Fourteen August 1997 #2
I couldn’t see his face and couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was he confused, angry, disappointed? His silence began to weigh on me and I shifted my body. But he held me still, resting both his hands on my belly, above the life we had created. His hands felt warm, and for a moment I felt safe.
“I don’t know what to say right now. I don’t know what the right thing to say is.”
“There is no right or wrong thing to say. Just say what you want, what you’re feeling. You can be honest.”
He pulled his hands off my belly and I felt the cool air replace the warmth where his hands had been.
I leaned forward as he pushed himself off the ground to stand above me.
He reached down and helped me to my feet and then dropped my hand and turned and began to walk toward the house, and I followed him in the dark.
When we got back, I kicked off my shoes and went to the sink for a glass of water. William stood in the doorway, his keys that had been in the bowl by the door only a moment before now hanging off his finger. He stood there, in the semi-darkness, and stared at me.
“I think I should go. I need to get up early for work.”
He walked over and kissed me on the cheek, letting his lips rest a little longer than usual. His scruff didn’t tickle this time, it felt like dozens of tiny pinpricks, stinging and hot.
“Okay.”
The door closed quietly behind him and I stood there as the condensation from my water glass dripped to the floor. I didn’t cry. There was nothing really to cry over. I took a long drink and went to bed.
I passed the next two days in absolute silence.
The phone didn’t ring and no cars came up the drive.
I didn’t even have the energy for the radio or television.
I fed the animals and myself, made endless cups of tea, and wandered around the garden talking to the chickens.
I drank from Kiju’s cup and brushed my hair with the brush that had been my mother’s, still intact after all these years.
But as the days and hours passed, I came to understand that this baby, this girl—because it was a girl, how could it not be—was meant for me.
And I would love her, I would tell her about her family, the same stories that Kiju had told me.
She would understand the recipes, she would know her songs, she would be proud.
She would never hide herself behind a grocery shelf. She would be brave.
“You’ve been awfully quiet lately.” The ringing of the telephone had startled me out of my daydreams. Miriam was on the other end. “I didn’t want to bug you. I wasn’t sure if you needed time. You know, to process.”
“I told William three days ago and I think he left yesterday. I haven’t heard from him, so I guess I got what I wanted.”
“I’m coming over. Put on the teapot.”
Then I heard a gentle knocking at the door. “Wait. Someone is here. I’ll call you back.”
A cold vibration ran down my entire body. Kiju would say that someone must have walked over my grave. I shivered and reached for the door. On the other side stood William. He stepped past me and into the house.
“I didn’t . . .” I started.
“We need to . . .” he said at the same time. “I am not angry.”
“Okay, that’s good, I guess,” I replied.
“I know that I am partly responsible, I understand that . . . It’s just that . . .” He stopped.
“Just that?”
He started to pace. “My kids are grown. I have grandkids.”
“It’s okay. It’s a difficult situation. Unexpected and bad for you, and unexpected and good for me. I guess.”
“It’s not bad. I’d never say that. It makes me sound like a complete asshole.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Behind me, the kettle whistled.
“Tea?” I asked as I removed the hot water from the stove.
“No. Thank you.” He half smiled, took a breath and readied himself. “I’ve had a few days to take this news in, to consider everything.”
“Okay.”
“I know I have a responsibility here.”
“And I am relieving you of it. I want this baby. I didn’t know that I wanted it, but I know it now. But I don’t need you.”
He looked hurt.
“I’m sorry if that was harsh, but we knew when we got into this that it was temporary. A little fun. We were never going to be a family.”
“I’m not leaving you to raise this child on your own, Aliet. I’ve already told my kids that they will have a little brother or sister here on the east coast. I refuse to be a deadbeat.” He sat down hard on the sofa.
I went to make tea. For a long time he sat and I steeped, dipping the tea bag more times than necessary, waiting. I could hear the clock ticking, the one above the door.
“How are you so calm about this?” he asked, walking to meet me where the kitchen met the living room.
I placed my tea on the table. “I wanted a father, but in the end I did well enough without one. At least you are here, at least she will know who you are.”
“She?”
“Trust me.”
I held out my hand, waiting to solidify the plan, agree to the contract. He took my hand, pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me.
“You are something, Aliet.”
I pulled myself away and smiled at him.
He took my hands in his again, connecting us.
“I will be part of this child’s life. Maybe I won’t be here every day.
Maybe I won’t be here for Christmas or every birthday.
But I want to be part of their life. I know you want to raise the child .
. . her . . . on your own and I respect that, but I will not walk away entirely.
This child, this girl, will have a father, will have brothers and sisters.
She can come out to spend summers, she can call and write.
I will leave it up to you, and I trust you to honour this, but I will not abandon her. ”
I stood there, dumb, my hands in his, his eyes trained on my face until I looked up.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
He let my hands go and they stayed there suspended before I realized and let them fall to my sides. William turned to leave.
“Nmultes, William.”
He looked at me quizzically.
“It means until next time.”
“Until next time.” He leaned in and kissed me softly before he turned and left.
I closed the door behind him and a sense of peace washed over me as I listened to his car drive away.