Immaculate (35 page)

“Jesse's song request for our grand entry. Welcome to New York, kid,” he sang out over the lyrics, rolling down his window to let in a blast of frosty winter air.

We pulled out of the fluorescently lit tunnel and into the city streets, the sky pinkish-gray as the first trace of morning sunlight fought to rise above the towering skyline. For the rest of the ride across lower Manhattan, I stared wide-eyed out the window, my nose practically smearing against the glass. I had only been to New York a few times growing up, and always for typically touristy reasons—the Met, a Broadway play, the Statue of Liberty. But now I looked out at it from a new perspective, amazed by how many delis there were, how many coffee shops and pizza places and Chinese takeout restaurants we passed, dozens on every block.

There were people everywhere, but they weren't the Times Square tourists who were still asleep in their hotel rooms, hours away from starting on the day's itinerary. They were New Yorkers,
real
New Yorkers—heads ducked against the early morning cold, walking so briskly and with so much purpose that I could barely catch a glimpse of them as they streamed along the sidewalks.

I found Jesse's hand on the seat next to mine and squeezed it in my palm.

This wasn't anything like Green Hill. This was an entirely different world.

By the time we crossed the bridge into Brooklyn, the fresh orange sun shining along the East River, I knew that I would be okay.

I knew that this could be home.

• • •

I stuck to my plan of having a home birth, though the home itself was very different from the house on Hopewell Lane that I'd pictured. But Jesse's aunt and uncle, Maria and Tony Russo, had made me feel as if I belonged in their homey, well-worn brownstone from the minute I arrived. They cooked all my meals and refused to let me lift a finger toward housework no matter how much I insisted, and they were always adding to the growing collection of diapers and bottles and wipes to prepare for the baby's arrival. So I spent my days instead studying with Jesse under Maria's instruction, determined to get through as much material as possible before the baby arrived. My senior year might have been very different from the one I'd imagined for myself for so long, but I would still have a diploma at the end, and I would still have options, open doors, for my future. I wouldn't be Green Hill High's valedictorian, but I had achieved so much more than just a string of perfect scores.

When my mind couldn't absorb any more equations or theorems or definitions, I busied myself with knitting, another subject Maria was well versed in, and I'd already finished my first pair of nearly identifiable baby socks. Knitting kept me sane, distracted me from thoughts of the world beyond our brownstone. The television news was rarely on, and I used the Internet strictly for studying—no Virgin Mina site updates, no social media—but from the bits and scraps that I did see, I could tell that I was no longer a major story. The anchors had moved on—all hoping to wipe away any unpleasant reminders of their guilt as quickly as possible.

But not everyone was forgetting and forgiving themselves so quickly. According to my parents, the town of Green Hill in particular was attempting to absolve itself with an onslaught of casseroles and flower displays and fruit baskets. Sympathy cards were flooding our mailbox from across the globe, more and more each day—so many that the post office was making a separate trip to our house every afternoon with an overfilled sack of paper apologies. Someday maybe I would open them. But I wasn't ready for any pardons. Not yet. Not until my baby was safely, finally in my arms.

I felt the first contractions two weeks after the day we arrived, a week before my official due date. Dr. Keller and my parents and Gracie were all packed in the van and on the road within minutes of my call, and were somehow, miraculously, knocking on the door almost a half hour before we expected them.

My mom and Dr. Keller never left my side during the next fourteen hours of painkiller-free labor, rubbing cool cloths along my forehead, counting my breaths, letting me claw against their arms as I did my best not to scream, terrified that neighbors would alert the cops if they heard.

I felt as if I were being pulled apart, inside out, and in my most delusional flashes of pain, I was tormented with the fear that this was to be my ultimate punishment—that I was becoming unmade and undone, nothing more than a heap of broken, bloody pieces. But in the darkest moments, I imagined Iris's voice in my ear—or was she really there somehow, inside my head?—whispering encouragement, telling me that I'd be fine, that it would all be over soon.

Just when I thought that I couldn't take a second more, that my body and mind couldn't possibly go through any more torture, I heard the cry. A long, earsplitting wail that was without a doubt the most beautiful noise I'd ever experienced. I pushed again with Dr. Keller's command, harder, pulling together every last bit of energy I could find.

And then I felt the baby,
my baby
, slip out of me. I heard Dr. Keller and my mom shrieking and crying with joy, and I watched from the corner of my tired, tired eyes as they cleaned a tiny face, a tiny body.

And then there the baby was—there
she
was, my little girl—so pink and wrinkly and perfect, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket and resting in my arms.

• • •

I had just said my weepy, grateful good-byes to Dr. Keller and my family, all of whom had spent the last two days since the baby was born alternatingly cooing, crying—happy, relieved, amazed tears—and waiting on both of us hand and foot. My parents had promised to visit again as soon as possible, hopefully with Hannah and Izzy the next time, but it still hurt to let them go. It was only now sinking in that I wouldn't be going back home with them.

I would never be going back home.

After they'd driven away, I shut myself up in my room, just me and my baby. It was the first time we'd been alone together, no grandparent or aunt or doting doctor hovering at our side. I was propped up in my bed, staring down at her precious face—staring, though I had certainly memorized every piece of her by now, every last wrinkle and freckle and adorable fluff of dark brown hair. I saw myself there, but I saw details that I couldn't identify, too, like a canvas that I'd started painting, but someone else had finished. She had my full lips and my round nose, and my wide eyes, eyes that were already bursting with curiosity and intelligence. But where my eyes were blue, hers were green. A piercing, emerald green, a green that you couldn't look away from once they'd caught you in their grip.

A green that I could never, would never forget.

She was mesmerizing, my still unnamed gorgeous baby girl—unnamed because nothing seemed right enough, perfect enough to capture everything that she was and everything that she could be. I was waiting for some sign, some bright flash of inspiration. I was also waiting for Iris to come back, though I had the sinking feeling that I wouldn't see her again for a while. Not until I really needed her.

The time will come,
she'd said.
You'll know when it does.

The words still gave me chills.

But I wanted more than that. I wanted to know what I was up against.

I wanted to know if my little girl would be obviously, glaringly
special
, and not just special in the way that most parents probably saw their own child. Would she be
too
different from other kids? Would other people see it, feel it somehow, a shimmer, a prickle, without understanding what it could possibly mean? Who she could possibly
be
? I hoped not, for her sake. I hoped not, with a dread and a conviction that I'd never felt before I'd held her in my arms. I wanted her to fit in, to be like every other kid. I wanted her to blend in with the rest of the world. Because what would happen to her if the truth came out? If people had fixated so fiercely on me—so much hate from some, so much adoration from others—I couldn't help but think it would be even worse for her. Much worse.

But—and this thought scraped at me, gnawed and bit and tugged no matter how hard I tried to keep it shackled down—why would she be here
at all
if her life would be a secret? There was a reason for this. Iris had made that much clear. And I doubted that the reason involved her living an ordinary, invisible kind of life.

I still hadn't told Jesse about that final moment with Iris, or about the leaf, which was now safely pressed between the pages of
Anne of Green Gables
, stowed in my purse for the journey to Brooklyn. There'd been too much else to think about since, but I would. I would tell him everything. I needed him to know, needed him to process, analyze, and hypothesize alongside of me. But we had time, surely? Time before my baby needed to be anything but a baby?

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I took a deep breath, sweeping all the worries and unanswered questions back into their dark corner. My fingers trailed along the charm bracelet on my wrist, the birthday present from Gracie that I never took off, and I willed myself to remember that they were still there—that they were always still there, just a call or a two-hour drive away.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Jesse peeked in before stepping into the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of delicious-smelling chocolate chip cookies.

“I know you probably wanted to just be alone right now, but Maria baked these fresh for you,” he said, a nervous smile on his lips. “She thought it would be the best cure for homesickness.”

“She's so amazing,” I said, patting the crumpled sheets on the bed next to me. He put the tray down on the nightstand and settled in beside me, reaching out to stroke the baby's dark and feathery hair. “And so are you.” My cheeks flamed, but I kept going. “You're beyond amazing, really. I still can't believe everything you're sacrificing for me. I think I could spend the rest of my life thanking you and it still wouldn't be anywhere close to enough.”

“There was no other choice, Mina,” he said, his voice steady, so matter-of-fact as he turned his face to look me in the eyes. “You need a safe place for you and the baby. And I . . . well, I need you. I wasn't going to let you run away from me, too. Not a chance.”

He reached out, his hand soft and gentle as he found my fingers and laced his around mine.

“It's not going to be easy,” I said, though it was difficult to think properly with the sensation of his thumb rubbing circles on my palm. “It might never be easy.”

Jesse leaned in closer, and I shut my eyes as his lips met mine. It was a very different kiss from that first eager, thrilling touch on my birthday or the desperate, pleading demand of New Year's Eve. This kiss was slow and sweet and steady. There was no rush, no urgency, because this kiss was a beginning. A promise.

After a few minutes we broke apart.

“I told you that night at Frankie's, out on the stoop. I want a little crazy in my life. Remember? And besides that, I made a promise to Iris . . .” He paused, his eyes burning into mine. “I saw her, Mina. At the protest. Only for a second or so, right when you went down. Maybe I imagined it, but she looked so real. So completely real. It's crazy, but I felt like she was looking out for you.”

“It's not crazy,” I said, feeling instantly lighter and more hopeful than I had in a very long time. “Not crazy at all.”

I could tell that he wanted to ask more, but he didn't know where to start. “Iris . . .” He said, shaking his head.

“Iris,” I repeated, the name a delicate, warming hum on my lips. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

I smiled, raising my baby up to look straight into her perfect green eyes.

“Iris?” I looked at her and I knew. “Yes.
Iris
.”

• • •

This is the end, but this is also the beginning.

This is the story that I'll wait to tell you until life—inevitably, I suspect—forces the truth to the surface. A secret that I hope to keep buried until you are old enough to ask and understand your own questions. Old enough to know that life is not always what you expect, that reality is not always as neat and orderly as it may seem—and that there aren't always answers, as much as we want them, as hard as we may try to seek them out.

This is the story of how you came to be, of falling in love, of starting down new paths.

This is the story of a miracle.

Acknowledgments

Even before I
worked in publishing, I would always start a book by flipping through to the last page—not to take a peek at the ending (never!), but to read the acknowledgments first. I was curious about whom an author would thank, and how they would do so. Because a book is never born from just one person. It is shaped by so many hands—before, while, after the actual writing takes place. And now, better than ever, I appreciate just how true that really is. I am
incredibly
blessed to be surrounded by so much love, so much inspiration, and so much talent every single day of my life.

Jill Grinberg—my agent, my boss, my guide, my friend. I am eternally grateful that my path brought me to you and to JGLM. Thank you for believing in me as a writer and as an agent—and for always encouraging me to be both. Signing with you and your brilliant arsenal of authors was the day I first considered myself to be a
writer
.

Cheryl Pientka—my cheerleader from day one, there's no one else I'd rather have championing my baby all around the globe. Thank you for the endless pep talks and the endless insights. I am so glad that you're always just a shout across the office away.

Leila Sales—I feel tremendously lucky to have not just an exceptionally talented editor at my side, but an exceptionally talented writer to boot. You have a way of talking to the voices inside my head and making much more sense of them than I ever could. Thank you for being my Book Whisperer, and for making
Immaculate
everything that it is today. So glad we got that coffee.

To the entire Viking team—I am honored to be a part of your list. Thank you to each and every one of you for working your special magic. I know how much time and energy and passion goes into every single book, and I respect and value your efforts beyond measure.

Leslie York and Sarah Barley, my publishing wing girls—your wise words and your cheers from the sidelines helped transform a questionable rough draft into a living, breathing, viable creation. I will always be supremely grateful for your role in crafting Mina's story.

Thank you to my OB/GYN experts, Dr. Anne d'Avenas and Dr. Molly McStravick, for making sure that I kept as much fact in the fiction as possible.

Thank you to the authors whom I'm lucky enough to work with firsthand—you motivate me every day to be a better writer.

Thank you to the amazing teachers along the way who convinced me that making a career out of reading and writing wasn't just a silly pipe dream, and that I only had to keep reaching. Mr. Leskusky, Mr. Quatrani, Mr. McCaig—you made all the difference.

Thank you to Laura, Ashleigh, and Therese, my beautiful roommates who read and reread and let me hole away on Friday nights and sunny Saturdays. Thank you for keeping me sane—for being my home and my family in this crazy, magical city.

So many, many thanks to my childhood muses, my Hannahs and my Izzies, my lifelines who will always tie my heart back to Hoppenville. Melissa, Sarah and Amy, Kathy, Jenny, Betty, Christine Ellen, Mindy. You are part of my forever story. And thank you as well to the rest of my amazing early readers—Rob, Prinky, Rachel, Katie, Charlie. You are all the best friends and the best fans a girl could ask for.

Thank you to my family—the full clan of Detweilers and Noels—for encouraging my nuttiness over the years, and for always making me feel loved and supported (even during the more obnoxious phases). You are the ground beneath my feet.

Thank you to my dearest big brother Peter—I may have scrapped Mina's brother from the story, but you are still here, on every single page. You are the co-author of my childhood. And Lauren—I feel lucky every day that life handed me a sister like you. (Your vast and inimitable expertise of YA is just a bonus, of course.)

Dad and Mom—it's impossible to adequately express my appreciation when it comes to you two. There is such a never-ending flow of gratitude for the hope, reason, and inspiration you gift me with each and every day. Thank you, Denny, for always reminding me that it's not what happens to us in life, but how we deal with what happens. Because this book is all about “dealing” with a quite unexpected happening, and how someone—how Mina—becomes better and braver because of that ultimate test of character. And Carebear, thank you for that moment all of those years ago, when I turned to you in the old van and asked yet another of my many obnoxious hypothetical questions to fill the time:
Would you believe me if I said I was a pregnant virgin?
You looked at me and smiled—and then you said
yes
. Your answer made me realize that this story was possible, that there is so much trust and hope and faith in this world, if we could only just keep our hearts and minds open wide.

Thank you, lastly, to all of the readers. To everyone who gives this story a chance, who pushes themselves to wonder—and maybe even believe—outside of the black and white lines. Thank you to those who dare to venture into the gray.

Thank you, because truly, you are
my
miracle.