Page 95 of Because of Dylan
“Okay, sweetheart, I got your bottle right here.” He takes to it with a strength he didn’t possess a few weeks ago. He’s ready. I know he is.
“You put weight on, didn’t you?” His skin is rosy and healthy. No longer showing the tiny blue-green veins underneath. Jay feels less frail in my arms. He’s a little over two months old now, and finally the size of a newborn child. He finishes the bottle, and I burp him. His hands close into fists and open again.
“Okay, okay, I know what you want.” I settle him on my chest and hum all of his favorite songs while walking around the NICU and swaying back and forth with his little head on my shoulder. His strong heart beats against mine. I push all of my love and hopes for him into his chest through our tenuous connection.
“Becca?” Nancy’s voice reaches me. I don’t have to look at the clock to know my time with Baby Jay is over. I turn. They’re standing just inside the doors. My legs bring me closer to them against my will. Next to Nancy is the hospital social worker and a couple in their thirties. They’re dressed in the same sterile coverings I am. They are here for Baby Jay. The tears I’ve kept at bay this whole time spill. Nancy and the couple join me in the silent crying. The social worker checks her watch. Too used to such displays, and too callous to shed a tear over one more baby. I’ve never liked the woman. She’s strict and unfeeling.
Nancy is the first to recover. “Becca, please meet Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. They’ll be fostering Baby Jay, and—”
The social worker steps closer, an open folder in her hands. “You mean baby John Doe. Naming foundlings is discouraged and—”
Nancy steps in front of the social worker and interrupts whatever she was about to say. Something unpleasant, for sure. “The Reynolds family have also adopted another NAS baby. She’s three years old now and thriving.” This is directed at me. She turns to the couple, her back to the social worker. “Becca, like me, believes all babies are deserving of a name, and she named him Jay.”
Mrs. Reynolds gasps and tears fill her eyes anew. Her husband puts an arm around her, pulls her closer and kisses her head. When he looks at me, his eyes are wet too. “Before we found out we couldn’t get pregnant, we had all our kids' names picked. We wanted four kids.” He wipes the corner of an eye. “Jay was our first pick for a boy name.”
“You see,” the wife speaks, “both our fathers have the middle name Jay, and we always joked that one day we would have a baby boy and name him Jay. We lost our fathers last year, within five months of each other. This is like a sign they are okay, and this baby is meant to be ours.”
The clamp around my lungs eases, and I can breathe a little better. I’ve never been one to put any faith in signs, but this moment seems to have been etched on fate. Baby Jay coos. I kiss his head, inhale his scent one more time and give him to his future mom. “Take good care of him, Mrs. Reynolds. I’m going to miss this little guy.”
She takes him from my arms, and he goes without protest. Perhaps another sign this is meant to be, that he knows he’s in the arms of his mother. “He likes when you sing to him.”
“Nurse Nancy told me all about you. I don’t want this to be a goodbye. We live in town. We would love for you to stop by and visit.”
A sound of irritation comes from behind Nancy. The social worker steps around her. “In cases like this, it’s best to cut all ties with the former caregiver.”
“This is not the case of a parent giving up their rights. Those rules do not apply here,” Nancy speaks up.
“Let’s go, please.” The social worker indicates they should leave. They follow her, but Mr. Reynolds comes back and shakes my hand. He presses something into my palm and whispers so low I can barely hear him, “Nancy warned us about the old hag. Both of our numbers are there. Call us.” I almost snort at his description of the social worker. Clasping the piece of paper he gave me, I cross my arms until they leave. Then, unfold the paper in my hand.
Call us.
802-555-0712
802-555-3849
Steve and Claire Reynolds
I fold the paper and put it in my pocket. I will call. I’ll get to see Baby Jay again. I look up and do something I never did before. I send a thank-you into the universe. To whoever the orchestrator of this day is. A day filled with surprises, and a promise of a tomorrow I never imagined possible.
A promise I’m terrified of believing in.
Chapter Forty-Three
I sitin my car in the hospital parking lot trying to get a hold of my thoughts.
There’s so much going on. This is an emotional roller coaster of a day. I need to talk to someone, hear my thoughts out loud. I know the therapist is not there during the day, but he also said I had to trust someone, and I already have. I can talk to River.
I grab my phone and text her.
Becca: Hey! What you up to?
River: Nothing. Chilling at home alone. Wanna come over?
Becca: Yes. Leaving the hospital now.
River: See you soon.
I’m glad River is home. I’m in knots and meeting her at her apartment will make it easier to talk. No witnesses or random listeners.
