October- 2000
The cold, white interior of the hospital was utterly impersonal. Nurses bustled about in an attempt to earn their next paycheck, likely treating each patient as a number instead of a living, breathing person. Jenny had never liked hospitals anyway.
The smell. The color. The temperature. Everything was wrong.
She attempted to detatch herself from what exactly she was doing. Gritting her teeth, she then clenched her emerald eyes shut as tight as possible in order to try and forget those two beautiful cries that had sounded in her ears just a few hours prior.
Because since when was crying beautiful?
Barbra, the caseworker she'd first met with a few months ago had told her it would be difficult. She'd said it in such a sweet voice, Jenny hadn't fully grasped the meaning. She didn't realize it would be this hard. Could ever be, for that matter.
Jenny hadn't even bonded with the child yet.
The caesarean's incision ached dully and flared up each time she moved and did so as she rolled to her side slightly. Machines beeped annoyingly nearby, and the IV in her wrist made her skin itch. Jenny took a deep breath, and waited.
She waited for some sign she was doing the right thing.
The woman arrived, a bit later. She wore a Pepto-Bismol pink dress and a fake, frozen smile upon her face. Barbra followed soon after, baring the papers to sign.
For a second Jenny felt the slightest bit insecure, in the light blue plastic hospital gown and hair matted from the sweat of earlier. This was the woman who would raise her child.
"I just need your signature for the official record. You'll receive a copy of the birth certificate if you wish, as I said last month. Do you have any questions as far as that goes?"
Barbra spoke, but Jenny didn't really hear her. She stares on blankly, and then all of a sudden Barbra nods sadly. "Still in a bit of a shock, huh?"
She comes over to sit next to the bed in an uncomfortable chair, and it is then Jenny realizes Tammy Tuckerman, the woman who adopting the baby, hasn't said a word. She looks at her now. Tammy won't meet her eyes.
"Ms. Tuckerman." She catches her attention, and those watery blue eyes stare up at her dumbly. "I know we've talked."
The older woman nods fast, and then gives a small smile. "I promise to take care of Sarah to the best of my ability. And give her the best home she could ask for."
The redhead winces a bit at the name choice. Plain. The words she's said for weeks sound rehearsed all of a sudden, and Jenny doesn't like it.
Jenny opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment one of those mechanical nurses arrive, and she carries the topic of the conversation. When the nurse remembers that this is an 'adoption' baby, she turns to walk out of the room, but someone stops her.
"Can I see?"
Everyone freezes for just a moment before Barbra understands the request and grants, however with another sad nod. It's the first time she'd seen her since those two cries, and she is reluctant at first to hold her. But the nurse motions, and she has to hold out her arms.
She's never been the kid-type. Maternal instincts don't come naturally to her. That's why this whole situation was chosen in the first place. There are things Jenny wants to do. Things she has to do in her job. There is no father, no. She doesn't even go there anymore.
Yet, none of this stops the connection.
The baby has auburn hair, just peach fuzz now, but Jenny can see it. She has those features all babies do, but she swears she can see the little girl's nose being similar to hers. It's hesitant, but she reaches up to stroke her cheek. That's when it happens.
The baby's eyes fly open in an instant, and then the new mother knows that they'll be blue. Like his eyes. Just like them. The thought makes her swallow hard.
A throat is cleared, and Jenny looks up from the still staring baby to see the fake smile and the sweet old woman from the adoption agency.
Someone asks her the question, but their tone says they already know the answer.
"You can't do it, can you?"
She doesn't know who it is, because she's looking back down at the baby, stroking one little rosy cheek.
"No," her mouth is a little dry. "I can't give her up."
Suddenly, the job doesn't matter so much anymore.