The Midwife's Confession

“I guess that’s a rhetorical question,” I said.

“Smarty pants.” She smiled at me. She’d been weird the past few days, and her smile wasn’t a real one. “Want to help me run errands?” she asked. “I have a million things to do to get ready for the party tonight.”

“I can’t, sorry. I have to write a paper. And Cleve’s coming home in a little while.” Why did I add that? I just couldn’t help myself. But now she was going to ask me all kinds of questions.

“You’re going to see him?” She didn’t think that was a great idea. I could tell. “Besides tonight at the party, I mean?” she added.

I shrugged like I didn’t care. “I guess,” I said.

“You can ask him about his classes and what he likes about Chapel Hill.”

I looked at her like she’d just been dropped on the planet from outer space. “I know how to talk to him, Mom,” I said.

“Well, what are you going to wear tonight?” She was in one of her twenty questions moods, and usually I’d just find a way to put an end to it, but I was so psyched about my dress that I decided to show it to her. Jenny and I went shopping Monday after school and I was in love with the dress I found. I pulled the hanger out of the closet and lifted the white plastic bag from the dress and she took in a breath, which was exactly what I did when I saw it in the store.

“Oh, Gracie, that’s so cute!”

Cute was not what I was after. I wanted sexy and sophisticated, but I knew what she meant. The dress was red, short and strapless. It was made out of a satiny material and had a silver belt at the waist. It might have looked cute on the hanger, but it was hot on me. Jenny swore up and down that it was.

“Thanks,” I said.

“What shoes will you wear?”

I pulled out the strappy red shoes. They’d just about killed my savings.

“Perfect,” she said. “Not too high. You’re smart. I haven’t even thought about what I’m wearing.” She glanced at her watch. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Want me to make—”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” I sat down at my computer again.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me? I’ll drop you off back here by noon.”

“I really have to do this paper, Mom.” I was glad she couldn’t see the Facebook page on my monitor from where she stood.

“Okay,” she said. “Have a good day.”

I didn’t write the paper, of course. I didn’t even try. I did some math homework, ate a banana, washed my hair, looked at my phone a million times to make sure it was turned on and exchanged comments with a bunch of Facebook friends I’d never met in person. At noon, I couldn’t take it any longer and I sent him a text message.

R u home yet?

In less than a minute, he wrote back. Got here hour ago. C u at party?

My heart dropped to my toes. Seriously. C u at party? Was he kidding? Why not now? We had all afternoon we could be together. We could be on the Riverwalk. Talking. Laughing.

I pounded the keys on my phone with my thumbs. Can u get together now? Im not working.

Helping Mom with something. Later.

I sat down on my bed and started to cry. I didn’t get it. I felt almost as bad as when he broke up with me. I tried to call Jenny, but she wasn’t picking up. Twitter started whimpering and I let him on the bed. He knew I was upset and he tried to squeeze his entire body onto my lap. I buried my face in his neck and sobbed.

Almost an hour later, I got up and looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Everything was red—my nose, my eyes, my cheeks. I had to pull it together or my face would be the same color as my dress at the party tonight. I straightened up, wet a washcloth and pressed it over my eyes.

I wasn’t hungry at all, but I was dying for coffee. I went downstairs to the kitchen and saw that there was still coffee in the pot, but of course it was cold. I’d nuke it. I opened the cupboard to look for a mug. Something was different. My favorite black mug was there and I took it out, but I knew that something was missing. Mom was always rearranging things and it was incredibly annoying. Then I got it. The purple travel mug I’d given my father! I loved that mug. I loved seeing that reminder of him every day. I opened the other cabinets one by one looking for it, but it was gone.

I would not cry. Would not. I’d just gotten my face to look okay again. Instead of crying, I grabbed the phone and dialed my mother’s number.

34

Tara

My van was full of balloons. The overly pierced young girl in the store asked me what colors I wanted and I told her to surprise me. Usually I would care, but my mind was going a thousand miles a minute between the preparations for Suzanne’s party and the discovery that Noelle had been a surrogate and that Sam had known about it all along—it was overwhelming. All those years, he’d known! My God. I knew he’d been dying to tell me. I was in awe of his ethics. I don’t know if I could have kept it to myself if I’d been in his place. I was glad that Noelle had turned to Sam to help her, though. I was glad that she’d trusted him that much.

All I could see in my rearview mirror was a sea of balloons, and I drove slowly toward the bakery where I was to pick up Suzanne’s birthday cake. Driving with a van full of balloons was no less dangerous than driving while texting, I thought to myself as I found a parking place a half block from the bakery. I put my van in Reverse and inched my way into the spot with only my side view mirrors to guide me.

My phone rang as I turned off the ignition and I figured Emerson had thought of something she needed me to