CHAPTER 18: Stacey

On Saturday morning, we got the call that we'd waited six long, endless weeks for: our child was coming to us, all the way from Sweden. We were getting a boy, and he's two months old. When we got the news, we were just over the moon.

"Now, Mrs. Thomas," the lady on the phone was saying, "I need to inform you that your child has Down's syndrome. We've done some tests, and other than the extra chromosome, he's perfectly healthy. Hopefully, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"When should we expect him?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I'll be bringing him from Stockholm then. I'm there now, as a matter of fact, and we'll be flying into LaGuardia Airport then."

"Thank you," I said, and hung up the phone as Sam came into the living room. "Ms. Reynolds just called. She's bringing our son from Sweden tomorrow."

"That's great," he said, giving me a hug and kiss. We were so happy with the prospect of being parents.

The next morning, we headed to the airport to meet our new son. "What do you think we should call him?" I asked Sam.

"Sven," he answered. "I remember you telling me that was the name of one of the characters in Titanic. And Marissa told me that was the name of the reindeer in Frozen, so I figured, why not?"

"Now I know why I fell in love with you," I smiled, and we gave each other a kiss.

The plane touched down at noon, and a few minutes later, we saw Ms. Reynolds—a woman with chin-length curly blond hair and wearing a gray business suit—coming out of the terminal with a baby in her arms, a diaper bag over one shoulder, and a Gucci bag over the other. In case you're wondering, being a native New Yorker, I know a Gucci bag when I see one.

"Well, here he is," she announced. Sam took the baby, and I took the diaper bag from her.

Thank you," I said, shaking her hand.

"Oh, and remember, you have my card, so don't hesitate to call if you have any questions," she said before she walked away.

Sam and I looked down at the baby. He had some dark blond hair, and bluish-green eyes, as well as the round face and slanted eyes that's primarily associated with Down's syndrome, and was also wearing a dark blue onesie.

"Isn't he beautiful, honey?" Sam whispered.

"He sure is," I agreed, forcing myself not to burst into tears. No disrespect to Mary Anne, but I wasn't about to turn into her right in the middle of the airport.

Our lives as parents had officially begun.

Sam and I arrived home with the baby later that day. "Well, here we are, little buddy," Sam grinned as he set the baby carrier on the couch. "Home sweet home." We were so happy to have him with us.

When I looked at the answering machine, I saw the little red light blinking, so I pressed the button. After I listened to one of those telemarketer recordings, the next call really surprised me: "Hi, it's Laine. Look, Stacey, I've been meaning to call you for a long time. If you're not too busy, do you think it would be possible for the two of us to get together sometime? I'd really like to see you. My phone number is 555-5801. Thanks, 'bye."

After the beep, I just stood there for a moment, wondering what to do. After all, this was Laine Cummings, the same girl who, when we were in sixth grade, had turned everyone at Parker Academy against me after I'd wet the bed we'd been sharing at Deidre Dunlop's slumber party, which was the tipoff to my diabetes diagnosis. Then she came to Stoneybrook for a visit when we were in eighth grade, a visit I wished I could forget. On the other hand, after her own ordeal, maybe she was serious about wanting to see me.

"Stacey?" Sam's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Are you all right, honey?"

"Yeah," I said. "You know, Sven might be a little tired after such a long day, so why don't you put him down for a nap?"

Sam nodded as he took the baby out of the carseat and carried him to the nursery as I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" Laine's voice said on the third ring.

"Hi, Laine, it's Stacey," I said as I sat on the couch and quietly moved the carseat to the floor. Don't call me Anastasia, I thought. "I got your message."

"Oh, hi, Stacey. Are you busy?"

"Well, Sam and I just got home with our new baby."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Laine exclaimed. "But—I thought you said you couldn't have children."

"We adopted from Sweden," I explained. "His name's Sven, and he's two months old."

"That's great," Laine said. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," I said. The next thing I heard was the sound of a pill bottle opening and a drink of water being taken. "Laine?" What was going on?

"It's time for my medicine," she told me. You see, ever since Laine's accident, she's been having bad headaches, and has to take pain pills twice a day. (On the upside, her headaches haven't reached the point where she'd need a device implanted to control or stop them.)

After she swallowed the pills, I asked, "So, what did you mean when you said you'd been meaning to call me?"

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "I just wanted to say thank you for being there for me."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. You know, with all I've been through over the past few years, I really had a chance to think about things, mostly about what happened between us, both at Deidre's slumber party and when I visited you in Stoneybrook. I also had a chance to think about the way I'd acted toward you, and my attitude, that sort of thing." There was a pause, then Laine continued, "You know, Stacey, I've really had a chance to look at things with a clear head, and from your point of view, too. I realized just how wrong I was. In fact, you know that letter you sent me after I returned to New York?"

The letter! I barely remembered writing it, until she brought it up! All those old memories came flooding back: Laine's visit to Stoneybrook and SMS, her blowing off Pete Black to dance with another guy, as well as being a total bitch to everyone else, and the fight we'd had. As I watched her get on the train to go back to New York, I was sure that our friendship was over. And here she was, reminding me of a letter I'd sent her all those years ago.

"Yes?" I managed to squeak out.

"Well, I still have it," she told me. "I never threw it away. I also have that half of the necklace you returned to me in a shoebox under my bed. You know, Stacey, when you sent me that letter, you really showed me what the hell I was doing, and for the longest time, I've been meaning to call you and apologize, but I haven't been able to go through with it until now. I just—I just didn't know what to say, or even how to say it. And I was too ashamed and afraid of what you might have said."

"I understand," I said as tears filled my eyes. "I've been wanting to tell you the same thing myself. And I..." The tears just spilled down my face as I tried my hardest not to start crying. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your accident, the way you feel, everything."

"And I'm sorry, too, Stacey, for shutting you out, and turning everyone at school against you, and for the way I'd acted when I was in Stoneybrook," Laine said, her voice breaking. "I never meant to embarrass you, or say all those mean things about your baby-sitting club. I was just afraid of losing you as a friend."

"Oh, you'll never lose me," I said. And the minute I said those words, the floodgates opened, and both of us were crying. It was such a catharsis, letting go of all those bad feelings that had divided us in the past.

"And you'll never lose me, either," Laine sniffled. "We'll always be friends."

"Thank you," I said, getting a tissue and wiping my eyes. "So, is Friday afternoon at Ellen's Stardust Diner a possibility?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Laine agreed, pulling herself together. "Let me talk to my provider, and I'll get back to you, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed. "Talk to you later."

After I hung up, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I hadn't felt this good since my parents stopped dragging me from one doctor to another, looking for a miracle cure for my diabetes—which there isn't, obviously.

Anyway, when they were preparing to drag me to this one doctor—and after I'd enlisted Dr. Johanssen's help with an intervention, and asked her to make a recommendation—the three of us decided that I should not only have more say in my treatments, but we also decided that I didn't have to see this "doctor" again. That was when Laine and I had made up after that fight we'd had since my diagnosis.

As I hugged one of the throw pillows to my chest, I thought about the events of the day: Sam and I had become parents, and Laine and I had officially buried the hatchet. For a moment, all was right with the world.