and pink tulle dress with glitter on the bottom on that baby, you're going to let us!"

Erik looked to Christine, who had dissolved in giggles and would be no help. He looked to the mothers, soon to be grandmothers, and saw them purse their lips in agreement. Even Nadir was laughing into his napkin. There was nothing to be done about it.

"If it pleases you," he acceded stiffly, but a smile was growing at the corners of his mouth that he had no inclination to suppress.

…..

Aria Daae-Valliere was born eleven weeks later, weighing a feather-light four pounds, eight ounces. Her tiny fingers and toes were too long, too thin. Her little body had not a spare ounce of fat on it and her face was skeletal. She had slightly more 'nose' than her father, and her skin bore a mottled mix of her mother's rich brown and her father's pasty grey. Her huge dark eyes stared out at the world with a preternatural wisdom. Before she ever left the hospital, she was surrounded by love, bundled safely in the arms of people who would stop at nothing to protect her.