Part 12
3.00 am and I'm hauling myself out of bed, fingers cautiously exploring the contents of the cupboard in our bathroom. It's a ritual – I know that at 4.00 a.m. I'll need to pee and an hour before that – heartburn. My own fault this time I guess. Turkey and pumpkin pie, I don't know what I was thinking. Dammit, the bottle I need isn't here and I have to grope my way across the landing to the other bathroom, and I'm cold and tired and Luka doesn't even stir.
I've given up measuring this stuff out and slug it straight from the bottle. I'm wide awake now and so is the baby. Closing the bathroom cabinet I damn near give birth on the spot as Maggie's face stares back at me from the mirror.
"Holy shit, you scared me!"
"I'm sorry. I heard you, wondered if everything was OK."
"Good job it wasn't Luka in here."
"I know your footsteps."
"You do?"
"I'm your mother, Abby." I nod at that, and wonder if one day I'll be able to pick this child's footsteps out from anyone else's.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"No." she says, scrubbing at her face and she looks suddenly old in the bathroom light.
"You want some tea or something?"
"That would be nice."
The kitchen smells of Thanksgiving cooking. My mother makes the tea, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the camomile, while I shred a napkin into tiny pieces.
"I guess I'd better get used to this," I tell her as she sits down.
"Used to what?"
"Up all hours, nursing."
"Luka sleeping?"
"Like a baby."
"God, that's such a silly expression."
"What?"
"Sleeping like a baby."
"Why?"
"He doesn't wake up every three hours screaming, does he?"
"Not any more." I can see in her eyes that right there she gets it. She nods, waits. "After you left . . . before, he – we – had a rough time of it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Had to happen some time."
"But – "
"No, mom, it's good, it's all good. I got through it with him, I was there for him this time, you know? And I didn't fall to pieces. I think I really understood. Like, it was always there, and I knew, I did know, but . . . I didn't feel it"
"You do now?"
"Yeah. I knew I loved him, decided on this baby, married him, made those promises, but I feel like then, those few days, that's when I really married him, took on the whole shitty mess of his life. I don't think I could let it go now."
"I don't know that I'd want to feel all that. You're a brave woman." I can laugh at that.
"Tell me about it."
"And he's brave man."
"I know – he gets me."
"And lucky – to have you." There was a time when I'd have sneered at that. Not now. "It won't be easy," she continues, "ever."
"When is it ever? But I figure he's worth it."
"And you're worth it." Hell, we just had ourselves a L'Oreal moment.
"I'd better be." She laughs then.
"I wish . . . I wish I could have been more like you."
"You were." Jesus, do we have to go over this?
"I tried."
"You were sick, mom."
"I still am. I'd understand if you didn't want me anywhere near this baby."
"Mom – "
"I'll always be sick, you'll always be wondering whether the Crazy Woman is going to show up. But the thing is I'm still here. Life has a way of holding onto you, of pouring charcoal down your throat and bringing you back. And I'm glad I'm still here. I'm glad to see this. Do you remember – "
"What?"
"Before, that time before, when I said risk is all there is or we miss out on the good stuff?"
"I remember."
"What changed your mind?"
"About Luka? He did. About this baby? I don't know. I think maybe Ivica."
"Luka's dad?"
"You know any other Ivicas?"
"What did he say?"
Oh boy. "Same as you I guess only with a few profanities thrown in. He wasn't so nice about it. Cried though, in the end."
"The same as me?"
"He said – he said I was afraid of being afraid."
"Same as me." She's pissed.
"It's not a contest, mom. Maybe I just needed to hear it again." Not to mention taking her word for things not coming real naturally to me. No, I won't mention that.
"Well . . . I'm glad that you took the risk, because it's worth it, Abby, it's so worth it when that baby's born."
"Can I ask you something? What's the feeling that parents feel the most?"
"What?"
"What do you feel?" She considers for a moment.
"I don't know what you want me to tell you."
"The truth will do."
She nods. "The truth? I was scared, scared as all hell, always scared, all the time. Even now."
"That's what Ivica said."
"So why ask me?"
"Ivica's a little . . . odd, sometimes. Most of the time."
"What and you thought you'd double check with the normal parent?" I can laugh at that too. "And how about you?"
"Me?"
"How are you . . . "
"Feeling? Scared. Excited. I . . . I mean I've seen what happens when the worst happens, seen it in Luka, what it's cost him to let it go." I think for a moment before going on. "Before . . . when – if – I thought about kids, about having them, I always sort of saw myself on my own, you know? I don't think I ever saw a father around. Which is weird, because there'd have to be one, right? Except maybe not so weird. I mean, dad left, didn't he? Still, with Richard I couldn't do it. I was still thinking like it was just me. And it was."
"You didn't trust him."
"What? No, that wasn't it. I didn't trust myself. I wasn't ... mom material. Whatever that is."
"I . . . I don't suppose I was a real good role model."
"It's not that."
"Sure it is."
"Doesn't matter any more. What's the point in dragging through it? It happened. Life's shit sometimes. I'm still here, right? I'm scared as all hell but I'm doing this and in a couple of months time I'll be a mom, Luka will be a dad again and I won't have time to pick over the entrails of what was or what might have been. I don't want to do it. Life's short, Mom. Look at Luka. If anyone should be scared shitless here it's him, and he was. But he's going with it, taking the risk because he knows it's worth it. I have to believe him. I do believe him. Shit happens. It's not our fault and it stinks. But what are you going to do about it? Stay home and wait for perfection to show up? It doesn't show up, it never shows up and God knows, we're a long time dead. I'm going to be afraid for the rest of my life now, I know that. But I'm not afraid of being afraid anymore. I don't have the time."
She's staring at me like she she's seeing me for the first time. Maybe she is. And I'm kinda surprised myself; throw in an accent and I'm Ivica, right? Finally she smiles a little.
"Still here, Abby. You're still here."
"Still here."
"And happy?"
"Happy? Who knows? It's a knack, being happy, I have to keep working on it, I forget how to do it sometimes. But I can recognise happy when it happens better. I'm happy more often than . . . I'm not. Does that count?"
"It's more than a lot of people ever get to say." We look at each other for a moment and I break the silence with "I'm cold. I should get back to bed." A nod.
"Abby – Happy Thanksgiving."
"Not any more."
"What?"
"It's 4.00 am, Thanksgiving was yesterday."
"Abby – Thanksgiving isn't a date – it's a state of mind."
Jesus Christ, is she working for Hallmark now? I have no idea what to say to that piece of crap and I'm pretty sure I have a "WTF" look on my face. In the end she can't keep it up, her lips twitch and she lets out a snort of laughter, slapping her hand on the table, sending the scraps of shredded napkin flying like a little flurry of snow. "I got you, I so, so got you!" She doesn't look so old any more.
3.00 am and I'm hauling myself out of bed, fingers cautiously exploring the contents of the cupboard in our bathroom. It's a ritual – I know that at 4.00 a.m. I'll need to pee and an hour before that – heartburn. My own fault this time I guess. Turkey and pumpkin pie, I don't know what I was thinking. Dammit, the bottle I need isn't here and I have to grope my way across the landing to the other bathroom, and I'm cold and tired and Luka doesn't even stir.
I've given up measuring this stuff out and slug it straight from the bottle. I'm wide awake now and so is the baby. Closing the bathroom cabinet I damn near give birth on the spot as Maggie's face stares back at me from the mirror.
"Holy shit, you scared me!"
"I'm sorry. I heard you, wondered if everything was OK."
"Good job it wasn't Luka in here."
"I know your footsteps."
"You do?"
"I'm your mother, Abby." I nod at that, and wonder if one day I'll be able to pick this child's footsteps out from anyone else's.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"No." she says, scrubbing at her face and she looks suddenly old in the bathroom light.
"You want some tea or something?"
"That would be nice."
The kitchen smells of Thanksgiving cooking. My mother makes the tea, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the camomile, while I shred a napkin into tiny pieces.
"I guess I'd better get used to this," I tell her as she sits down.
"Used to what?"
"Up all hours, nursing."
"Luka sleeping?"
"Like a baby."
"God, that's such a silly expression."
"What?"
"Sleeping like a baby."
"Why?"
"He doesn't wake up every three hours screaming, does he?"
"Not any more." I can see in her eyes that right there she gets it. She nods, waits. "After you left . . . before, he – we – had a rough time of it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Had to happen some time."
"But – "
"No, mom, it's good, it's all good. I got through it with him, I was there for him this time, you know? And I didn't fall to pieces. I think I really understood. Like, it was always there, and I knew, I did know, but . . . I didn't feel it"
"You do now?"
"Yeah. I knew I loved him, decided on this baby, married him, made those promises, but I feel like then, those few days, that's when I really married him, took on the whole shitty mess of his life. I don't think I could let it go now."
"I don't know that I'd want to feel all that. You're a brave woman." I can laugh at that.
"Tell me about it."
"And he's brave man."
"I know – he gets me."
"And lucky – to have you." There was a time when I'd have sneered at that. Not now. "It won't be easy," she continues, "ever."
"When is it ever? But I figure he's worth it."
"And you're worth it." Hell, we just had ourselves a L'Oreal moment.
"I'd better be." She laughs then.
"I wish . . . I wish I could have been more like you."
"You were." Jesus, do we have to go over this?
"I tried."
"You were sick, mom."
"I still am. I'd understand if you didn't want me anywhere near this baby."
"Mom – "
"I'll always be sick, you'll always be wondering whether the Crazy Woman is going to show up. But the thing is I'm still here. Life has a way of holding onto you, of pouring charcoal down your throat and bringing you back. And I'm glad I'm still here. I'm glad to see this. Do you remember – "
"What?"
"Before, that time before, when I said risk is all there is or we miss out on the good stuff?"
"I remember."
"What changed your mind?"
"About Luka? He did. About this baby? I don't know. I think maybe Ivica."
"Luka's dad?"
"You know any other Ivicas?"
"What did he say?"
Oh boy. "Same as you I guess only with a few profanities thrown in. He wasn't so nice about it. Cried though, in the end."
"The same as me?"
"He said – he said I was afraid of being afraid."
"Same as me." She's pissed.
"It's not a contest, mom. Maybe I just needed to hear it again." Not to mention taking her word for things not coming real naturally to me. No, I won't mention that.
"Well . . . I'm glad that you took the risk, because it's worth it, Abby, it's so worth it when that baby's born."
"Can I ask you something? What's the feeling that parents feel the most?"
"What?"
"What do you feel?" She considers for a moment.
"I don't know what you want me to tell you."
"The truth will do."
She nods. "The truth? I was scared, scared as all hell, always scared, all the time. Even now."
"That's what Ivica said."
"So why ask me?"
"Ivica's a little . . . odd, sometimes. Most of the time."
"What and you thought you'd double check with the normal parent?" I can laugh at that too. "And how about you?"
"Me?"
"How are you . . . "
"Feeling? Scared. Excited. I . . . I mean I've seen what happens when the worst happens, seen it in Luka, what it's cost him to let it go." I think for a moment before going on. "Before . . . when – if – I thought about kids, about having them, I always sort of saw myself on my own, you know? I don't think I ever saw a father around. Which is weird, because there'd have to be one, right? Except maybe not so weird. I mean, dad left, didn't he? Still, with Richard I couldn't do it. I was still thinking like it was just me. And it was."
"You didn't trust him."
"What? No, that wasn't it. I didn't trust myself. I wasn't ... mom material. Whatever that is."
"I . . . I don't suppose I was a real good role model."
"It's not that."
"Sure it is."
"Doesn't matter any more. What's the point in dragging through it? It happened. Life's shit sometimes. I'm still here, right? I'm scared as all hell but I'm doing this and in a couple of months time I'll be a mom, Luka will be a dad again and I won't have time to pick over the entrails of what was or what might have been. I don't want to do it. Life's short, Mom. Look at Luka. If anyone should be scared shitless here it's him, and he was. But he's going with it, taking the risk because he knows it's worth it. I have to believe him. I do believe him. Shit happens. It's not our fault and it stinks. But what are you going to do about it? Stay home and wait for perfection to show up? It doesn't show up, it never shows up and God knows, we're a long time dead. I'm going to be afraid for the rest of my life now, I know that. But I'm not afraid of being afraid anymore. I don't have the time."
She's staring at me like she she's seeing me for the first time. Maybe she is. And I'm kinda surprised myself; throw in an accent and I'm Ivica, right? Finally she smiles a little.
"Still here, Abby. You're still here."
"Still here."
"And happy?"
"Happy? Who knows? It's a knack, being happy, I have to keep working on it, I forget how to do it sometimes. But I can recognise happy when it happens better. I'm happy more often than . . . I'm not. Does that count?"
"It's more than a lot of people ever get to say." We look at each other for a moment and I break the silence with "I'm cold. I should get back to bed." A nod.
"Abby – Happy Thanksgiving."
"Not any more."
"What?"
"It's 4.00 am, Thanksgiving was yesterday."
"Abby – Thanksgiving isn't a date – it's a state of mind."
Jesus Christ, is she working for Hallmark now? I have no idea what to say to that piece of crap and I'm pretty sure I have a "WTF" look on my face. In the end she can't keep it up, her lips twitch and she lets out a snort of laughter, slapping her hand on the table, sending the scraps of shredded napkin flying like a little flurry of snow. "I got you, I so, so got you!" She doesn't look so old any more.