A Proper Young Lady (17 page)

What if I just want to be me?
“Thanks, Mum. I’m well content with my gender.” I rise and kiss her on the cheek. “I’d better pack for school.”
And call Melanie.
 

“Don’t worry about Miss Fairbairn, sweetheart. Randolph will see to her expenses until someone adopts the babies.”

“They’re my children, Mum, and I don’t intend to abandon them. Or her.” I leave before she can object and rush outside into the moonlight. To my safe haven under the ancient oak.

I hope for some word from Melanie—a text or an email. I click on her number, but my call goes directly to voice-mail. 

I wait. And dial again. Until the battery fades, and I’m left alone in darkness.

Melanie

A wayward raindrop splashes against my nose. Gloomy clouds threaten more. My heart longs for the warmth of Florida sunshine. For a motorcycle ride with Dad. Or a walk on the beach with Mom. And for Daniel. Yeah. Especially for him.

He’s not coming back. Not him. Not Dad. And whatever Beatrice says, Mom’s dying.

The phone vibrates in my coat pocket.
Why even carry the stupid thing? If Dani calls, I’m not gonna answer. But it might be my sister.
I pull out my cell and check the number. Nope. Not her. A Virginia area code. Not Dani. Not Mrs. Welles. Cooper, maybe. Kinda miss him. But he’d only wanna talk about Dani. I shove the phone back into my pocket. 

A dozen people stand in line at the coffee shop, so I plop down into a chair and wait.

One of the babies kicks. I spread my fingers over her. “I love you, even if nobody else does.”

A young girl wanders over to me and presses her hand against my belly. “You have a baby in your tummy?”

“Two.” I move her hand a little more to one side. “The boy’s right here.”

“What’s his name?”

I have no idea.
“Patrick.”
Yeah. After Dad. And the girl after Gramms. What’s Mom gonna think about that?
I shift the kid’s hand to my other side. “Ellie’s over here.” 

Some lady finally realizes her daughter’s loose. “Janet! Leave the woman alone.”

The kid’s lips twitch. She delays a moment before speeding away.

The line fizzles out, so I buy a coffee and a hot cocoa and start back to my sister’s place. To watch my mother die. Another call comes in, but I don’t bother to see who it is.

Danièle

Thick darkness gives way to the dull red glow of morning as we cross I-295 coming into Richmond. Traffic is light—more so than usual. Not much longer, and we’ll be at the university. 

Cooper remains quiet for most of the drive, apparently unwilling to risk another argument. Just as well—my heart aches to be away from everyone—everyone but Melanie. 

He pulls as close to the dorm as campus security will allow before retrieving my suitcase.

I give him a goodbye hug, then pull the keys out of my purse. “I’m sorry. What I said was out of line.”

“Forget it.” He nods acceptance and turns to leave.

I ease the door open, but the hinges squeal and wake my roommate. Grace sits up and rubs at her eyes. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Not lately.
“It’s seven. When’s your first class?” 

“Not until ten. How’d your weekend go?”

I lift my suitcase onto the bed and start unpacking. “Can I trust you?”

The intensity of her laugh startles me. “Of course not. But you already do.”

Grace has never revealed anything I said in confidence. Her eyes proclaim the truth of that. And a touch of surprise at her own innocence.

“Melanie’s gone. While I was sick in bed, Ethan sent her away. I didn’t find out until it was already too late.”

“Have you spoken with her?”

“She doesn’t answer my calls.”

“She’s that pissed at you?”

“No. She retreats when she’s hurt.”

“I’m sorry. And Ethan sounded like such a nice guy. What happened?”

“He realized the babies aren’t his.”

Grace snorts. “Sorry.” She holds up an index finger, hops out of bed, and punches the start button on our coffeemaker. “I can see this is gonna get complicated. Let me shower and dress before we continue. Okay?”

“Sure.” I pull out my cell and check for messages before calling Melanie’s number again.

No answer.

My first class isn’t until mid-afternoon. Nothing to do but sit around and go crazy worrying about her.

You wouldn’t abort our kids, would you? No. But you might give up on life and take them with you.
A long sip of coffee calms my nerves not a bit.
I don’t want to lose you.
 

“So who’s the father?” Grace asks.

“I am. The lab harvested spermatogonia—sperm precursors—from my gonadal biopsies.” 

“Sweet. Were you gonna keep that a secret?”

“The time never seemed right.”

“Tell me about it. So what now?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

Chapter 19

Melanie

A mist settles across Steve Reynolds Boulevard. Yellow auras dance around fuzzy headlights. Nobody slows down. Not one car in the blind madness of dusk. Not in the cold rain. Not for a pregnant girl with her hands full. Not in Atlanta.

I snicker when the phone in my pocket rings. Probably Dani again.

Water pools between the sidewalk and the street. I step through the ankle-deep chill, then hurry across the road between two cars. By the time I get home, every bone in my body trembles from the cold.

Beatrice pulls the door open for me. “You’re gonna lose the babies if you don’t take care of yourself.” Her eyes scream at me, but she speaks in a soft whisper and drapes a towel around my shoulders. Fred looks on with concern.

I set her mocha on the counter, drop my wet hoodie on the floor, and wander back to Mom’s room.

The pain has fled my mother’s face, leaving behind a pale contentment. And utter silence. I wrap my hands around my hot chocolate, and slump in the chair beside her.

Breathe, Mom. Please. I don’t wanna be alone.

“Is that cocoa?” The faintest whisper tickles my ears. Mom turns her head and grimaces her death-smile at me.

“Yeah.” I get some pillows and help her sit upright enough to take a sip. By now there’s no chance of her getting burned. So I perch beside her on the bed and hold the cup to her lips.

My sister pokes her head into the room. “Melanie, she shouldn’t have—never mind. You up for some soup, Mom?” 

The barest nod sends Beatrice scurrying out of the room. She returns a few minutes later with a cup of thick broth, barely warm.

Mom swallows a few mouthfuls, smiles at me again, and closes her eyes.

Chills hit me then, like I’m still outside in the cold rain. Alone. “I need somebody to hold me, Mom.”

My mother’s eyes flutter open. Her lips tremble quiet understanding. She presses my hand once, the feather-light touch of a mother’s love.

You weren’t supposed to hear that.

I make my way to the bathroom, shed my clothes, and climb into the shower. After who knows how long, the hot water runs cold, so I dry off, put on my sweats, and climb into bed.

Beatrice turns on the lights before I get to sleep. “You need to eat something.”

What for?
But I follow her into the kitchen and warm my stomach with the stew and garlic rolls she sets in front of me. Fred and the little guys stare like I might fall over dead. I squeeze out a half-smile for them.
Maybe I won’t puke tonight.
 

Does it matter? Well, yeah. If I wanna keep the babies.

Danièle

Restless yearning for Melanie and our children haunts my first night back at school. The next day, concern for their welfare displaces rational thought of anything else.

Winter sun pushes through the blinds and dances across my pillow. I roll over, close my eyes, and chase in vain an elusive moment of sleep.

The aroma of fresh coffee drags me out of my stupor. Grace must have started the coffee maker on her way out the door. I pour myself a cup, pull out my phone, and stab at Randy’s number.

“Yes?” His voice cracks, like he might have been awake all night.

“I need some confidential advice.”

“Marry the girl.”

I spray scalding-hot liquid across the floor. Most unladylike.

My uncle never jokes. Ever. I wander over to the refrigerator, temper my coffee with a spot of milk, and find a washcloth to wipe up the mess. “Somehow I don’t think Mum would approve.”

“You’re a big girl now, Danièle.”

“Actually, I was calling regarding my children and the trust.” Back on the bed again, I take a pleasant sip to calm my nerves.

“Is the engagement off?”

“Let’s just say I want contingency plans.”

“All right. If you’re not going to marry Ethan, you need to terminate the surrogacy agreement and let Melanie put the babies up for adoption.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Having a child while single disqualifies you from further participation in the trust. Sorry, but your great-grandfather was a stickler for such things. Once married, you and Ethan are free to adopt, but only natural offspring become heirs.”

“The trust doesn’t recognize surrogacy?”

“Only when the progeny’s related to both husband and wife. Sorry, but the old man didn’t foresee having an intersex great-grandchild.”

“What if I were the biological father?”

Nothing disturbs the silence but the beating of my heart. I sip the cold remains of my coffee and wait.

“If you are—which I didn’t think possible—you’d still need to be legally male when you get married. Are you prepared to do that in what little time remains?” 

“No.” Cutting off my breasts isn’t going to win Melanie’s love. Besides, how would I convince a psychologist I want to be a man when I like my body and gender the way they are? I bid my uncle goodbye and lie on the bed again.

My children’s little faces on the ultrasound display, the feel my hand pressed against them—the separation from my babies gnaws at me as much as the absence of their mother. 

I always considered my father a bit paranoid about family. Until my own was at risk.
College is pointless until I know Melanie’s all right.
 

The door swings open, and Grace walks into the room. Her brows creep up her forehead. “I thought you’d be in Georgia by now. Don’t you care about your pregnant girlfriend?”

Yes. Why delay? My life’s over if anything happens to her.
“I’m leaving within the hour. Will you cover for me?” 

“Sure. Isn’t Atlanta like six hundred miles?”

“Five something. But yes. Would you tell my professors I had a family emergency?”

“You got it.”

With the decision made, I pack the few things I’ll need for the trip. November isn’t as cold in Georgia as Virginia, but I dress extra warm. One last glance at my old life, and I walk out the door.

Melanie

My stomach grumbles, dreaming of Jake’s cranberry-orange scones. And a hot chocolate. I yawn and rub at my eyes before strolling into the kitchen. No pastry, but my sister keeps fresh fruit on hand. And milk for cereal.

After my late brunch, I crash on the couch with a good book, hoping to find some of the simple contentment I lost when I left Virginia—and Dani. 

Mom’s off at the clinic, getting some kinda treatments.
Fred and Beatrice and the little guys are on their way to Stone Mountain for a picnic. Not even half a day alone, and already darkness overwhelms my soul.
What am I gonna do?
One hand makes its way down to my babies. 

I grab my phone for a distraction. Dani left text messages again. I delete them all without reading a single one. I don’t need the pain. Not now. Not ever.

Somebody rings the doorbell. Probably one of the neighborhood kids. No way they need to see me in a nightgown. The phone chirps another message. I power it off.
So much for a quiet afternoon.
 

The bell grows more insistent, so I meander over to the door. Through the peephole, violet eyes gleam. Violet eyes surrounded by white lashes.

Daniel?
My heart forgets to keep time. Muscles refuse to do more than groan in anticipation, while my imagination has already run to him. 

I ease the door open enough to peek outside. Dani never goes out without a perfect face. Ever. Yet she stands there without makeup, dressed in a fleece-lined leather jacket, jeans that look like real suede, and for-serious boots. Even if the girl was clad in motorcycle leathers, only a moron would mistake her for a boy, though. Her curves and ballerina moves give her away. So why do I imagine Daniel behind those hungry eyes?

“Please forgive me,” she says.

The babies kick at the sound of Dani’s voice.
Figures.
“Why are you here?” I lean against the door frame and try without much success for my best frown. “Just go. Please.” 

Hopeful eyes search my heart. “I want us to be friends, Melanie.”

Friends.
One hand rises uncommanded to my throat, seeking a heart no longer there. I turn my head away. “I’m busy. I need to—” 

The girl nudges me inside. “For Daniel. All right?”

A spike of angry pain burns through me. “No, Dani. It’s not.”

But her eyes know I won’t turn her away. Not even with me sure I’ll get hurt again.

Leaving her to close the door, I rush back to my bedroom, shed my nightgown, and rifle through the drawer for some clean clothes.

Dani shrugs off her coat and lays it on my bed. “I’m sorry. Ethan acted without my knowledge. And certainly without my consent. You’ll always be the mother of my children.”

You’d spend the rest of your life with Danièle?

Heat blossoms across my cheeks at the longing in Dani’s eyes. Foolish of me to dream of the boy she might have been. I turn my back on her intensity and finish getting dressed.

Dani’s arms creep around my waist then. I lean into the girl and welcome her embrace. No dreams—just a friend holding me while the heartbeats tick away and the pain eases.