Authors: Kerry Reichs
Then he rose and brushed off his knees. He wiped his face and cleaned his glasses with a crisp white handkerchief. He straightened his shirt and tweed jacket. He looked up at the stars again, so, so many against an inky sky. It seemed impossible that just one could be enough, but he knew it could. And he went back inside the hospital to take care of his daughter.
I
banged on the bathroom door as I passed.
“Hurry up, or we’ll be late.”
Thank god there were two bathrooms or I’d have peed in the yard. The twins loved pushing on my pillowy bladder.
Back in the kitchen, I was putting a bottle of champagne, a bottle of sparkling cider (for me), my quiche, and some of my mother’s lingonberry dumplings into a basket when Julian walked in.
“How can a bald man spend so much time in the powder room?” I asked.
“Staying that way.” He rubbed his freshly shaved scalp. He reached to snag a
piragi
and I smacked his hand.
“You’re not in my
mamu
’s house.” My mother could not have loved Julian more if he was Latvian. The fawning was ridiculous. “Are you ready?”
“You say that as if you haven’t been dithering for an hour.”
“Nothing fits. I hate it when things don’t fit right.” The twins had popped early. I was lucky there’d been no delays filming
Margot’s Chair
. Another two weeks and I’d have spent every shot
behind
the chair.
“Where are we going?” He hefted the basket off the counter.
“To brunch with Eva.”
“You two are as thick as thieves.”
“I like her.”
“I don’t,” he grunted.
I laughed. “You can’t blame Eva for having to work with Daisy. You picked her, over some fine competition too.”
“Yes, I can too blame Eva.” He scowled. “It was Daisy or never pee in private again.”
Daisy was a source of delight for me, and a sore subject for Julian. He was miserable working with her on
Cora
. I brought her up whenever I could. Love didn’t make you pure.
“If we’re going to brunch, why are we bringing the food?”
“We’re going to her cousin’s house. He has a three-month-old little girl, and we’re celebrating her homecoming from the hospital.”
“Is she sick?” Julian was concerned. “We don’t want you to catch anything.” Julian had taken to using “we,” referring to himself and the twins. It was cute, but it made it three against one.
“She’s fine. She was a preemie and had to stay in the NICU for a bit.”
“Where’s the mother?”
“She was the woman from the Prop 11 thing, Maryn Windsor. She died.”
Julian stopped walking. He laid a hand on my belly and looked into my eyes. “I couldn’t bear it,” he said.
I pressed a hand to his cheek before we continued walking to the car. I always paused for the moments now.
We arrived at a neat bungalow in western Santa Monica.
“It’s so homey,” I said to Julian as Eva let us in, all smiles.
“God, look at you!” She gave me a squeeze. “Soon I won’t be able to reach around you.”
“Let’s hope your arms stop shrinking.”
“What’s that?” demanded Julian.
A tiny thing with enormous eyes was scampering around Eva’s feet.
“That’s Chuck,” Eva said. “This is Sawyer.” She introduced a tall, shaggy man. He lived up to his hype. I could see why Eva was hooked.
“And this is my cousin Wyatt.” She introduced a steady man with a gentle smile and bags under his eyes. He was holding a pink bundle.
“I’m looking at my future and it looks worn out,” I said.
“Worth every exhausting moment.” Wyatt shook my hand. To Julian he said, “We’ve met.”
“I called you for information about discipline in public schools for
Remedial
Learning,
” Julian remembered. “You were incredibly forthcoming. I’m in awe of your job.”
“I’m in awe of twins.” Wyatt laughed.
“I’m in awe of how small this town is,” said Eva.
“Like a giant braid,” I said. “I knew Maryn, briefly. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt said. “She told me what you did. I think she’d be tickled that we’ve become acquainted.”
“And this little urchin is Joy.” Eva touched the bundle. “Joy, meet your future playgroup.” She gestured at my belly. A tiny gnome peeked from the blankets, wide eyes dark, a tuft of red hair sticking up like Cindy Lou Who. We all cooed.
“Are those tears?” asked Eva.
“Hormones.” I wiped my eyes.
“I think she was asking Julian.” Sawyer was laughing.
Julian wiped his eyes too. “Thanks a lot, man.”
“We’re all girlie men here,” Wyatt said cheerfully. “I have an apron. Now, let’s eat. I made a breakfast cobbler in the Crock-Pot and I don’t want it to get dry.”
“Who’s got two thumbs and is starving?” Sawyer asked. “This guy!”
“Is this everyone?” Eva asked Wyatt.
“Linda might come later.” The man blushed. “But she said not to wait.”
“Let’s eat!” Eva led the way to an overladen table.
“What are you working on now, Julian?” Wyatt asked as we passed plates.
Julian frowned, and Eva giggled. “It’s not funny,” he said.
“No take backs,” she said.
“Defeating Proposition 11 was easier than getting Daisy to focus.” Julian groaned.
“All that drama, and Prop 11 limped off with but a whimper,” Wyatt mused. “Once the media stopped, it shriveled up and went away.”
“Are you suggesting it wasn’t vanquished by one worthy PSA?” Julian said.
“He’s catering to your obvious modesty,” I said.
“I’m glad the election’s over. The commercials were driving me crazy. How could there be so many, with only one candidate?” Sawyer said.
“I think she’ll do a good job,” I said. “I feel like she means what she says. With kids coming, I suddenly care about local politics.”
“When are you due?” Wyatt asked.
“It’s ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes. “April first.”
“I try not to think about it too hard,” Julian said.
“Chuck Norris’s calendar goes from March thirty-first to April second,” said Eva. “No one fools Chuck Norris.”
“Do you know what you’re having?” Sawyer asked.
“A boy and a girl.”
“A best friend and a boyfriend for Joy!” Eva clapped. “We can take the girls shopping!”
“Run,” Wyatt warned Julian.
He took my hand. “I’m stuck to this one.”
“Have you got names picked out?” Sawyer asked.
“Yes.” “No.” Julian and I spoke in unison. I shook my head at Eva behind his back. There was no way I was naming my son Keaton or Capra or whatever. I might compromise on Nora. Lady director names were better.
“Some days Daddy’s winning, some days he isn’t.” Julian grimaced at Sawyer. It was remarkable how seamlessly Julian had become the father. Even I forgot the twins weren’t his. Weren’t
biologically
his, I corrected myself. Only a few confidants knew the truth. We’d decided to name Julian as the father and be done with it.
“We’re going to Thailand for a month.” Eva looked at Sawyer. “We made a pact to take off four consecutive weeks every year, and enjoy our retirement in chunks while we’re still young enough to appreciate it. We’re kicking off with Thailand in the spring.”
“I’m enrolling her in massage school.” Sawyer winked.
“You loved Thailand, didn’t you, crumpet?” Julian turned to me.
“Mmm.” No need to go into details.
“You must go to the Elephant Nature Park north of Chiang Mai,” Julian urged. “I want to take the kids when they’re old enough.”
“In his mind ‘born’ is old enough,” I teased.
“Born is something,” Wyatt spoke, gaze on Joy.
“A toast,” Eva said. “To babies and bucket lists! To Joy, Chuck, Thing 1 and Thing 2, and Thailand!”
“Hear, hear!” We clinked glasses, and Chuck twirled in circles, tiny tongue flopping.
“To family,” Wyatt said quietly, “whatever it may look like.”
“I think it looks a lot like this,” Julian said, sliding an arm around my back. It fit just right.
T
his book would not exist without many families. A million thanks to my publishing family: my incomparable agents, Dorian Karchmar, Cathryn Summerhayes, Lauren Whitney, Anna DeRoy, and Tracy Fisher; and my stellar team at William Morrow, Carrie Feron, Liate Stehlik, and Tessa Woodward. Luminaries one and all.
A writer needs a family of readers, and no book of mine would be possible without Ted Robertson and Alastair Sadler. (Welcome to the world, Finn and Matilda!)
Single Mothers by Choice introduced me to a clan of remarkable women who struggle a little harder to have the family they want. I salute all single and nontraditional parents. I hope this book can in some small way break down the misperception that there is one “best” form of family.
I rely on the shared experience of my family of friends. Amanda Clark and Althea Lean gave birth to parts of this novel while hiking along the Great Wall of China. Jessica Gibson shared a different perspective. Monique Moore shared Charlie the adorable chin-wa. I learned from Dan Savage’s excellent
The Kid
. I suffered for my art at the Trapeze School of New York. My team of “experts” responded to regular requests for input: Veronique, Kirsten, Emma, Page, Kristen, Karina, Kathy, Christina, Trish, Caren, Andrea, Cass, Jen, Ruth, Jane, Lisa, Wendi, Lori, Lesley, Gabi, Britlin, Missy, Hillary, Sabina, Sabrina, Stacey, Tasha, Leslie, Michael, Monique, Sharon, Sara, Jamie, Janelle, Kimberly, Hiwa, Tricia, Tammi, Amy, Heather, Julia, Ann, Leigh, Mina, Christelle, Sandra, among others.
I’m grateful to my “extended family” for helping a single mom get it all done: Ines Rodas, Rebecca Fry, Kathryn Chinnock, Anil Zenginoglu, the Milhollin family, Matt Gavin and Holidae Hayes, Martha Whitley, Lisa Hopson, the Meridian Hill Coop, and All Souls Church of DC. Katie Worthman is the glue that holds it all together.
Last but not least, I thank my actual family. My parents, Kathy and Paul, are supportive beyond measure. Courtney, Brooks, Brendan, Emily, and Henry surround me with love, as does my boisterous extended clan in Chicago and Texas. Most of all, I’m grateful for my son, Declan, who is, simply, everything.
Meet Kerry Reichs
K
ERRY
R
EICHS
, a graduate of Duke University School of Law and Stanford Institute of Public Policy, practiced law in Washington, D.C. She is the author of
The Best Day of Someone Else’s Life
and
Leaving Unknown
.
Visit
www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Q&A with the Author
What inspired you to write
What You Wish For?
I heard a story once about a man who was forty before he stopped being furious about losing his father in his youth. He explained that while he’d never say his father’s death was a good thing, he’d had many opportunities and relationships that he would not otherwise have had. Still, he failed to appreciate them, always mourning the family he didn’t have. He regretted wasting years in therapy and wished he’d embraced his own life.
As a single mother, I believe we do a disservice to our children by suggesting that there is an “ideal” family. Most families no longer equate to a male-female heterosexual couple having children without medical assistance. People adopt. People rely on IVF, donor eggs, and surrogates. Single parents are raising children. Same-sex couples are raising children. Biracial couples are raising children. The modern family has become an American melting pot. I hope that through my characters’ stories, I can help shake loose some of the rigid judgments about what makes a family healthy. The less time kids spend mourning the phantom family, or the “real parents” they don’t have, the more they can thrive in environments that may be as nurturing and loving as they are unconventional.
My characters are all alike. Each feels deviant in some way, unnatural. Yet they are unified in their certainty about family. It is only society that inflicts self-doubt. I hope that as my son grows, these strictures are loosened, and “different” families such as ours will be accepted as part of the norm.
Which character do you relate to the most?
The expected answer is Dimple, since I wrestled with the same difficult decision to become a single mother by choice. But in reality, it’s Wyatt. I became pregnant while writing this book, and my locus shifted from the threat of childlessness hanging over Dimple to the anxiety Wyatt felt facing down single parenthood. His experience in Target was my experience. I agonized over my registry, convinced that if I selected the wrong bottle my child would never go to college and it would be my fault. I had to work hard to do justice to the starkness of Dimple’s fear from the smugness of pregnancy. There were fears, of course, as every mother knows, but nothing like the urgent dread of being near forty and childless. It was important for me to get Dimple’s feelings right, because there are legions of women out there who have otherwise completely fulfilling lives but for the pressure of their biological clocks. What was most relatable about Dimple was the fact that other than not having children, she was successful and content.
How did you come up with the idea for Proposition 11?
I’m inspired by real-life stories, but I don’t draw from the front-page headlines. I draw from the stories buried on page eight. I’m fascinated by what will
become
the front-page headlines. I started writing
What You Wish For
in 2009, after reading an article about a London cancer survivor suing her ex-boyfriend for the right to use their frozen embryos. The woman lost her challenge and the story faded, but I didn’t stop thinking about it.
As a lawyer, I’m fascinated by issues of medical-legal ethics. I started researching the legal status of embryos, particularly in utero adoptions, the right to use or destroy contested embryos, and the legal status of the embryo itself. What I discovered was a murky grey. Simultaneously, the Proposition 8 controversy had just ripped California in two, so I started wondering how people would make highly personal decisions about fertility under the umbrella of a similarly controversial proposition that awarded rights to embryos.
My musings were prescient, it seems. When I started writing this book, only Georgia had made page eight with an initiative such as the one I imagined. As of this writing, multiple states have hotly contested “personhood” ballot initiatives that would grant embryos the full rights of humans from the moment of conception. This type of legislation is part of the national conversation of the presidential election.
My interest goes beyond the law. As a person, I’m inspired by human behavior. I couldn’t stop wondering what motivated the London woman’s ex-boyfriend, and marveling how most often the ones we love have the capacity to hurt us the most. There are novels and novels to be written there, and this one just scratches the surface.
What was the most difficult part of writing this book?
Trapeze school! I took trapeze lessons to be able to write accurately about the experience. Let me tell you, it was not as fun as driving across country to research my last book,
Leaving Unknown
! I was not playing around when I described the crushing tightness of the safety harness or the futility of trying to fight gravity. I do remain convinced that for some people it is actually impossible to do those moves. I do
not
have a natural aptitude for trapeze. Stand-up comedy, on the other hand . . .
A multiple-person point of view was a departure for you. How was it different?
I often listen to music when I write, and with
What You Wish For
my soundtrack was eclectic because each character’s playlist was so different. Dimple listens to Jeff Buckley, Adele, Regina Spektor, Cathy Davey, Turin Brakes, Vampire Weekend, Maroon 5, Kings of Leon, and Carrie Underwood. Wyatt likes Belle and Sebastian, Nanci Griffith, Dr. Hook, Tom Waits, the Decembrists, and Lady Antebellum. Eva’s into the National, They Promised Us Jetpacks, Arcade Fire, New Pornographers, Neutral Milk Hotel, Snow Patrol, and Pink. And Maryn liked the Sundays, Chris Isaak, Nina Simone, Tegan and Sara, the Shins, Nick Drake, Amy Winehouse, and Paula Cole. Andy just listens to whatever Summer has on.
The diversity in music was one of many things I liked about the multiple-person point of view. I enjoyed the characters being occasionally unlikeable and flawed from their own eyes. It allowed me to tackle a diverse range of highly personal stories. It was a departure from my first-person point of view in
The Best Day of Someone Else’s Life
and
Leaving Unknown
. I’m not sure what I’ll do next.
How does being a mom affect you as a writer?
Dimple had it right when she described being “too busy looking for a lost tennis shoe while the dog needs a walk, and I’ve got pages to memorize but I’m going on a picnic instead.” I have three professions: writer, mother, house administrator. The only way to make it work is not to strive for perfection. I focus on the big stuff, recognizing that something will have to slide. When my son comes in for a hug or to bang on my computer keys, I stop and enjoy the moment. On a sunny day, we might walk to the zoo. Then it’s a late night writing for mom to recoup the time. The focus isn’t as laser, and I have to backspace over lots of zxxksflsdjkghls;dnv/fbgkl sg^nwklFH‘qrgj from my “helper,” but when I consider that I grew a human brain from scratch in nine months, I figure the novel will come, even with interruptions.
Considering Dimple had twins, it’s hard to imagine how she won a Best Supporting Actress Academy Award for
The Hammock
while Beatrice and Milo were in their terrible twos. She had Julian, I guess. I have effective baby gates. The only flaw is the operator, who continually opens them whenever she hears “mama”! Wyatt made the smart decision when Joy was five to turn down a run for School Board President, despite the hard press from Channel 9 KCAL news anchor and City Council President Summer Knox (a very persuasive politician). He would have missed the day-to-day interaction with his students, and he would have missed too many of Joy’s riding classes for administrative meetings. Joy is becoming an impressive junior horsewoman—winning her first competition at age six. She can’t wait to be big enough to compete in eventing, and Wyatt doesn’t want to miss a thing.
Does being a mother make me a less successful professional? Sure it does. But it’s a trade I’ll take. You can’t really have it all, where you succeed perfectly in every category, but you can have more than enough.
What piece of advice would you give your readers?
I think an excerpt of Maryn’s letter to Joy sums it up beautifully:
I had a second chance to do everything I wanted, but that is rare. Never wait to be asked twice to dance. Dance. Laugh often. Be noisy. Hug your father. Do something every day that doesn’t make rational sense. Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts. Love freely, and love those who don’t deserve it. Do a selfless thing each day. Every day won’t be the best day in your life, but that’s okay. If someone were to tell you the world would end tomorrow, plant a tree. Most of all, don’t be afraid of risk. If you open yourself to opportunities, fortuities will land on your shoulder like birds. The only thing that holds you back in life is yourself. I give you permission. Go for it.