5. De Facto Mom
De Facto Mom
MARY
“Can someone please hold this kid?” Bea called as we waited in a security line in Berlin.
It was the first time Baby Jonas joined us on tour. At almost a year old, he was a lovable sort and had been a good traveler so far on our impromptu German jaunt. Still, we weren’t home yet, and Alicia’s hands were full of baby gear.
“I’ve got him,” I reached out my arms.
Unlike everyone else, I packed light. My guitar was strapped to my back. Everything else was in my checked luggage.
“Really?” Bea asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Do you want help or not? I swear I don’t bite.”
Bea foisted the kid on me. “I just… you’re the only one without kids and I always assume he’ll drive you mad.”
I held the baby on my hip while she broke up her bag into smaller pieces. He was unbothered.
“See, we’re all good here,” I brightened. “We’ve got this down pat.”
Swaying and bouncing, I waited until she had a free arm and could take the baby back. While Bea passed through the scanner, I put my guitar on the belt.
“Are you some sort of rock band?” A guard asked.
I queued by the scanner. “We are Britain’s answer for UniVox. We’re the Zamboneys.”
He chuckled. “I’ve heard of you. My daughter loves your song.”
“She wrote it!” Alicia called out from past security, pointing. “She’s the mastermind.”
“Airport, darling! Airport!” Bea reminded her as I stood in the scanner.
“Good luck!” The guy called.
Finally, with Barry and Clarice bringing up the rear, we made it through.
“I need a coffee,” I groaned. “It’s time.”
“At three in the afternoon? Really?” Clarice asked. “If you’re getting one, get me whatever black tea they have.”
“Sure thing,” I agreed.
“It’s Fika,” Alicia teased. “Cannot miss her ritual break.”
I smacked her arm and walked towards the self-serve kiosk of a Berlin coffee shop for her tea and my americano.
I tried my best to read German, which wasn’t terribly difficult.
It was an act of defiance from my normal-day English.
I longed to speak my mother tongue with anyone, but it never happened.
Satisfied with both my ordering skills and secured purchase, I waited for my name to be called.
“Mar-it!” Someone called out eventually.
I proceeded to the counter, glad that no one flubbed it to call me “Mer-it”. I decided to go by Mary years before, knowing no one would ever pronounce my name properly in Britain. The Germans got much closer to the Scandinavian version than did any high street London shop.
“Tack,” I forgot where I was.
The guy behind the counter nodded. I figured plenty of Swedes came through and forgot to say danke like the locals. It beat a halfhearted, “cheers”, right? I carried Clarice’s drink in one hand and finished my own before returning.
When I found my crew by the gate, I knew Alicia and Bea were beyond exhausted.
“Let me take him for a walk,” I offered.
“No, no, we don’t want to put you out,” Alicia said.
“It’s fine. Really. I love hanging out with him,” I offered.
I pried Jonah from his mom’s arms and took him around the terminal. He was particularly fascinated by a shop selling keychains with a dais that spun on its own. The simplicity of children amazed me. Their brains were so full of potential, but a fan mesmerized them for hours.
“I doubt they have anything for you.” I kissed his cheek.
I browsed an expensive French cosmetics brand, needing eyebrow highlighter. The baby, in love with smiling faces and mirrors, had the best time. He began to squee and blow bubbles at an advertisement of a pore-less picture of EGOT queen, Leah Roughy.
I sighed in Swedish, “You know, I almost went home with her once.”
Jonah giggled.
“Hey now. Go easy on me, buddy,” I said. “I know it was a missed opportunity. She is still a hundred times hotter than I could pull now. Regrets are pointless, though.”
Jonah reached for an eyeliner pencil.
I groaned. “Yeah, I know, it’s depressing. I’m a sad sack.”
I picked up the brow highlighter and approached the counter. A girl behind it smiled at the baby first. I pushed the tiny, overpriced duty-free box forward.
“Hallo,” the girl said, tone metered as expected.
“Hi,” I said. “No German, sorry. Just English and Svensk.”
“Oh, I speak English,” she shrugged, tossing her side pony over a shoulder. “He’s so precious.”
I fumbled, pulling out my phone case. I failed to pry my credit card from the wallet pocket.
“He’s surprisingly heavy,” I said. “Uh, my card is right up top. I don’t know how to get this thing out with one hand.”
“Got it,” she said, confidently. “How old is he?”
“Uh… let me think.” I thought a moment, and she looked understandably horrified. “Sorry. I’m not his mother. I’m friends with his mothers. I took him on a walk. I’m just the de facto mom.”
Relief crossed her face and she handed my card back. “He’s chubby. That is the word?”
“Yes,” I said. “Very much.”
With one hand, I tapped the chip reader and paid the thirty euros I knew could be better spent elsewhere. However, unlike this young woman, I hadn’t grown up in a time of luscious brows. Instead, I tweezed mine within an inch of having any left and it showed.
“No receipt, please,” I said. “Danke.”
I pushed my phone in my pocket, then picked up the tiny makeup bag. Returning to the spot in the terminal where the band camped, I realized Alicia had curled on Bea’s lap. I saw Bea panic, wondering how she could handle both the baby and Alicia.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got him,” I said. “As long as he’s not bothered, I’m not.”
“You really don’t have to. I feel so bad—”
“Stop,” I said. “I love babies. You know that.”
“It’s just so weird because you’re the only childfree one.”
Childfree. I bristled.
“What?” Bea whispered.
“Eh. I don’t know if I’m childfree or childless,” I said.
“What is the bloody difference?”
I set my jaw. “It’s the difference between being single or alone.”
I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but the word hit a nerve.
Part of me would always mourn what I lost in that time I spent caregiving not for a baby, but for a grown woman who had no one else.
I loved my mother and didn’t regret the last years I got with her, but I put so much on hold.
The more kids my inner circle enveloped via birth or adoption, the more I gained glimpses into what I lost.
She cocked her head and shook the baby’s hand. “I didn’t know—”
“Look, it’s pointless,” I laughed it off. “I had my share of parenting a parent. I am grateful to have the little guy in my life and to sometimes live vicariously through you. Let me be the auntie to spoil him, alright?”
“Challenge accepted,” Bea smiled. “And you’re not alone.”
Scanning the terminal, she was right. These days, I was rarely ever alone for more than a night’s sleep—and even that was debatable on the road.
But did I feel alone? That was the real question.
Sadly, the answer was yes. Even if the world decided I was worth the spotlight, I would return from this tour to a silent house.
I’d continue to third-wheel with my coupled friends.
I’d continue to get only glimmers of parenting whenever my friends needed a break.
It felt silly to whinge, but the feeling ached whenever the wound opened.