When I Ran Away by Ilona Bannister (best books to read now .TXT) 📗

be upsetting for you. I would be devastated.” The ladies nod in sympathetic agreement.

Fiona says, gently holding my elbow, “You know, there’s something to be said about persevering. You can still do it if you want to. I had some trouble with Sophie. The latching on was a disaster in the beginning but we hired a lactation consultant and it made such a difference. I could give you the number.”

“Hey, guys, why don’t you let her speak. You’re all on top of her,” Tracy says. She’s right. Sukie touching my knee. Fiona at my elbow, smiling supportively. Georgina staring at me, head tilted in concern. Becky turned toward me, attentively, even while she’s feeding her baby. They’re concerned, yes, but they’re also proud of themselves, taking credit for something they don’t know was never in their control. They think it was them—their strength, presence of mind, birth preparation, their life-sustaining breasts—that got them here. They don’t know that birth and life and death are just chance. Who gets what has nothing to do with us.

Rocky stirs. In his sleep he raises a tiny fist in the air and stretches and yawns. His hand lands under his little chin and his head tilts to the side, dreaming. I look up at the well-meaning women around me. I didn’t choose this. No one would choose this. Unless the choice was life or death, which it was. I survived and so did he. So I think that’s a win, Becky, not a loss. I’m not devastated about the breastfeeding, Georgina. I’m devastated that I don’t love this baby as much as I loved Johnny and Frankie and I don’t know why. The last thing, Fiona, that I need is another consultant or midwife or doctor to touch me and confirm that I’m inadequate, my motherly resources insufficient.

I could say all of that. I could give them the details and horrify them with my birth story. I could tell it in such a way that they would understand that I endured more than anyone. I could shatter their illusions that they earned anything. But they’re just women, doing what women do—seeking validation. Getting it by comparing themselves to other women. Supporting the ones they know are struggling but secretly satisfied that they are not.

I decide, instead, to let it go. Let me be the one who’s done everything wrong. The one they can think of when they’re scared and insecure so they can say to themselves, “Well, at least I know I’m better at this than her.” I can be that one that helps them get through the day because no matter how hard things get, at least they’re not fat, broken, bottle-feeding Gigi.

I break the silence. “Thanks, ladies, but I’m OK. I’ve done this before, remember, with Johnny, and anyway, I’ve got to go pick him up. Thanks for the tea, Sukie. Sorry, I’ve got to run.” I get up carefully with Rocky and gather my stuff.

I put my phone down on the coffee table while I pack the baby bag and Sukie, Georgina and Fiona see the Oprah screen saver on my phone. I like to keep Oprah close to me for strength. It’s a picture of her from the eighties that a non-American might not recognize at first glance. The Oprah I watched every day after school.

Fiona asks, “Who’s that?” which really means, Why do you have a picture of a Black woman on your phone instead of your newborn baby?

“Oh—” I think for a second. “That’s my mother,” I say and pick the phone up before they can look again. I see them stop and quickly scan the afternoon’s conversation to make sure they didn’t say anything racist now that they think my mother’s Black and that I might be too, or at least biracial. Georgina shifts in her seat and I can tell she’s remembering that thing she said earlier about how Filipinos make great nannies, as do Poles, but one must be careful about the “others.” I can see Fiona’s face change, an internal cringe when she remembers what she said about the “extraordinarily imbalanced make-up” of the state high school by her house. Becky scans my face to look for signs of Blackness. There’s an uncomfortable ripple through Sukie’s Tea Nook.

I didn’t say I’d let everything go.

Tracy gathers her stuff too and says, “I must be getting off as well.” Then she turns to me and whispers, “It’s too early for Johnny to get out of school, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” I look up for a moment and meet her eye.

“Do you want to come to mine then? I’ve got cake. Apparently, that’s what keeps this lot so skinny.” She wants to be my friend.

“That’s real nice of you but I should be going, go to the supermarket to get dinner before I go to pickup.” I settle Rocky in his stroller and stuff a muslin in my bag when Tracy takes my hand.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Too soon to joke about it, yeah? Did you have a really bad time? I see you’re not that same girl who used to vomit in our classes and then make us all laugh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made all those jokes, it’s just my way, trying to make light of it all.”

She gets that something happened to me on the sofa. Maybe I can try. “Yeah, I guess, I mean, it was pretty bad, I’m still trying to—” But her phone rings and cuts me off. I push the words back down.

“Yes, I’ll be right there, sorry, I’m so sorry,” Tracy says into the phone. She turns to me. “I’m so shit, he’s got his jabs today, I forgot, another time, eh? I need to run down to the clinic now, shit.”

“It’s OK, don’t worry about it, you’d better rush,” I say.

“We’ll talk another time, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.” I turn away, but she steps in front of my stroller to catch my eye and says, “No, really, promise?”

Whether we do