Mother

By Mitali Patwardhan

The vinyl chair squeaks under me every time my leg bounces. I can’t follow its rhythm, and I can’t stop either. The squeaking seems to bother the receptionist, because she bats an eye at me every few minutes. There are two more people in the waiting room. One of them is reading a real estate magazine, and another one is comforting her crying baby. The clock ticks steadily, each second passing smoothly. Oddly enough, I find comfort in this sound. I practice breathing at the same tempo as the ticking of the second hand. My leg stops bouncing, and my heart rate slows before I can fixate my consciousness on it. I lean back into my chair. 

I think about Alicia’s husband and how scared he must be. Watching your wife in excruciating pain can’t be a cakewalk. I want to ask the receptionist for an update on Alicia, but I know she won’t have one for me.

“I’m taking all the drugs they have to offer,” Alicia once told me. 

I had laughed at the time and encouraged her to do so, but now that she’s actively giving birth, I pray that she really did take all those drugs. 

The young mother next to me has managed to quiet her six-month-old baby. The baby is cooing now, clearly interested in something the rest of us find mundane. Suddenly, the baby spits out milk onto her crimson onesie. The mother sighs and pulls out her burp cloth from her massive Vera Bradley bag. The fresh smell of baby powder fills the waiting room. 

I hear the doors of Alicia’s Labor and Delivery room open, and her husband walks out. His face is red, and tears are streaming down his face. I walk over to him, eager for an update. 

“It’s a girl,” he says. 

I smile. “Congratulations, Dave. How is she?”

“She’s doing well. It was a bumpy ride, but our baby girl decided to wake up eventually.” 

“Thank God. I was starting to get worried out here.”

“Yeah. She’s in recovery now, if you want to see the girls.” 

I follow Dave into Alicia’s room, where she’s lying on the hospital bed, groggy and pale. I can tell she was asleep a few minutes ago. Her eyes are always puffy for the first hour after she wakes up. 

“Hey,” she mumbles.

I pull up another vinyl chair that’s sitting near the monitor that is keeping track of Alicia’s vitals. It was the same kind as the one in the waiting room, except I sank into the cushion more easily. This was a newer chair, and it was certainly more comfortable than the one outside. 

“How are you doing?”

“The sun hasn’t shone down there yet.”

I laugh. “Did you take all the drugs they had to offer?”

“Yes. God bless the drugs.”

“Have you thought of a name?”

“Not yet. Wanna see her?”

“Yes.”

I cross to the clear plastic bassinet by the parallel wall. 

“She’s beautiful.”

As much as I enjoy seeing my best friend happy, it reminds me of how I will never be able to have my own child. Chris and I had been trying for a year before we decided to go to the doctor. I remember sitting in another waiting room, similar to the one I had just been in for the past ten hours. That room had the same sterile smell and the same old chairs that squeaked under my weight.

My husband scrolled on his phone, pretending to read the news while my mind raced, praying for a positive outcome. I wildly hoped that the doctor would tell us we were just making the baby wrong. Our names were called, and the two of us followed the nurse into the patient room. When the doctor finally came in, she smiled at us softly. It was the kind of smile that people give when they don't know how to deliver bad news. She beat around the bush a little by explaining our test results using medical terminology. Once she began her spiel, I only caught fragments of her words. 

“What are my options from here?” I interrupted. 

“Based on your age and FSH levels, I recommend IVF. We can explore that if you are interested.”

On the drive home, Chris comforted me.

“We can always try IVF and whatever else that doctor says. I believe in us, Maya.”

“I’m 33, Chris.”

“My mom had me at 35. Anything is possible. Please, let’s just try?”

“I’ll think about it.”

The rest of the drive back from the fertility clinic was silent. Chris hated when I didn’t tell him what was on my mind. He pulled the car into our driveway and went straight into the house without making eye contact. I remember going into the kitchen and looking at the Christmas photo from last year. The same day that picture was taken, my mother-in-law teased us and asked when she could expect the arrival of her first grandchild. The picture became blurry as tears welled in my eyes. 

Chris and I ended up trying IVF multiple times. The baby would survive for a few weeks inside my womb. But I miscarried every single time. 

Being with Alicia again also reminds me of the worst fight we’ve ever had. I’m not even sure if she would want me in her room right now after everything I said. 

It was a month before her due date, and she had invited me over to go shopping for some baby clothes. 

“You okay?” Alicia asked. 

“I’m fine.”

“Maya, talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is,” she insisted. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone. Everything is fine.”

“Maya…”

She came closer to where I was sitting, walking slowly with her very pregnant belly. “I miss my friend. You don’t even talk to me anymore.”

It was true. I had been avoiding her. It had been around two years since I found out I was infertile, and now that Alicia was pregnant, I couldn’t handle it. 

“I’m sorry I’m not performing up to your expectations,” I snapped. “Not everyone gets to have a perfect pregnancy with perfect maternity photos.” 

Alicia looked shocked. “Maya. Perfect? I struggle to sleep every night, and I have this never-ending nausea—”

“At least after everything you’re complaining about is over, you get to hold your very own baby.” 

“That’s not fair. You can’t say that to me.” 

“None of this is fair. You will never understand what it feels like.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “You think I don’t care? I can see what you’re going through.” 

“But you’ll never understand.” 

“Maybe you should go, Maya,” Alicia said sharply. 

I walked out, slamming the door behind me as I left. We hadn’t spoken again until now, when she let me see her child. 

As I admire Alicia’s baby, I feel anger boil inside me. No. Not just anger. It’s jealousy, sadness, and heartache. This isn’t the first time this combination of feelings has taken over me. 

Alicia shifts in her bed. “Do you want to hold her?”

I nod and gently pick the baby up. The ends of my hair brush the light blue hospital blanket that swaddles her. She already has that fresh baby smell that I yearn for so badly. I imagine her being my baby. I would be the one lying in that hospital bed instead of Alicia, holding my baby against my chest. She would grow accustomed to my smell and recognize that I am her mother. Every birthday of hers, I would add a mark to the door frame to see how tall she’s getting. When she goes off to school for the first time, I would help put her backpack on. 

The baby’s cry snaps me out of my thoughts. Dave walks towards me and takes her from my arms. He cradles her as he passes her to Alicia, who holds her against her chest. She quiets almost instantly. 

A few days pass like this. I go in and out of the hospital to see how Alicia is doing, but mostly to spend some time with her unnamed baby. They’re definitely guilt visits. The baby stays in my arms for a few minutes, realizes that I’m not her mother, and begins to cry. For three days, Dave works on getting everything the couple needs for the baby. Most importantly, he makes a diaper bag, something that the couple will need to have on hand at all times for the next few years.

After Alica is discharged from the hospital, I go to her house for the first time after she gave birth. I can tell that a lot has changed within just a few days. Of course, this is natural. The couple’s main responsibility has become their baby. The smell of baby powder and milk has consumed their two-story home. I sit in my usual spot: the corner of their L-shaped couch. The beige couch, once aesthetically pleasing, now has a stain on it. The couple’s attempts to clean it have proven futile, as the patch has become even more prominent.  It’s probably from milk that the baby threw up. 

I scan the house as I wait for Alicia. Their outlets have already been covered with gray outlet covers. My eyes shift over to the entrance of the guest bedroom. Dave has been working on turning the room into a nursery, and there is a medium-sized crib ready to go inside. I can tell that it’s still a work in progress, and the couple must have gotten a very early start on baby-proofing their house.
“Just a minute. She’s giving the baby a sponge bath,” Dave said. 

“Still no name, huh?”

“No… we’re still stuck on that.”

Alicia came downstairs with the baby, wearing baggy pink pajamas and a messy bun. She looks better than she did in the hospital, but a new form of exhaustion has taken over. She has spit-up stains on her shirt, and the shorter strands of hair run free from the shackles of her hair tie.

“Hey!” Alicia says. 

I greet her with a smile on my face. 

“I’m so happy to see you’re doing better,” I say. 

“I certainly am! Sleep schedule’s been rough, though.”

I keep my gaze fixed on the baby. 

“Dave and I have something we want to tell you.” 

“What’s up?”

“We want you to be our baby’s godmother. You’ve been there with me always, and I know about everything you and Chris have been through.”

“Alicia… Dave… I don’t know what to say. I would love to be her godmother.” 

It doesn’t take long for tears to roll down my cheeks. Alicia really has been with me through thick and thin. We’ve known each other since our freshman year of college. We’ve been with each other through breakups, family deaths, and even long-distance for a period of time. 

Alicia places her baby in my arms. I quickly wipe my tears so that they don’t fall on the baby. 

“By the way, I lied. We have a name in mind,” Dave says. 

“What is it?” I ask between sobs. 

“Aurora Maya Jackson.”

I look at Alicia, who is squeezing my hand. 

“A piece of her will always belong to you too, Maya.” 

I don’t know what to say. She knows everything I’ve been through. She was with me when I cried myself to sleep after Chris and I had fights. She hadn’t left my side, and she had given it her absolute best shot to help me recover. It’s my fault that I never did. Despite it having been two years since our last attempt with IVF, I still blame myself every single day. Chris and I fought a lot while I struggled with depression and grief, but it wasn’t because of my hostile uterus. It was because I refused to move on. I had once imagined mine and Alicia’s babies growing up together and becoming best friends. 

“Alicia, I am so sorry.”

She hugs me and tells me that it’s okay, and that she understands why I’ve been acting this way. Why I said what I said. 

I continue to visit my goddaughter every so often, and she’s growing faster than I had expected. Alicia sends me photos of Aurora almost every day at first. I can tell that Alicia’s cuteness aggression takes over all the time. It seems to mask her exhaustion when I visit. Aurora is a pumpkin for her first Halloween, and Alicia and I gush over her. I have some videos in my camera roll of Aurora rolling onto her stomach for the first time. She has two nubs of teeth poking out from the bottom of her mouth. Every time I see her after I became her godmother, my lingering ache becomes easier to deal with. 

Ever since Alicia gave birth, Chris and I haven’t talked much. His parents come over as usual for Christmas, and he doesn’t want them to think something is wrong between us. The silence between us becomes familiar, and it starts to feel odd when that silence is broken. He moves his stuff to the guest bedroom shortly after Christmas. 

He couldn’t live with my grief anymore. Although the arrival of Aurora had changed everything for me, my grief had managed to make its way through my facade at times. I don’t stop Chris when he moves out of our room, because I understand what he must be going through. Living with someone who has depression is exhausting, especially since I had rejected every solution Chris offered me. 

My first night without Chris feels strange. I sit on the couch and hold our family photo from Christmas together. All of us were happy and smiling, and it looked like nothing could go wrong. I had cherished those last moments during Christmas when Chris was normal, as if none of our struggles had ever taken place. 

After one of my visits to see Aurora, I’m relaxing on my couch and scrolling through photos I took of her on my phone. 

“You went to see the baby again, right?” Chris says, breaking the silence between us from across the room. 

“Yeah, I did. Holding her makes me feel better.”

“Listen… I know Alicia means a lot to you. But ever since y’all had that fight, you’ve been pretty different around everyone, including me. And that hurts me.” 

“Different how?”

“You’ve been hurt. And you are hurting yourself more by pretending everything is okay between us, and just in general. Please, just try therapy.” 

“Holding Aurora makes me feel better. I already told you, I don’t need therapy.”

“I can see that, Maya. I can also see how much you want that baby to be yours.” 

He sits down beside me, respecting the space we had created between us. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Maya. But I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.” 

I was letting the fight with Alicia, Aurora’s presence, and my jealousy and anger and sadness ruin my relationship with my husband. So much so that he moved out of our room. 

Chris breaks the bubble I had created for myself and holds my hands in his own. 

“I miss you. I don’t want to live like this.” 

I stay silent, at a loss for words. I realize that I’ve pushed everyone away, not just Alicia. It was true. I was letting my infertility and my best friend’s pregnancy ruin something so special between me and my husband. 

Spring arrives quietly. Alicia and Dave want to baptize Aurora, which will be my first act as a godmother. Our community church is small, with its walls painted the same cream color as the walls in the hospital. When I am called, I hold Aurora in my arms. She has been getting heavier and stronger, and her little hands grab my hair.  

Later in the afternoon, I sit with Alicia on her front porch. She has just put Aurora down for a nap, and she carries the baby monitor with her everywhere. 

“Do you ever think about trying again?” Alicia asks. 

“Not anymore. I don’t think any good will come out of it. Aurora’s teaching me so much already.” 

“Like what?”

“I always thought that being a mother was the only thing that would make me happy.” 

“You don’t think that anymore?”

“It’s just that I don’t need motherhood to look a certain way for it to count.” 

She smiles softly, letting my words sink in. The silence with her was comfortable. 

The sun slowly begins its descent behind the trees, and I watch the light turn golden, washing over the front yard. For the first time in a long time, I feel peaceful. The kind of peace that reminds me that just because I lost something, it doesn’t mean it’s the end of my story. It just means that I have a chance to start again differently. 

The baby’s first year went by. Alicia sends me an invitation in the mail for Aurora’s birthday, even though I had helped her plan the party. I open the light pink card anyway. The shimmery, gold lettering reads, “Aurora Maya Jackson’s First Birthday.” The sight of her full name catches me off guard sometimes. It’s still so strange to see our names next to each other. I will forever be connected to her. 

When I arrive at the party, their house looks nothing like the one I remember. There were pink, silver, and gold balloons everywhere. The living room has been decorated with pink streamers, and a large banner behind the dining table says, “Happy Birthday Aurora!” The wall above the couch is covered with family photos in black and white. Aurora on her first trip to the beach, Aurora sitting in a pumpkin patch, Aurora wearing a Santa hat. That picture was featured in their Christmas card last year. 

Alicia rushes over from the kitchen to hug me. She’s wearing a simple light pink sundress, and a bun is piled high up on her head. Some of the shorter strands are curled and framing her face. 

“You made it! Aurora’s down for her nap, but she’ll be up as soon as the guests start coming,” she says. 

I hand her a gift bag with picture books and a soft blanket. 

“You didn’t have to, Maya! But she’s going to love this. Thank you,” she says. 

When Aurora wakes up, most of the guests have already arrived. Dave brings her downstairs, all dressed and ready to go. She’s wearing a fluffy princess dress and pink shoes. Damn, they really went all out with the pink. She holds a fairy wand in her right hand and blinks sleepily at everyone. Dave sits her down in her high chair in front of the cake and puts a small crown on her head. 

After the guests have cake and take millions of photos of the baby girl, I take Aurora outside into the backyard and set her down in the grass, where she puts her fairy wand in her mouth.  The sun is shining through the trees in the backyard, revealing the glints of gold in her light brown hair. She looks up at me and smiles, her small teeth poking out. 

“Hi, birthday girl!” I say as I pinch her cheeks. She reaches for my nose and babbles something incomprehensible. I hear Alicia laugh from the deck. 

“She’s been trying to say something all week to us. We think she’s trying to say hi.” 

I gently tuck Aurora’s hair behind her ear. “Hi.” 

That small gesture makes the ache inside me loosen. It isn’t gone, but it’s gentler. Maybe I have learned to love Aurora through my pain. That kind of love will grow into something beautiful. 

Before I leave, Alicia hands me a piece of cake in a paper bowl, covered with saran wrap.

“Thank you for being here,” she says. “You’ve been such a big part of her life already.” 

I look back at Aurora, who is toddling to her mother with uncertain steps. “She’s been a big part of mine too,” I say.

That night, I place a new photo of Alicia, Aurora, and me on my nightstand. Aurora’s tiny hand is grabbing my hair, and she’s smiling with her eyes closed. I don’t feel empty for the first time in a long time. For a second, that ache disappears completely, and I feel present. I want to leave all that hurt in the past and never touch it again. Being with the baby has taught me how special relationships are. I’ve realized how lucky I am to have someone like Chris in my life, and Alicia too. I can’t keep pushing everyone away like this. 

I get out of bed and go downstairs to the guest bedroom. I lie down next to Chris, who puts his arms around me. 

“I’m ready to try therapy. I don’t want to lose you.”