Chapter Text
“I can’t go in there,” Rebecca says, panicked, at the precise moment Nathaniel raises his hand to knock on Darryl’s front door. “I’m not equipped to handle this. I can’t even keep plants alive! How am I supposed to play a role in this huge developmental moment in a child’s life that could possibly shape her forever?!”
Out on the porch, Rebecca can barely stand still, shifting side-to-side and nervously wringing her fingers.
Nathaniel holds up both his hands to slow her down. “I know. This is big. But we have to talk to her. You heard Darryl on the phone. His voice was getting so high that soon only dogs would be able to hear it.”
Rebecca crosses her arms gruffly and shakes her head. “I am so mad at Darryl,” she huffs. “I always assumed he told her so young that it never became a thing. I figured she grew up not knowing any different – like how I grew up assuming everyone’s parents hated each other and slept in separate beds.”
“Let’s go easy on Darryl,” Nathaniel says, lowering his voice, conscious that Darryl himself, a notorious eavesdropper, may be able to hear their conversation. “There’s no rulebook on how to tell your kid she was conceived through a donated egg from her dad’s former employee and born via surrogate by the donor’s roommate.”
Rebecca sighs and uncrosses her arms, chewing at her lower lip.
Gently, Nathaniel asks, “What are you afraid of?”
Her eyes flit away and she stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jeans.
“Come on,” he pushes, “talk to me. What’s going through your head?”
“What if,” she says, her voice trembling, “what if she’s disappointed that it’s me? You’ve always been so good with her, but she and I . . . we’ve never connected like that. What if she wishes it was someone else? What if I’m not enough?”
Nathaniel rests his hands on her shoulders and squeezes. “Sunshine, listen,” he says softly, “you’re enough. I promise. You – we both – care about that girl so much. That’s all that matters. Right?”
She nods, but her brow is still furrowed with worry, unconvinced.
He continues, “Think about how many hours we spent watching her in the office when she was a baby. Think about all the polo games and debate matches and spelling bees and graduations we’ve been there for. Maybe you two don’t tell each other secrets or braid each other’s hair or whatever it is mothers and daughters do –”
“Not those things,” she interjects.
“– but we’ve been there for her more than our own parents ever were for us.”
“Well, that’s true,” she mutters with a smirk. “My mother refused to see any of my plays because my participation was, quote, distracting too much from my future.”
Her smile quickly fades and she says, more somber, “Half my life I felt like I didn’t even know who I was. How do I begin to give her answers about who I am, who she is in relation to who I am, and the nature of our respective biological and genealogical make-ups, not to mention the deeply entrenched generational trauma that goes back god-knows how far?”
Bemused as always by her ability to spew out about fifty thoughts in the span of seconds, he can’t help a soft smile that flirts at his lips. To try to lift her mood he says, “You know you’re not required to give her a lengthy primer on your genome today, right?”
Her eyes drop to his shoes.
More serious, he adds, “All she needs from you right now is you.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asks, despondent, her eyes still affixed to the ground.
“Can you look at me?”
She closes her eyes and exhales sharply through her nose.
“Hey,” he says, hooking his finger until her chin and lifting until she finally meets his eyes, “I’m so sure because I know you. I know who you are. And I know her. The fact you’re so worried shows how much you care. That’s what’s important.”
She nods and takes a deep breath, searching his eyes. “OK,” she whispers.
“We’ll all get through this,” he adds.
“Promise?”
“I do.”
“If things get dicey or I suddenly forget every word in the English language, you’ll be there?”
“Of course.”
She exhales again, shaking out both her hands. “OK, I think I’m ready.”
As Nathaniel raises his hand to knock on the door, it flies open.
“Oh, thank god you’re ready,” Darryl sighs. “She locked herself in her room and she’s refusing to talk to me!”
Rebecca and Nathaniel exchange glances. So much for a private conversation.
“Can you please try to talk to her?” Darryl pleads as he frantically ushers them into the house. “I’m at my wit’s end. Josh is still at work so he’s not answering his phone. I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll do whatever you want us to do, Darryl,” Nathaniel says reassuringly. Nathaniel’s respect for authority extends even to Darryl as a parent and, though he may not always agree with Darryl’s decisions, he always defers to him when it comes to Emaline. Without exception.
“I’ve been trying for the past hour to get her to talk to me through the door and she’s either ignoring me or she snuck out the window. I don’t know which is worse.”
“Please tell me that you told her the entire truth. Everything,” Rebecca says in a stern tone of voice.
“Yes,” Darryl says, gesturing emphatically with both his hands, “yes, I told her everything. All of it. Didn’t spare one detail.”
“OK,” Rebecca says, glancing up at Nathaniel for reassurance, “we can try to talk to her.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” Darryl gushes, taking both Rebecca’s hands in his. “And listen, I take full responsibility for all of this. You have to understand, this is uncharted territory for a parent! While she was growing up it was easier to let her assume it was an anonymous donor. And the older she got, the harder it became to tell her the whole truth. I hope you can understand.”
“Darryl, really,” Nathaniel interjects, holding out his palm to stop him, “we understand. You did the best you could.”
When Nathaniel sneaks a glance at Rebecca, she’s frowning back at him, a little wrinkle forming above her nose.
Pulling her hands out of Darryl’s tight grip, she says softly, “Let’s just go talk to her.”
Darryl leads them down the narrow hallway to Emaline’s bedroom. Either side of the wall is lined with Madison and Emaline’s school photos over the years – progressing from kindergarten to the present – like a regal hall of never-ending portraiture. The outside of Emaline’s bedroom door is littered with handmade posters from her teammates in maroon and gold school colors that say things like GO EMALINE! and CRUSH MAYFAIR! and GO BULLDOGS!
Nathaniel raises his hand to knock, but stops short when he feels Darryl’s hot breath over his shoulder.
“Darryl,” Rebecca whispers, “can you give us some room here?”
Darryl scurries away toward the living room and Rebecca adds in a loud whisper, “And no eavesdropping!”
When Darryl finally is out of earshot, Nathaniel knocks three times on the door.
“Em, it’s Rebecca,” Rebecca calls out. “I want to talk to you.”
For ten tense seconds of silence, Nathaniel wonders if she did escape out the window and they’re speaking to an empty room.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” a tiny voice says from inside the room.
Nathaniel sighs. At least she’s there. And she’s talking.
Rebecca elbows Nathaniel.
“I’m here too,” Nathaniel chimes in. Appealing to her sense of reason, he says, “You know your dad isn’t going to leave you alone until you talk. He’s worried about you. So either let us in or you need to come out and talk to him.”
Emaline cracks the door open and peeks out. Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed.
“Only you can come in,” she says, pointing a finger through the crack of the door at Nathaniel.
Rebecca’s shoulders slump.
“No,” he says sternly. “It’s both of us or nothing.”
“Fine,” she huffs, acquiescing, and opens the door a smidgen to let them in. “You don’t have to be so dramatic.”
Nathaniel pushes the door open the rest of the way and guides Rebecca in with a hand on the small of her back.
Emaline plops down in a small office chair next to a modest white desk. With no other place to sit, Nathaniel and Rebecca take a seat side-by-side on top of Emaline’s navy blue comforter on her twin bed. There are piles of clothes scattered around her room. One pile appears to be her athletic clothes while another has jeans and t-shirts. The walls are painted a pale pink – a remnant of her childhood love of all-things pink, which she now scowls at if ever mentioned out loud. But the pink is barely visible because her walls are plastered with posters of bands Nathaniel’s never heard of and actors and actresses too young for him to know, ribbons and other sports memorabilia, and photos of Emaline and her friends.
Emaline slouches in the chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Say whatever you want. I don’t care. It doesn’t change the fact that everyone lied to me,” Emaline says, her eyes filled with tears.
For a moment, both Nathaniel and Rebecca are speechless, unsure where to start with the conversation. They didn’t have any time to prepare and are forced to improvise.
Instinctively, Nathaniel jumps in, “Listen, I know you’re mad –”
“I thought we were friends,” Emaline says, her voice full of disdain, “but you’re a fucking liar just like every other adult.”
“Do not speak to me that way,” Nathaniel scolds. “You treat adults with respect.”
“Why should I?!” she shrieks, a tear rolling down her cheek.
Nathaniel sucks in a breath and Rebecca places a hand on his thigh, stopping him from saying anything further.
Rebecca swallows and then says in a gentle, calming voice, “Em, you have every reason to be mad right now.”
Emaline eyes widen, softening, and she sniffles. “I do?”
“Yes,” Rebecca insists. “Your dad didn’t tell you this major thing about the very core of who you are and where you came from.”
“Yeah,” Emaline says, uncrossing her arms and wiping at her eyes. “Yeah, exactly. I thought you were going to be on my dad’s side.”
Rebecca shakes her head, looks deeply into her eyes, and says with sincerity, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you found out this way. Your dad messed up. He did. And I hope you can understand that it wasn’t our place, our decision when or how to tell you. We’re not your parents.”
Suddenly all of Emaline’s usual bravado is gone and she’s a child again – timid and vulnerable. “You’re my mom, though,” she squeaks, her eyes pleading with Rebecca.
“No, sweetie, I’m not. Darryl and Josh are your parents. I think you know that.”
Emaline stares down at her hands. “My dad said you didn’t have me. Is that true?”
“It’s true. I was never pregnant with you. I donated my eggs to your dad because buying them is incredibly expensive and because your dad . . . well, he’s the greatest dad I’ve ever known. I wanted to help him have a second child.”
Emaline nods, understanding, then hiccups, beginning to cry. “I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Rebecca tenses beside Nathaniel. He places a reassuring hand on her trembling back and rubs back and forth.
Nathaniel says softly to Emaline, “I know this is a lot to process. Family isn’t just about genetics, though. Sure, I’ve always seen some of Rebecca in you. You’re smart like her. You challenge and push people. You live in your head like her.”
Emaline gives Rebecca a teary smile and she returns it.
He continues, “But you’re also athletic and driven like Josh. You give me that patented Josh judgmental look when you think I’m nuts.”
Emaline lifts her eyebrow and smirks.
“That’s the one,” he says with a chuckle.
“So . . . you didn’t give me up then?” Emaline asks meekly. Her eyes plead with Rebecca, begging for validation.
“No, sweetie. No. Not at all,” Rebecca says. “You were never mine to give away. You were always meant to be with your dad.”
Emaline glances out the window and her eyes turn foggy and far away, lost in her own thoughts.
Hoping to ease some of the strain of the conversation, Nathaniel says, “Did you know we came to the hospital the day you were born?”
Emaline snaps out of her reverie and smiles. “You did?”
“We were the first ones there. That was a great day, wasn’t it?” he says to Rebecca, still rubbing her back.
Rebecca gazes up at him meaningfully and says, “One of the best days.”
“Rebecca was the first one to hold you after Darryl,” Nathaniel recounts.
“Really?” Emaline asks, her voice full of renewed happiness.
Rebecca nods.
Nathaniel goes on, “You were tiny. So small.”
“And pink,” Rebecca adds with a sniffle.
“Tiny and pink. I wouldn’t hold you, of course, because babies are disgusting.”
Emaline laughs and it fills him with relief.
“When she held you, she cried,” he continues, his only desire now to keep a smile on Emaline’s face. “She said that creating you was the one thing she knew she was doing right with her life. Because she knew how great your dad is.”
Rebecca bites her lip, overcome with emotion at the memory. She manages to conjure some snark to say, “Much better than our dads.”
“So much better,” Nathaniel agrees. “Not only do you have two great dads, but you have us. Four adults who care about you.”
After a long pause, Rebecca says quietly, “Em, my dad walked out on my family when I was eleven. I never had a great relationship with my mother.”
She puts her hand on Nathaniel’s thigh. “Nathaniel’s my family,” she says with conviction. “All those people we’ve worked with for years and years at the office. Paula and, OK, I guess even George, are our family. Darryl and Josh are our family. We all chose this life, we chose each other, which makes it even more special. Just like I chose to help your dad have a baby. And we chose to be part of your life. That’s what real family is, blood relation or not.”
Emaline’s face crinkles, overwhelmed with feeling. She chokes out a sob and Rebecca gets up and goes to her, opening her arms. Emaline rises from her chair and accepts her hug, wrapping her arms around Rebecca’s middle.
Rebecca lovingly palms the back of her head, holding her close in a way Emaline has never let her before. Emaline closes her eyes, then buries her face in her shoulder, her tiny body heaving with sobs.
Rocking her back and forth, Rebecca whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Watching them makes Nathaniel’s chest feel tight and tears sting his own eyes.
“Adults can be real idiots sometimes,” Rebecca says and Emaline chuckles through her tears, hugging Rebecca tighter.
All of Nathaniel’s pseudo-paternal instincts toward Emaline give him the urge to soothe her too. He’s never seen her cry like this, at least not since she became a teenager. The tableau of Rebecca holding her this tenderly is so rare and beautiful, though, that he’s content to stay on the sidelines.
Rebecca’s always lamented how his bond with Emaline was stronger than hers. Not that Rebecca wanted any kind of maternal role, but it always did incite a tiny bit of jealousy and indignation that Nathaniel’s relationship with the child seemed so effortless. To see the two of them have such an intense bonding moment was something special he never expected to witness.
Rebecca pulls away and takes Emaline’s face in her hands. “You’re going to be OK. I promise you,” Rebecca says vehemently, brushing Emaline’s hair out of her face and wiping away her tear tracks. “You have so many people who love you and, god, you are so much smarter than I was at your age.”
Emaline nods and holds Rebecca’s fierce gaze – intense blue-green meeting even more intense blue-green.
Dropping her hands from her cheeks to squeeze Emaline’s arms, Rebecca adds, “Please be kind to your dads, OK? No one’s perfect. Darryl has a good heart and he’s trying his best. You promise?”
Emaline nods.
“And I’ve been wanting to tell you, if you need any female-specific advice, like about periods or sex or –”
“Oh my god!” Emaline squeals, breaking away from Rebecca’s grasp.
“OK, OK. I’m just saying that I’m here for you for the stuff your dads don’t understand. I can teach you how to tame that hair while we’re at it.”
Emaline crosses her arms, but she’s smirking.
“Emaline. . .”
“Yes, Aunt Becca,” she huffs, exasperated.
Nathaniel rises from the edge of the bed and says, “We should probably talk to Darryl and get going.”
Emaline bites her lip for a second, then says, “I think I want to stay in here alone for a little while.”
“Sure,” Rebecca says.
On their way out, Nathaniel stops and gives Emaline a hug. “Chin up, kid,” he whispers into the crown of her head, “and rest your arm like I said.”
When he pulls away, Emaline is beaming up at him. “You got it.”
“Oh, so you’ll do whatever he says,” Rebecca jokes.
When Nathaniel opens the bedroom door, it slams into the foot of a hunched over Darryl, who was actively listening from afar in the hallway.
“Oooh!” he cries, hopping backward away from the door.
“Darryl,” Rebecca scolds.
“Can I go in?” Darryl asks, worry bleeding from his voice.
“Give her some space,” Rebecca says. “She’s processing everything.”
They all walk to the living room and Darryl drops into an armchair, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I really screwed up didn’t I?”
Rebecca rests her hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to be fine.”
Darryl lifts his head. “So your talk was good?”
“It went as well as it could, given the circumstances. She’s upset, obviously. But she’ll be OK. Give her some time,” Rebecca says.
“Thank you for coming over. These are things nothing can prepare you for as a parent,” Darryl says.
“You’re doing a great job, Darryl. Trust me.”
Nathaniel agrees, “We know a lot about terrible dads and you definitely don’t fall into that category.”
As they walk back to the car after a brief goodbye, Nathaniel can’t help but feel in awe of his wife. How she handled the situation with such grace and sensitivity and care . . . it’s something he doesn’t think he could ever do quite as well. She held herself with such maturity and composure. She sensed exactly what Emaline needed at that moment and gave it to her. Rebecca doesn’t give herself enough credit, he thinks, for how nurturing she can be.
After Nathaniel buckles his seat belt and starts the engine of the car, he glances over at Rebecca and her face is pained.
“Hey, you did great in there,” he offers.
Rebecca breaks, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
Nathaniel shifts so he can stroke her hair. “What is it?”
“I didn’t want her to see me fall apart. I wanted to be strong for her.”
He kisses her temple. “You were. You were great,” he whispers into her hair.
“Thanks,” she replies with a teary smile, reaching across the center console and squeezing his thigh. “Let’s just go home.”
Nathaniel puts the car into reverse and backs out of Darryl and Josh’s driveway.
Rebecca wipes her eyes and laughs, “Thank god we didn’t have kids, right? Imagine dealing with that kind of stuff every day.”
“Granted, this specific situation doesn’t come up every day.”
“Sure,” she agrees, “but imagine, being responsible for every aspect of a child’s development as they grow into a whole human being. It’s a lot. It’s –”
“Exhausting,” he exhales. He casts a sidelong glance at her, gauging her mood. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
She nods.
“Anything I can do?”
“You can start with the dishes.”
*****
Tap. Pause. Tap-tap.
Two weeks later, a knock at the front door jolts Nathaniel’s concentration from his weekly review of their investment accounts on his laptop. Partially reclined with his legs sprawled out over the length of the couch, he calls out to Rebecca without looking up from the screen, “Can you get that?”
Her voice echoes from the bathroom off their master bedroom as she hollers back, “Pooping!”
He sighs and shuts the lid of the laptop, gently placing it on the coffee table before marching to the front door.
To his surprise and delight, Emaline is on their porch, backpack slung over her shoulder, a shy smile on her lips. Since the incident, the second-hand updates from Darryl haven’t provided much insight into her state of mind. By all accounts, she seemed to be processing everything privately, separately from Darryl and Josh. “She’s always with her friends!?” Darryl laments to him at the office. To Nathaniel, it sounds like typical teenage behavior, but he keeps his comments to himself. Given the gravity of the situation, Nathaniel wasn’t sure how long it would take for Emaline to warm back up to them or if she, upon further reflection, harbored feelings of betrayal.
Considering the time of day and her appearance, he surmises she came straight from her after-school activities. She’s in a soft, plum-colored t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans. Her hair is down, a maroon headband keeping the more unruly strands out of her face.
“What’s fizzy, Uncle Nat?” she quips with a slight quiver in her voice, shuffling her feet.
He points his thumb at his chest. “This old man’s not going to fall for that one again, young lady.”
Emaline’s eyes wander past him into the house as she tucks a piece of sandy hair behind her ear. Her usual swagger is all but vanished, the girl before him radiating a more timid energy.
“When’s your next match? Did you want to throw the ball around?” he asks. “It’s still in the back yard waiting for you.”
“Um,” she falters, adjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulder, “actually, is Aunt Becca home?”
“Oh,” he utters, taken aback. “Yeah. Come in.”
He moves to the side and she hesitantly steps past him into the house.
“Rebecca,” he calls, “can you come in here?”
As Rebecca walks toward them, she starts, “Listen, you can’t rush me when I’m on the –”
When she emerges from the hallway and registers Emaline standing in their living room, she stops short. “Oh. Hi! Hi, Emaline. What are you – I mean, it’s good to see you.”
“Yeah,” Emaline says awkwardly, her eyes darting around the room.
“So, are you two going to rehearse? Practice? Throw the ball around or whatever you do?” Rebecca says to fill the silence, her tone breezy and light.
Quietly, Emaline says, “You said before you could help me with my hair? There’s, um, there’s this dance coming up . . .”
Rebecca hesitates only a moment, her face illuminating with the realization that Emaline is here to spend time with her. Quickly, so as not to draw too much attention to the moment and lose it, she perks up and says, “You’ve come to the right place, my dear. Managing curly hair can be a nightmare, especially with all those raging hormones you’ve got going on. Follow me.”
Emaline lights up and approaches Rebecca, a slight spring in her step, and Rebecca puts a friendly hand on her back, guiding her to the guest bathroom.
Nathaniel has the urge to follow them, and a Darryl-like instinct to eavesdrop, but he pushes it down and sits back down on the couch. He doesn’t settle, though, and can’t help but overhear some of their conversation.
“Starting now,” Rebecca says as Emaline plops her backpack down on the tile floor, “no more brushing. Only a wide-tooth comb and only in the shower.”
Nathaniel smiles, reopening his laptop, restoring his earlier session, but he can’t focus at all on the graphs and tables because all he can do is listen to Rebecca’s words and Emaline’s adorable lilt of a giggle.
“Believe it or not, gel. Gel is your friend. I know that seems wrong, but that’s what you need. Here, I have a travel size of this one I can give you. Actually, take the full size, I can go out and buy more.”
“Thanks.”
Emaline’s backpack unzips and zips again.
“So, this dance. Tell me more.”
“It’s homecoming.”
“Who’s your date?”
After a beat of silence, Emaline confesses, “I haven’t asked her yet.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sophia.”
At that, Nathaniel rises from the couch. Since Emaline hinted at her crush several months ago, Nathaniel has been nagging and prodding her for more information, urging her to ask her on a date. Now, Rebecca suddenly gets a front-row seat to the drama?
“You really want to know about her?” Emaline asks shyly.
That’s when Nathaniel reaches the threshold of the bathroom door. Emaline is sitting on the toilet seat lid, her hair cascading down her back, while Rebecca stands behind her, doing some kind of feminine voodoo on her long hair. Something that involves braids.
They both turn to look at him.
“Hey,” he says, half-joking, half-actually offended at being left out.
“This is girl talk, Nathaniel,” Rebecca warns. “No boys allowed.”
Rebecca reaches for the door and slowly closes it on Nathaniel and then immediately, excitedly redirects back to Emaline.
“Tell. Me. Everything.”