Page 47 of Fall
Your Mother
To My Baby - Letter Nine
Hello, peach!
Fourteen weeks!
That's right.We're in the second trimester, and you're doing awesome. My morning sickness is all gone. I've been eating everything in sight. At this rate, you'll go from peach to watermelon before long. Thank goodness I'm growing used to our regular walks.
It's strange, we've been back home for over a week, yet our trip to Colorado has been on my mind a lot. Your second cousin Fausto and his wifeenjoyed our visit so much that they're planning to fly here to see us in New Jersey this spring. Between you and me, I think they have a charmed life. Fausto is the first Romano, and probably the only one, that the family gave permission to have what I like to call a normal, apple-pie life. He became a commercial airline pilot after college. The family was so proud.
But the thing that’sreally significant is that they released him from any obligation to work in one of the family’s many businesses. It’s the first time this has happened. Well, second if you count your great uncle who became a Catholic priest. You may be wondering why I find it fascinating. It’s because on my side of the family, this practice is nonexistent. Maybe one day you might question all of this. Family, commitment,loyalty, the business. After all, we live in America so we should be free to do as we please, right?
We are free. The only answer I can give you to that thought is something my Nonna used to say. Freedom is relative, depending on where you’re standing, and who’s standing with you.
And you know what? All this contemplation about such complex matters has made me rather restless,so it’s time for our walk.
With love,
Your Mother
To My Baby - Letter Ten
Hello, navel orange!
Navel orange sounds about right, my love. With stress on the navel. I’m at fifteen weeks, and I’m pretty sure my innie is threatening to become an outie.
The books say you’re just over two pounds now. Exceptthe scale says I’ve gained a whopping fourteen pounds. Holy mama, I hope all that weight gain is justifiable padding to keep you warm and safe.
I was in town yesterday, and a new baby store has just opened up around the corner from the grocery store. I couldn’t stop myself from taking a peek, and was tempted to buy some of the hand knitted newborn onesies on display. We don’t know yourgender yet, so, fair warning. Your mother may end up doing a bit of impulse buying, and if I do, that store might be partly responsible for all the green, yellow, and neutral colored garments in your first wardrobe.
With love,
Your Mother
I putthe letters back in the box, close the lid, and slide it across the study desk, away from me.
I can’t read another word.
I really can’t.
Not now.
My hands are shaking violently, my chest is tight, and my vision is blurred by all the tears that I’ve shed just reading the first ten letters.
This is too much to process in one sitting.
My mother wrote these notes to me with her own hand? She sat at a desk probably not much different from the one where I sit,and thought of all these things she wanted to tell me? Her fingers glided over these sheets of paper? It feels like she’s speaking to me from the grave, from the other side, and it’s more than I can take.
Father’s right. He should be here. I can’t do this without him.
My phone rings as I think about whether to phone him. Believing it might be him, I check the number on the screen.It's not him. It's Tammy Lou, but as much as I want to be there for my friend, it's not a good time. I couldn't form a coherent sentence, let alone talk to her. But less than a minute after I reject her call, she phones me again. This time, when I reject her call, I send her one of those pre-written messages that are programmed into my phone. It's a simple note that I'll call her back as soon asI can. But even after sending that short message, she phones for the third time. She's not a big chatter on the phone, so I know she must need me for something.
Picking up the box, I place it in my suitcase, and I accept her call.
“Hey Tams,” I answer, and hear the whimper of my post sobbing voice over the line like audio feedback. “I’m in the middle of something here, but I figureyou’d have to have some kind of emergency to phone three times in a row. Is everything okay?”
“No, Natalia,” she huffs, seeming angry. “It doesn’t sound like you’re okay either. Do you mind if I come over?”
