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A Better Mother

Emma Murray

    Her hand slides across her rotund belly as she examines the yellow terry cloth onesie. An absentminded smile graces her lips as her eyes lazily search the rest of the rack for anything of interest. Her long fingers constantly tap the top of her stomach, a habit of hers I’ve picked up on, and, as she turns away from me, I feel like yelling at her, “How would you feel if someone was always tapping on the roof of your home, not letting you sleep? Doesn’t he kick in protest? Don’t you want him to sleep peacefully?” But I restrain myself.
    Deep calming breaths, there you go. No need to blow your top at her. She’s just a young mother, definitely first timer. Without thinking, my hand grasps my own protruding belly and I let the anger flow down me, through my feet into the floor. There we go.
    She still hasn’t noticed that I’m watching her, oblivious little thing that she is. That’s alright, I’ll help her. She might not know it yet, but I’m just the woman she needs in her life. Meandering through the clothing racks and daintily composed displays, I follow her and wait for the inevitable doubt. That nagging feeling all first time mothers feel deep down in their gut, questioning every choice from the mundane to the absolutely stupid. A sincere moment of weakness. Will this rattle be entertaining enough for my infant? Give me a break. I smirk down at my stomach and remember when I was just like her, all those years ago.
    There it is. There’s the look. A twinge of guilt mixed with a barely discernible dampening to the eyes, not enough to push even one tear through, but I see it. Her shopping cart swivels to the side and she stops. Looking at the car seat, fingering the price tag, and I see the look wash over her face. That’s when I make my move.
    “Hey, good choice! That’s an excellent car seat. I had one just like it with my last one,” I say, calculating my voice to be simultaneously both affable and authoritative. Predictably, her head snaps up and her eyes widen to take me in, a protective hand darting to her belly. The defensive pose lasts only a second before she registers me as another one of her kind: with child, safe, perhaps a little lonely. She laughs in a tinny, relieved way and her eyes wrinkle in a wide smile.
    “Oh, you surprised me there!” she says, another laugh followed by a quick sigh. “Yeah, this one looks really good, but it’s a bit pricey for me, unfortunately.” Again, the tap, tap, tapping of fingers across her belly and I can’t help myself, sneering as I glance down to her stomach and then back to her face before I quickly dispel it. She catches on and stills her hand nervously. Come on now, not too aggressive, I warn myself, darting a smile at her as sharp as an arrow.
    “It’s well worth the price. I’m telling you, the way it can detach and then plug right into the matching stroller, is a lifesaver,” I say, reaching out and touching her arm with the lightest touch I can muster. I can feel her skin burning hot even through the thin cardigan. She looks to my hand and then to my face and doesn’t pull away. She feels she can trust me. I’ve succeeded.
    “If I could afford it, I’d certainly get it.” I see her glance guiltily at the unnecessary items in her cart: a couple outfits, a black and white mobile, a few pacifiers. “Maybe I’ll put it on my registry.” She laughs an easy laugh. “Can you believe I haven’t had my shower yet? Guess they’re waiting till the last minute.” Her fingers tap across her belly again. I try my best to ignore it.
    “Yeah, they haven’t thrown me one either. I guess they don’t do much for a second one,” I say with a warm smile. “If you don’t mind my asking, how many weeks are you? Looks like you’re heading into the home stretch.”
    “Oh yeah, almost there. Just hit 37 weeks yesterday. How about you?”
    “I’m right behind you at 35 weeks. Getting close. I bet you’re ready for the torture of all this to be over, right?” I laugh and pat my stomach, but gently, not like her sharp tapping claws. Maybe she’ll learn by example.
    “I mean, it’s not easy but I wouldn’t call it torture. That’s a bit extreme,” she says with a light, fake laugh, and takes a half step back. I feel my forehead start to furrow but I force my face back into the smooth, jovial, friendly stranger I need her to see. I want to slap myself for my foolish word choice. She crosses her arms as I take my own half step forward.
    “You’re right, I wouldn’t call it torture either. Just wait till you get to number two though. Honey, it is so much harder the second time around, especially if you’re a bit older like me.” I take the risk and reach out, touching her shoulder. Her eyes lock with mine and I feel her soften again.
    “I’m sure. How old is your other little one?” Her arms uncross and relax at her sides.
    “Gabrielle is seven, oh my gosh, no, almost eight! So it’s been a while since I’ve had to go through all this. I remembered it being easier,” I laugh again heartily and she joins me just a little. “They grow up so fast. I’m Audrey by the way.”
    I reach out my hand and she obliges, making sure I shake it firmly, and holding onto it just a little longer than normal, forcing her to continue the social story.
    “I’m Katie. Well, I guess I should be going. Most of this stuff’s a little out of my price range anyway.”
    Politely she smiles and moves toward her cart, but I reach out and stop her, nice and gentle on the arm like before. “You know, I’ve actually been thinking about replacing my old car seat. Hell, the stroller too. Car seats go through a lot before a baby outgrows ‘em, if you know what I mean.” We laugh together, easily now, like friends. “How’d you like to take the old one off my hands? For free, of course. My husband’s making enough lately, I don’t have to worry about pinching pennies like I used to, with the first one.”
    I gesture toward her and she blushes slightly. I see the discomfort bubbling up inside her and she stammers just a little before I cut her off. “Oh, I’m sorry! I hope you don’t find this incredibly rude! I didn’t mean anything by it. I just remember what it was like is all, and I just wanted to help if I could. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing sweetheart.”
    Just like that, all of her misgivings melt away as she realizes what she might be losing. I know as well as she does that none of her redneck family can afford that car seat, let alone the stroller combo, so she can’t afford to let this deal just walk away, even if it is from some pretentious middle-aged moneybags like she surely sees me.
    “Wow, uh, I can’t believe you’d just give it away to a stranger like that—”
    I cut her off. “I know it seems weird, but” I force a dramatic heavy sigh and drop my voice a little closer to a whisper, “I’ve been in your place, honey. I can see it in your face. Times were tough when Gabrielle came, and I’d just like to pay it forward. Do something good for once.”
    It works so well, I can see the tears welling up in her eyes. In no time, I’ve convinced her to follow me to my place where she can pick up the car seat and stroller, as well as some other baby odds and ends. I can barely tear my eyes away from the rearview mirror the whole drive home, anticipating her to turn around and race away at any second, but she doesn’t.
    As I pull into the driveway, I see her park at the curb and she’s biting her lips. The hesitation is palpable from across the yard. Dammit. I came across too strange. I consider walking towards her, but my gut tells me it’d seem more realistic, less uncanny, if I just walk to my door like anyone would. It’s the right call. Her car door shuts and I don’t turn around until I’ve unlocked the door and hear her ridiculous high heels tapping up behind me.
    “Come on in, the baby stuff’s all in the garage. I know, I know, it’s so close and I haven’t even gotten around to pulling out more than just the freaking crib. I really need to get moving on that.” I drop my keys onto a pile of laundry on the coffee table, “Don’t mind the mess, by the way. Sorry for that. I’m not the best housekeeper.” I laugh, but I never take my eyes off of her. She’s still skittering around, nervous like a rabbit.
    “Can I use your restroom? You know how it is,” she asks, grinning and pointing at her stomach, her hand shaking just slightly. I nod and restrain my sneer this time. Her instincts must be more intact than I’d assumed with her young age.
    “Sure. Of course. It’s just down this hall, second door on the left. Help yourself.”
    As she waddles down the corridor, I take my time locking every lock on the front door, smoothing back my hair into a ponytail, and finally, sliding the claw hammer out from the pile of clothes on the sofa. Then I wait. And wait. And why is she taking so damn long?
    I slip the hammer into my back pocket, where it hangs awkward and ready to rip the pocket off, and peek down the hall. The bathroom door is still shut, light on.
    “Are you okay?” I shout down the hall. She doesn’t respond. Then I notice that Gabrielle’s bedroom door is cracked open. Bounding down the hall, hand on the hammer, I get to the room just as she opens the door.
    “What are you doing in there? I thought you had to go piss,” I hiss through clenched teeth, my face contorted in a deep scowl for just a second before I realize and smooth it back to placid neutrality. Don’t have much time now.
    “I’m sorry, I just—this is your daughter’s room? Danielle, right? When does she come home from school? Must be any minute now I bet.”
    “Gabrielle. And no. School doesn’t let out for another couple hours and then she’s gotta ride the bus all the way here. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time to load up your car with all the goodies. Come on over here, like I said, it’s all in the garage.”
    “You know, I’m feeling guilty about the whole thing. I mean, what if you change your mind or something?” She starts to babble, tapping away at her stomach again like a goddamn keyboard. “I think I should just give you a few days to think it over and make sure for real. I can give you my email and you can—”
    Holding the hammer up, my lower lip quivering, I slowly reiterate my instructions. “We are going to the garage now, Katie.” She nods just as slowly. I walk around behind her, hammer still hovering near her skull, and start to prod her toward the garage door.
    Those clinking heels of hers are now light as a cat, making small, hesitant steps across the carpet in front of me. My cheeks and face burn and I feel like screaming, rushing her over there, but deep controlled breaths are the key. I’m in charge now. Just a few more steps.
    She bolts toward the front door. I swing out instinctively and miss, almost falling with the momentum. The dumb bitch is at the door, one lock undone, two undone, then struggling with the chain. That’s just enough time and I’m there, body slamming her against the door. I hear her hand crack against the metal lock and she shrieks before I grab her and pull her around to face me. My hand shoots up and covers her mouth. She’s trying to bite it but I brandish the hammer again and she stops. Her eyes widen and lock with mine while her tears and snot flow down the back of my hand. Shaking uncontrollably, her hands clasp around my own, covering her mouth, and she gently pushes at it.
    “Don’t you fucking scream. Don’t try a fucking thing,” I whisper and release her mouth, still keeping the hammer above her head.
    “You don’t want to do this. You don’t!” Her voice starts to raise but she quickly controls it again. “What about your own baby? Why are you doing this?”
    “You don’t deserve that little fucking miracle inside you. You know that? With all your goddamn tapping and look at those heels, a fucking tripping hazard, and something you shouldn’t have wasted your money on with a baby on the way. I doubt you even have a daddy for that baby. Look at you, you live at home with your parents and just leech off of society. You’re a fucking train wreck and yet you, you get to have a wonderful, precious little angel. No, no, no. God made a mistake but now I’m correcting it. He sent you to me so I could correct it. I’m the better mother. I deserve this.”
    I watch as horror washes over her face and her mouth drops open just a bit, her knees starting to buckle. I can’t help but smile, knowing soon that little one will be crying in my arms. Suddenly, she shoves me in the belly, her hands pushing deep into the padding, and she’s scurrying past me.
    I try to regain my balance but fall to my knees, jerking my head in time to see her trying the back door, pushing and pulling, but she can’t figure it out. I start to laugh as I get up and head towards her, hammer in hand.
    She sees me and gives up on the door, heading into the kitchen. Dead end. Then rushing toward me before rapidly turning left, wrenching open the door and heading right into the garage, pulling the door shut behind her, but it’s no use. There’s no lock there. I take a deep breath and follow her inside.
    Just as I’d guessed, she’s tugging at the garage door, trying to pull it up, stopping every few seconds to look around the room, probably for some sort of emergency release. Does she really think I didn’t prepare for all those possibilities?
    I straighten my back, pushing out my padded stomach and breasts and carefully approach her, hammer held high. She tries to dart away, but this time I bring it down and feel the sharp crack and the hot blood splatter across my face.
    The body lands at my feet with a soft thud. I take my time, first removing my padding to give myself more flexibility and then taking out the iodine, scalpel, retractors, and the printed out instructions I found online. Step by step, I cut through, trying to be quick. I know time is of the essence. As the muscle fights me, often tearing and ripping inaccurately, I curse at how much more difficult this is than I’d imagined. Even the dog I’d practiced on was easier than this. Finally, I’m through and there is the little one. A boy, just like I’d foreseen. Just like my little one should’ve been. Still alive. Please stay alive. Lord, have mercy on him.
    My hands cradle him as I pull him from her wretched womb, gently pouring sterile water over him and wiping at his face with a washcloth. Suddenly, his tiny mouth stretches wide and he begins to cry. I’m holding him to my breast when I hear the door open behind me.
    “Did the baby come?” Gabrielle’s timid voice echoes to me across the garage.
    “Oh honey, your brother is here. Your brother is finally—” but I can’t finish as the sobs overtake me.

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