“That’s the first thing about parenting that anyone has said that actually makes me feel like I can do this,” I say.
My home is in sight, and as Brittaney pulls up, I’m reciting “clean, fed, loved” to myself. This is the list that I needed, the measuring stick of minimum standards. As long as Finny’s child is clean, fed, and loved, then I’m doing an okay job.
Sure, as children grow, they’re mostly cleaning and feeding themselves, and the loved part becomes complicated as they start to break away, but by then there will be a foundation to our relationship, and knowing who they are as a person will help guide me.
For now, when I’m envisioning this baby, all I have to tell myself is that I will be dedicated to keeping them clean, fed, and loved.
“So one last thing?” Brittaney says as she stops the car. “About the ultrasound?”
“Yeah?”
“If there is something wrong with your baby, then your baby is lucky to have you for their mama, because you’ll love it anyway and do whatever you can for her. Your kid is lucky to have a mama who cares, so no matter what, they’re already ahead of the game.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll think about that. And thanks for the ride and talking with me. I appreciate that.”
“Oh, no biggie,” she says.
I get out of the car and start to shut the door but turn back when she shouts from the car window.
“And hey, Autumn?”
“What?”
“I’m right about it being a girl. You’ll see.”
thirteen
The man who was supposed to be Finny’s father has written me back. He’s agreed to my terms.
I have an occasion to wear that black dress after all, especially since the restaurant he suggests sounds like a place my father would like, the sort of place where it’s easy to feel like the waitstaff is dressed better than you.
I think about pinning up my hair, but I decide that’s too formal and go with a ponytail. I keep my makeup understated.
I want to look like an adult.
I don’t want to look like I’m trying to look like an adult.
For perhaps the first time ever, I wish that I was able to drive myself somewhere. Mom is dropping me off, perhaps as penance.
She and Angelina seem like Angie and Dave; they’re having conversations that are necessary and good, but the relationship takes effort right now.
I’ve actually found it a bit easier to forgive Mom. Maybe there’s too much going on in my brain for me to be able to sustain anger, but somehow, I’ve managed to shrug off her subterfuge by telling myself that she and I are both trying to do what’s best for our children while muddling through a complicated situation.
“I’m going to the botanical garden,” Mom tells me as she slows down to drop me off outside the restaurant. Mom doesn’t parallel park in the city. “But I’m not going to stay in the Climatron, so I can be back in a flash to pick you up if you need me. Honey, are you sure—”
“I’m doing this alone,” I say. “Because this is my decision.”
“Right.”
I open the car door. “Thanks,” I say before I get out. Before opening the door, I square my shoulders and raise my chin to make myself look more confident than I feel.
It’s dark on the other side of the restaurant door, as if the patrons wished their lunches were taking place at night. The lighting fixtures are artfully set to a dimness that evokes candlelight without the fire risk. I hold Mom’s little clutch I borrowed confidently in front of my baby bump as I stride up to the hostess.
I look directly into her expertly done eye makeup and say, “There’s a reservation for two, Smith?”
“Yes,” she says without looking down at her list. “Your party is already here.” It’s obvious that she was told to look out for a pregnant girl pretending to be a grown-up, but I smile and thank her before following her deeper into the pretend evening of this place.
At the last minute, there had been a shoe emergency, which is luckily the sort of thing for which my mother lives. Apparently, along with everything else that pregnancy can do to you, like changing the color or texture of your hair, giving you allergies you never had before, or even losing your teeth, pregnancy can change your shoe size.
So it’s in Mom’s unfamiliar heels that I’m following this woman to meet Aunt Angelina’s former lover, which is an easier way to think about him than as Finny’s father.
The thought withers within me as I approach the table, because that is Finny’s father sitting there.