Read Online On the Divinity of Second Chances by Kaya McLaren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kaya McLaren
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Falls and give her baby to a neutral party, who then gives him to her baby’s father for a few hours. Why the third party? Because she has a restraining order against him. After they broke up, he showed up at her house one night and tried to break in. I’d be damned if I’d hand my baby over to him. I’d leave the country first.
Somehow, Michelle’s story isn’t that funny this time. I try to distract myself with work, but the entire day, my mind keeps drifting back to Michelle and the position she’s in now with her baby and the baby’s father. By the end of the day, I have a splitting headache.
On my way out of the bank, I survey all the pictures of kids on people’s desks again. Probably thirty kids in all—all those kids in day care . . . all those kids being raised by someone else. What would it feel like to miss my child’s first steps? The questions keep ricocheting through my mind, intensifying my headache.
I walk through the revolving doors, glance back, and wonder what I’m dedicating my life to. This is my only life. I’m about to be a mother. Is this really how I want to spend it?
On the drive home, I look at Mont Soleil carefully. Where exactly do I fit in here? Not in the boutiques. Not in the five-star restaurants. Not in the numerous art galleries. Not at JPMorgan. I park my car and walk to my apartment. Jane and Shamiel, the neighbor kids who live on the other side of the couple that shout obscenities at each other, run toward me and start barking at me. I bark back. They stop barking and start panting with their tongues out. Jane licks my arm.
“Ew! Dog germs!” I shriek, and this makes Jane laugh.
“I’m wearing a pink shirt and pink pants,” Jane tells me.
Shamiel picks up where Jane left off. “Hey, guess what? Tomorrow I’m going to wear a black shirt and black pants! Hey, guess what? You should wear a green shirt and green pants tomorrow!”
“I’ll work on that,” I tell them.
Their little brother, Malcolm, comes running out of his door toward us. He’s wearing a blue shirt and no pants.
“Hey, Malcolm, how’s the potty-training going?” I ask.
Malcolm stops and looks at me thoughtfully. “I think there are little workers in my bottom . . . and when they look down and see the water, they pull a lever and let it all go.”
Shamiel looks at Malcolm like he’s full of it, and Jane rolls her eyes.
“Wow, Malcolm, how do you feel about that?”
“I feel . . . okay.”
“Good news,” I say.
Their mother comes running out of the house screaming for Malcolm.
“Uh-oh,” he says.
“Looks like you scared your mom,” I tell him.
They all run to her. She looks so tired.
I’m seeing mirrors everywhere and I know it. It’s just sinking in that Matt isn’t coming back. Even if he did, I can’t be sure that if I told him, he would abandon the tipi idea—I can’t be sure that he wouldn’t make things worse.
I let myself into my apartment and go to the half-empty bottle of Shiraz. I want to drink it, but I throw it out. I look around the kitchen, thinking about what to have instead. Garlic. I crave garlic. I love it. In fact, now that I’m single, I’m going to eat garlic every night. That’s right, I’m going to wear cotton underwear and smell like garlic. I think garlic was rumored to keep evil away because really it kept potential mates away, and really, aren’t all potential mates pretty much evil? Yep, they just devastate your life.
I order a garlic pizza and start packing photo albums, winter clothes, books, and wine glasses. I cushion the wineglasses with all the feminine hygiene products I won’t be using. I start a pile near the door, and add my ski equipment. I pack the CDs I haven’t listened to in months, and the things in my kitchen I’m unlikely to use, like cookie cutters and my Bundt pan. I pack my surplus towels, and decorative things like candleholders.
I am not a failure, I repeat over and over. I say it, but really, I can’t
Somehow, Michelle’s story isn’t that funny this time. I try to distract myself with work, but the entire day, my mind keeps drifting back to Michelle and the position she’s in now with her baby and the baby’s father. By the end of the day, I have a splitting headache.
On my way out of the bank, I survey all the pictures of kids on people’s desks again. Probably thirty kids in all—all those kids in day care . . . all those kids being raised by someone else. What would it feel like to miss my child’s first steps? The questions keep ricocheting through my mind, intensifying my headache.
I walk through the revolving doors, glance back, and wonder what I’m dedicating my life to. This is my only life. I’m about to be a mother. Is this really how I want to spend it?
On the drive home, I look at Mont Soleil carefully. Where exactly do I fit in here? Not in the boutiques. Not in the five-star restaurants. Not in the numerous art galleries. Not at JPMorgan. I park my car and walk to my apartment. Jane and Shamiel, the neighbor kids who live on the other side of the couple that shout obscenities at each other, run toward me and start barking at me. I bark back. They stop barking and start panting with their tongues out. Jane licks my arm.
“Ew! Dog germs!” I shriek, and this makes Jane laugh.
“I’m wearing a pink shirt and pink pants,” Jane tells me.
Shamiel picks up where Jane left off. “Hey, guess what? Tomorrow I’m going to wear a black shirt and black pants! Hey, guess what? You should wear a green shirt and green pants tomorrow!”
“I’ll work on that,” I tell them.
Their little brother, Malcolm, comes running out of his door toward us. He’s wearing a blue shirt and no pants.
“Hey, Malcolm, how’s the potty-training going?” I ask.
Malcolm stops and looks at me thoughtfully. “I think there are little workers in my bottom . . . and when they look down and see the water, they pull a lever and let it all go.”
Shamiel looks at Malcolm like he’s full of it, and Jane rolls her eyes.
“Wow, Malcolm, how do you feel about that?”
“I feel . . . okay.”
“Good news,” I say.
Their mother comes running out of the house screaming for Malcolm.
“Uh-oh,” he says.
“Looks like you scared your mom,” I tell him.
They all run to her. She looks so tired.
I’m seeing mirrors everywhere and I know it. It’s just sinking in that Matt isn’t coming back. Even if he did, I can’t be sure that if I told him, he would abandon the tipi idea—I can’t be sure that he wouldn’t make things worse.
I let myself into my apartment and go to the half-empty bottle of Shiraz. I want to drink it, but I throw it out. I look around the kitchen, thinking about what to have instead. Garlic. I crave garlic. I love it. In fact, now that I’m single, I’m going to eat garlic every night. That’s right, I’m going to wear cotton underwear and smell like garlic. I think garlic was rumored to keep evil away because really it kept potential mates away, and really, aren’t all potential mates pretty much evil? Yep, they just devastate your life.
I order a garlic pizza and start packing photo albums, winter clothes, books, and wine glasses. I cushion the wineglasses with all the feminine hygiene products I won’t be using. I start a pile near the door, and add my ski equipment. I pack the CDs I haven’t listened to in months, and the things in my kitchen I’m unlikely to use, like cookie cutters and my Bundt pan. I pack my surplus towels, and decorative things like candleholders.
I am not a failure, I repeat over and over. I say it, but really, I can’t
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