Because I Love You (31 page)

Instead, the familiar sound of her bed squeaking carried through the phone. “Yeah, sure. How . . . how are you?”

“Good,” I lied. “Considering.”

“Yeah, I heard about your mom. I’m really sorry, Andie. For . . . everything.”

I bit my lip. How was I supposed to respond? I couldn’t just say it was okay, because it wasn’t. I’d needed her, and she turned her back on me. A best friend wasn’t supposed to do that. If roles had been reversed, I definitely wouldn’t have.

“All right,” she said when I didn’t respond. “Well, I’ll text you Carter’s number. You know he’s in California now, right?”

“Yeah.” Ironically, I’d been relieved when he’d moved. At least I didn’t have to worry about seeing him around town.

“Oh. He said he called you, but—never mind. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

I nodded then an old question popped into mind. “Wait! I have to ask, and I promise I won’t be mad if you say yes.” At least, I’d try not to be angry. “Was it you who told Beth I was pregnant?”

A long, awkward pause penetrated the silence. “Yes,” she said at last, before my phone beeped in my ear.

She’d hung up.

I dropped my hand, my breath hitching. While there was no one else who could’ve done it, part of me hadn’t believed Heather would betray me like that. Now that I knew, I wished I’d never asked.

My cell phone chimed with a text from Heather—Carter’s number and the words:
I really am sorry.

My thumbs shook over the keyboard, my brain unable to form a response. I closed the message. Maybe I would wait to talk to Carter tomorrow after all, yet it wasn’t until Friday, while Neil was at school, that I found the courage to call my ex-best friend. Jill had begun her research on adoption agencies earlier in the week, and Mr. Anderson assured me he’d run background checks on all the prospective parents. Like father, like daughter, I supposed.

When Carter’s voice came through the phone, I lowered myself to the edge of my bed, unable to speak. His voice brought back so many childhood memories; in the deepest parts of me, it was good to hear him speak again. But with all the happy thoughts came those filled with pain. He’d lied to get out of child support. He’d abandoned me—his son—and never once looked back. What did I say to him?

“Andie, I know it’s you. Your name still comes up on my screen.”

I swallowed and ran a fingertip along a seam in the comforter. “Yeah. I, uh, I’ve decided to put the baby up for adoption.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, it’s kind of late to be saying this, but I really regret not helping you through this. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Kind of late?
He could say that again. My teeth ground. “Just write a letter or something and sign it, saying you agree to giving him up, then scan it to me. If I need anything else, I’ll let you know.” My voice came out as annoyed as I felt
.
Good.

“Right, yeah. I can do that.”

Of course he could, now that he was getting his way. I grasped the comforter and resisted telling him all the nasty things running through my head.

After answering a few of his questions—like, it’s a boy, and yes, I’d tell him which agency I picked—I hung up and threw my phone into the mattress with a scream.

The following Monday afternoon, Neil and I began our visits with the agencies, and after a week of listening to the lists of couples looking for babies, my emotional exhaustion level hit an all-time high. I spent that entire Saturday in bed, and only the promise of getting to see Owen make a fool of himself in the Senior Class Play on Sunday drove me to leave the apartment. He joined the Drama Club to convince Monica White—my cheerleading co-captain—to go out with him, apparently. Afterward, the three of us spent hours playing video games at Jill’s, and by the time we left, my mood had elevated enough to sit down and pick four couples I wouldn’t mind meeting.

After my OB appointment the Thursday of my twenty-ninth week, Neil and I joined the first couple for dinner at a nice restaurant in downtown Denver. Alyssa and Tom Sullivan had driven all the way from Cheyenne, Wyoming to meet me. Hand-in-hand, Neil and I entered the little Italian bistro and spotted them near the back.

The paperwork said they were only in their late twenties. In person, they looked much younger, well-dressed, and in good shape. But it wasn’t their appearances that drew me to them—it was the way they smiled when they caught me gawking. It was like I was their best friend returning from war or a long-lost sibling about to be reunited. Genuine. Loving. Kind.

“You ready?” Neil whispered in my ear.

I couldn’t speak but found it easy to step forward.

The couple stood as we approached, their eyes bright and judgment free. Tom shook hands with Neil as Alyssa hugged me in a warm embrace.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she said, her voice pleasant and happy. “Please, sit. Both of you. Dinner’s on us.”

“No,” Neil said, pushing in my chair. “There’s no need for you guys to do that.”

“Of course there’s no
need
. But we want to,” Tom replied, smiling. “Please, have whatever you want.”

Neil met my gaze, and I shrugged as he took his seat with a grin. “Then, thank you.”

For the next half-hour, I chatted with Alyssa and Tom about my hobbies, my likes and dislikes, and what I hoped to do after high school. When they asked about my family, I admitted to being adopted myself then shared what I did know from my paperwork and about the parents who raised me. Alyssa and Tom hung on my every word, reacting to every story with sincere enthusiasm. And with each passing minute, I found myself relaxing more and more, unafraid to open up to them about all that had happened and my fears for Ethan.

Alyssa took my hand in hers. “I can promise you that we would love him unconditionally and do everything in our power to make sure he has all the things a boy could want.” Her eyes glistened. “To be able to do what you’re doing takes so much love, and we would always make sure he knew that. You’re his angel, Andie.”

The second my tears broke free, Alyssa was out of her chair and wrapping her arms around me. Tom crouched next to us, one hand on his wife’s back while his other rubbed mine. This was it, the moment I needed to know Ethan would be okay. I pictured my parents in Tom and Alyssa’s shoes, Jodi in my chair—and a weight lifted off my chest. Memories scrolled through my head: dancing in a princess dress on Dad’s feet; baking cookies with Mom for Santa; Dad’s contagious laugh; Mom’s ice-melting smile; Dad telling jokes as he carried me off the football field when I broke my ankle in seventh grade; Mom curling my hair before my first homecoming.

I hadn’t been biologically theirs either, but I could’ve gone my whole life and never known. With Alyssa and Tom, I knew Ethan would be loved the same way.

After I managed to compose myself, and Alyssa and Tom returned to their chairs, wiping tears from their own cheeks, I turned to Neil, beaming. He smiled, taking my hand in his, and even he couldn’t keep the emotion from his eyes. It wasn’t nearly as hard to choose them as I’d thought it would be, and the first Monday of March, the four of us sat in one of Bethlehem Family Services’ conference rooms, listening to a lawyer drone on about my rights to Ethan once I signed the papers. I’d only receive updates once a year on his birthday until he turned eighteen. At that time, it was up to Ethan to seek me out. I could never search for him.

But I wasn’t afraid anymore. By now, Alyssa had emailed me pictures of their house, I’d met my son’s grandparents via Skype, and she’d taken me on a virtual shopping trip—she texted pictures of clothes and toys, and I vetoed the ones I didn’t like. I knew she’d take good care of my son.

And, if what Neil said was true, and my son
was
like me, Ethan would have no problem finding friends to hack government databases to find me.

Once I agreed that I understood all he was saying, the lawyer had me sign a few documents then slid the final paper across the table—the one where I officially signed over my son to Alyssa and Tom.

Neil held my hand under the table, and with my heart in my throat, I squeezed his fingers like I’d fall to my death if I let go. I stared blankly at the paper for at least a solid minute.

“Can I write a letter?” I asked. “You know, for him to read when he’s old enough?”

The lawyer looked at Alyssa and Tom, the people who would raise Ethan, who would hear him call them Mom and Dad. Take him to football games and music lessons. Put a bandage on his knee when he skinned it falling off his bike. Straighten his tie on his way to his first homecoming.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Alyssa said.

Nodding, I looked at the form that signed over my baby to his new parents. I grabbed the pen, my hand shaking, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

Neil leaned over. “Everything will be okay.” He caressed the inside of my wrist with his thumb.

I squeezed his hand harder. Then, opening my eyes, I touched ink to the page and signed my name.

chapter thirty

The morning Ethan came was no different than any other. The Monday of my thirty-seventh week—April eighth. I made breakfast. We watched TV. Neil wrote music while I read a book. The same routine we’d practiced for days. He’d taken his final exams a week before and officially graduated with a 4.2 GPA—thanks to honors classes and a photographic brain.

About halfway through my novel, exhaustion slammed into me, like a linebacker picked me up and threw me into the ground. Setting the book on the couch, I leaned my head back.

Stupid pregnancy symptoms.
The doctor had said the last few weeks were going to be awkward. Wished she would’ve been wrong.

Then my skin flushed, like someone popped me into an oven, and nausea rolled through my gut, into my chest. I threw an arm over my eyes and breathed through my nose. Was this normal? Oh, no—was I going into labor?

No, I couldn’t be. I didn’t feel any pain. It would pass, just like every other time my stomach decided to fondle the reject button.

“You okay over there?” Neil asked from where he sat at his keyboard.

“Yeah. Just a little queasy.” I pushed myself off the couch. Well, more like I rocked back and forth until I gained enough momentum to get up. I waddled through the living room, hoping that, by allowing myself to throw up, the sickness would go away.

But as soon as I stepped into the bathroom, my insides constricted. Like a menstrual cramp on steroids. Gasping, I tipped sideways and leaned against the sink, placing a hand on my belly. A boa constrictor might as well have been circling my midsection, squeezing me until I popped.
Oh, crap.

I stepped out of the hall. Neil’s eyes were closed. He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped over his abs. His pencil was in his mouth, and his foot tapped to whatever beat he heard in his head. When I said his name, my voice shook. Neil’s eyelids popped open, and he did a double-take. Then seeing me holding my stomach, he jumped from his chair.

“Hospital?” he said. When I nodded, he grabbed the bag I’d packed weeks ago. Hand-in-hand, we raced to the truck and to the hospital where I was in labor for fourteen hours. Alyssa and Tom arrived about halfway through, though I refused to let anyone into the room with me except Neil. When I wasn’t walking around, I made him sit close to my head, facing me at all times. Last thing I needed was him scarred for life.

The first eleven hours were easy. Well, eas
ier
. A contraction here. A contraction there. All of them like the ones I’d had in the bathroom. Pain till the point I thought I would faint, then they subsided. Neil left a couple times to use the restroom or grab a candy bar or a cup of coffee, but he was never gone long. And every chance he got, he’d make me laugh. Typical Neil Donaghue fashion.

But the last three hours were excruciating. For an hour and a half, the contractions worsened to the point I clung to the bed’s handlebars, mentally cursing out every nurse who walked in without an epidural. Neil rubbed my back with each contraction, telling me to hang in there, that I was strong, that I could do this. Finally, they gave me the shot, and the pain lessened.

By the time the nurse informed the doctor that I was delivering, I’d been pushing for an hour. My back and neck ached, sweat coated my forehead, and the blood vessels in my face felt seconds from bursting. I wanted to scream to just knock me out and cut me open, but after a few moments to catch my breath, the doctor sat down.

“You’re doing great, Andie. You’re almost there,” she said. “Give me ten more seconds, okay?”

Neil lifted my fingers to his lips the moment I squeezed his hand. I reined in the tears and screamed through my teeth. A few more rounds of exhaustive struggling, then the pressure released, and I fell back, gasping for air.

A second later, Ethan cried.

I couldn’t stop the emotion flowing through me. The love for my son. The terror at never seeing him again. The ache to hold him in my arms. The absolute agony that, starting now, he was no longer mine.

I closed my eyes, wanting to see him but afraid of what it’d do to me, and the howl that broke through me gave me whiplash. Why had I thought I could do this? Why had I thought I could give him away?