by

Carissa Halston

 

Parenthood has always seemed a big question mark for me.   I'd go by the whims of my partners.

We are.

We're not.

We are!

We're definitely not.

We are .

No fucking way. Not in a million years.

There were a few scares, a few maybes, but never anything truly definite.

A few years back, I found myself in a "unique" situation.

I was dating two people at the same time. It wasn't a question of paternity. No, nothing so dire. They both knew of the other's existence. In fact, we all shared the same bed. Every night.

It was...comfortable. There was no jealousy. No headgames. Just an occasional row and a more than occasional, "You're not wearing that , are you?"

Cruel words were said, but fences always mended.

And then, one day, it came up casually in conversation.

"Babies? Anyone?" Greg asked.

"What, on toast?" I teased.

"No, really," he pressed. Tessa's eyes lit up.

"Oh my God," she gushed. "Wouldn't that be so exciting?"

“And new,” Greg added.

"That's a word for it,” I sighed.

We went back and forth on it. The pros and cons. It'd be fun. Exciting. New .   It'd be expensive. Scary. A great responsibility.

In the end, it came down to Tessa and me. Would we do it the old fashioned way or would we sign a paper?

Tessa was slight. Her frame would be problematic during the birth. And I was simply adamant.

On the adoption papers, there were three names listed. Greg as the father, Tessa as the mother and myself as the guardian.

The baby was cute enough. It gurgled and spat up. It ruined an adequate amount of shirts and smelled just like most babies do. And, despite my staunchest efforts, I liked her.

We named her Grace.

Tessa went overboard. She took up knitting. She purchased bonnets and strollers and rattles and mobiles. She even bought church clothing for Grace. We were Wiccan.   Greg smiled a lot. He smiled almost as often as he smoked. He passed out cigars. The dutiful father.

I bought bonds. Five for Grace. One for myself. I doubted mine would reach maturity.

Honestly, it was nice having Grace around. She allowed Greg and Tessa to play house. And it allowed me time to myself. Polygamy lends itself to certain injuries. Even when you're alone, you're never alone. You have to avoid two people if you want time to think and, unlike friends who don't like each other, you can never lie and say you were with the other person.

Grace grew like a virus. It was on her fourth birthday that the difficult questions came. One step beyond Tommy has two Mommies , there wasn't an easy way to explain our home life to a child. Greg wanted to home school her.

"It wouldn't be a problem if she weren't surrounded by..."

"Normal kids?" I ventured. He harrumphed. "Even so, you can't shield her forever. Eventually, she'll realize we're not…average.”

Greg left the house. Tessa went after him.

I took Grace and shut myself in my room.

Life has a weird way of solving one's problems.

I was notified of Greg and Tessa's deaths early the next morning. Car wreck. Drunk driver. I was listed on both their emergency contact cards. I closed the door before I could ask if the driver had been Greg or Tessa.   I didn't want to know.

If not for the funeral, part of me would think they'd skipped town to teach me a lesson.

I wore black. I dressed Grace in yellow.   Our little ray of sunshine.

I tried not to be angry at myself. I tried not to take it out on Grace. I wished I were dead. Greg and Tessa loved her infinitely more than I ever could. It was unfair. I was the short stick in this situation. I was the only stick.

Grace began school hesitantly at five.  I walked her to the door where her teacher greeted us.

"What's your name?" she asked with a warm smile.

"Grace McKinnon," mumbled Grace.  It was Greg's last name.

"Is this your Mom?" asked Grace's teacher.

"This is Ronnie," said Grace.  We had decided that Tessa would be called Mom.   We didn't want to confuse Grace.  She only ever really had one mother anyway.

"Ronnie.  Veronica," I said.  My hand jutted forward.

Grace's teacher took it and smiled.  "Mrs. Talmund.  Nice to meet you."
My smile was terse.  I bent down to hug Grace.  She was holding back her tears.

"Close your eyes," I told her.  She did.  I kissed her right eyelid, then her left.  I wiped tears from her cheeks.  She opened her eyes.  "You'll be okay."  Grace nodded.  She looked from me to Mrs. Talmund.

"You're being very brave, Grace," the teacher offered her hand.  Grace's own hand vanished behind it.

Grace tossed one last look at me before turning toward her classroom.  I tried to look hopeful.  I probably succeeded in looking slightly less frightened than she did.  I went to my car, locked the doors and rested my head against the steering wheel.

I thought about the future.  Mine.  Grace's.

I drove to the cemetery.

I walked the path in silence.  I sat, cross-legged, in front of their headstones.  "Well, boy and girl, it's your daughter's first day of school.  You're missing it."  I sighed.  "You were supposed to be here.  Not just for her.  For me.  This wasn't my idea.  Why would you--"

I cut myself off.  No point in continuing.  I went home.

I curled up in the middle of that bed which was so horribly large and empty.  I slept.  I dreamt of nothing.  Cold, black nothing.

I wish...