The Figgs, page 15
“Hi,” he said.
Once June had seen Val Kilmer at a magazine kiosk in the airport and she tried to hug him, thinking he was a former classmate. June strained to figure out how she knew the stranger at the door. She found herself focusing on his hat, which was red and had a logo she didn’t recognize, as if it might tell her the answer. Then it occurred to her that he looked like Randy. Had Fergus come for dinner?
“Fergus?” June blurted. “Is that you?”
Randy, who had unknowingly landed behind her with a piece of walnut and a bloody finger, started crying. “Fergus?” He dropped the wood. “My son!”
It was such a dramatic reaction, all June could think of was the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz. She patted her husband on the back, hoping it would somehow quiet his moaning, but it only seemed to make him wail louder.
“What’s going on?” Derek stepped into the front porch with Jaxx tucked in his arm. “What’s wrong with Dad? Why is he crying?”
“Derek,” June said in a solemn tone, “this is Fergus.”
“Who, Damon?” Derek asked, pointing to the door.
“Fergus,” June said, like Derek wasn’t listening.
“No, it’s actually Damon,” Damon said, lifting his hand and producing an awkward finger wave.
Randy was bent over with his hands on his knees, blood dripping on the Lebanese porch rug. He stopped crying and looked up. “You’re not Fergus?”
“No, I’m Damon. I didn’t have a chance to say anything before…that…happened.”
“They renamed you Damon?” He looked at June hopefully. “That’s why I couldn’t find him! I was looking for Fergus.”
“My parents were going to name me Fergus?”
“No,” Derek interrupted. “Dad, Damon isn’t your son.”
“You know my parents?” Damon looked bewildered.
Things were sliding out of control. June tried to intervene. “My husband thought he knew your adopted parents.”
“I’m adopted?” Damon stabilized his trembling hand on the doorknob. June noticed tattoos along his knuckles. Letters or roman numerals. Symbols?
“I am your father,” Randy said, taking a step forward. He moved like Darth Vader.
“You are?” Damon asked.
“No,” Derek interjected. “He’s not your father. He’s confused. He thought you were the son he’d given up for adoption.”
Damon released a long sigh. Of relief?
“Damn,” he said. “You really had me going for a second.”
“Damon used to work at the depot,” Derek explained.
That’s where I know him from, June thought, but then she noticed his over-developed shoulder muscles and nipple rings poking through his Hollister T-shirt. Beyond him, the low-riding black car shaped like an arrowhead was parked along the curb. The same car Marissa had been swallowed by after they’d left Chili’s this afternoon.
Damon scratched the back of his head.
“‘Sup?” Derek asked, nudging Jaxx’s green soother back into his mouth.
“Marissa and I were hoping to take Jaxx for a ride.”
A ride? June pondered. Why? So he could eat him?
“Nah, he just got up,” Derek said. “I got to feed him and make him lie on his stomach, or his head will get all fucked up and he’ll have to wear a helmet.”
Damon winced.
“Tell Marissa maybe tomorrow,” Derek said. “He’s got a doctor’s appointment at four. Maybe sometime after that.”
“Cool, bro,” Damon said. The two bumped fists and nodded.
June closed the door as Damon cut across the front lawn to his car.
“We don’t know for certain that he’s not my son.”
“Yes, we do, Dad. You’ve met his father. The long-haired guy that drives a Harley and works in the Safeway floral department.”
“That guy? I’ve always liked him. He always lets me pick out extra ribbon.”
“Yes, that’s his dad. Damon looks just like him except for his short hair.”
Randy slumped down on the wicker loveseat, looking dejected. June had no words. Part of her was brimming with pride. Derek had made Jaxx a doctor’s appointment, and he seemed to understand the importance of tummy time, but on the other hand, Damon wanted to take Jaxx on a joy ride in his Batmobile and Derek didn’t seem phased. Why hadn’t Marissa come to the door? Had Damon eaten her?
“Isn’t it odd that Marissa didn’t come to the door?”
“Nah, she hurt her ankle,” Derek said, switching Jaxx to his other arm. The baby stared up at Derek lovingly, as if he was his mother, as if he had just been saved from being eaten. His eyes, under the porch light, the grey-blue of ocean at dusk. He had tiny Braille-like bumps along his chin. Infant pimples. He was an exceptionally contented baby. He reminded June of Derek. She smiled, and then frowned.
“Are Damon and Marissa together?”
Derek shrugged. “They could be, I guess.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not really,” he said. “Marissa and I aren’t together. We never really were, except for, well, a few times.”
June held up her hand. “Stop there,” she said. June squeezed her eyes shut. She had a new flashback of Derek speed-thrusting on top of Marissa with his teeth clenched as though they were wired shut from jaw surgery. Like there’d been a coach lurking in the darkness with a stopwatch telling him to go as fast as he could for ten seconds.
“You all right, Mom?” Derek asked. “You look sick.”
She blamed it on a hot flash and pushed and pulled on the door, swinging it forward and back to create a draft.
“I’m going to go change his diaper,” Derek said. He touched his father’s shoulder on the way out. “Sorry, Dad,” he said. “I hope you find Fergus someday.”
“Come on,” June urged. “Supper’s getting cold.”
The kitchen was quiet. Vanessa sulked, presumably because Leslie had volunteered to help Randy. She got up from the table and returned with Jerry.
“Vanessa,” June said, “Jerry isn’t allowed at the table. Please put him back in his cage.”
“What?” she argued, moving her hair out of the way so Jerry could side-step the length of her shoulder without obstacle. “It’s not like he can do anything from up here.”
“It’s gross,” Derek said. “He’s probably covered in bacteria.”
“He’s not covered in bacteria.”
“Vanessa, just put Jerry away,” Randy said.
June watched Randy struggle to cut the meat off his drumstick. “Just use your hands.”
“I can’t!” He held up his bloodstained finger. “So, Leslie,” he said, “when did you know you were a lesbian?”
“Dad!” Vanessa dropped her knife and fork.
“What? What’s wrong? Is that wrong to ask?”
“Did you ask Marissa when she knew she was straight?”
“No, but then I only met her at the hospital.”
“So, if Derek had brought her home to dinner, would you have asked her then?”
Randy considered this. “No, Vanessa, I think you’re right.” He severed a spear of overcooked broccoli with his fork. “You know, I do wish I asked her when she knew she wanted to be a singer. For me, it was five.” He smiled and ate his broccoli.
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“It was five for me too.” Leslie politely pushed her empty plate to the side. “When I knew I was a lesbian,” she clarified, folding her hands under her chin. She wore a green leather bracelet the width of an old tennis wristband wrapped around her left arm, complimenting her pink lipstick, which was girlie and gum-like. Her head had been freshly shaved on both sides, revealing a finger-length scar the size and texture of a caterpillar.
“Really? That young?”
Randy’s amazement embarrassed June.
“Yep. As soon as I understood it wasn’t really normal for girls to marry girls, I wanted to marry one.”
Vanessa smiled at the admission and then immediately frowned to maintain appearances.
“My mom used to make figure skating costumes. One of her former customers was getting married and asked my mom to design her dress.” Leslie paused as Jerry climbed onto her shoulder. “After a fitting, I snuck into my mom’s sewing room and wrapped myself in her gown. I had spent hours holed up in that closet imagining my lesbian wedding when I realized I’d somehow knocked out a bunch of pins.” Jerry bobbed his head. “I knew my mom would be furious, so I picked them all up and hid them in my room.”
“Did you get in trouble?” Randy asked.
“My mom actually thought it was the boy she babysat from across the street. Until one afternoon, when I thought the coast was clear, I left the playroom and went to get in the dress, and my mother was hiding in the closet.”
“And that’s when you told her?” June asked, also charmed by Leslie’s tale.
Leslie laughed. “I lied and said I really wanted to make dresses. My mom was thrilled, because up until then I only showed an interest in game shows and fixing things with my dad.”
June remembered helping her mother make raspberry jam, not because she was a lesbian or enjoyed being in the kitchen, but to avoid trips to the hardware store where her father spent hours mulling over nails.
“And you never had any doubt?” Randy asked.
“Dad.” Vanessa added butter to broccoli, which didn’t have time to melt before she shoved it in her mouth.
June noticed Leslie place a reassuring hand on her daughter’s knee.
“It’s okay,” Leslie said. “I don’t mind talking about it.” She looked at Randy. “No doubts,” she said. “It felt as normal to me to like girls as it did to breathe. Not that it wasn’t difficult — I just had no doubt.”
“I guess I just find it fascinating because Vanessa only found out as a teenager that she was a lesbian.”
Vanessa covered her eyes.
“I think she figured it out before then, Dad,” Derek said, pushing his plate away.
Randy looked to Vanessa for confirmation.
“Do we have to discuss this at the dinner table?” Her face was red and blotchy. “Why don’t you ask Tom when he discovered he liked elder porn?”
June pretended not to hear this. “Would anyone like dessert? I have some little brownies.”
Tom and Derek both raised their hands. June excused herself from the table and retrieved a tub from the cupboard. She arranged the brownies on a plate and added dollops of Cool Whip on top of each.
“So when are you moving out?” Leslie asked Derek. “Vanessa said something about it at your shower.”
Derek paused, unaware that his mother and father had seen the basement suite. June caught herself eating a spoonful of whipped cream while she thought of the graffiti in the room.
“It’s not for certain,” he stumbled. “Just a friend offered me a place if I needed.”
Randy took a brownie from the plate, which had replaced the napkin holder at the centre of the table.
“Jenny.” Tom took three brownies and lined them up in front of him, single file.
“Jenny.”
“Why would you want to live with Jenny?” June sipped her wine.
Derek shrugged. “What’s wrong with Jenny?”
“Yes,” Randy agreed. “What’s wrong with Jenny? We met her at the shower and she seemed lovely.”
June kicked him under the table. He mouthed, “What?”
Tom said, “Jenny’s in love with Derek.”
“Well, that’s nice,” Randy said.
“She wants to adopt Jaxx,” Vanessa added.
“No, she doesn’t,” Derek spat. “She just wants to help out.”
“Didn’t she offer to take drugs so she could breastfeed?”
June nearly choked. It was better than Marissa’s choice to feed him milk that looked like pork gravy, but all she could think of was that terrible Hand That Rocks the Cradle movie.
“I didn’t commit to anything. She just said she had room if I needed it.”
June relaxed slightly.
“Can you actually take drugs to make yourself lactate?” Randy asked. He seemed unaware that he’d pinched his nipples before helping himself to a sixth brownie.
Leslie nodded. “I have friends who just had their first baby, and both mothers are breastfeeding.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Randy replied. “Isn’t technology grand?”
June pictured a robot breastfeeding. A hot flash started. She left the table and went down to the basement where it was cooler. She sat at the computer and fanned herself with an energy bill Randy had marked PAID. She considered the possibility of Vanessa having kids someday, and how it would work. Her daughter was so good with animals, it only seemed natural she would be good with kids. Jaxx calmed her. Leslie, too. Both seemed to diffuse her in a way June had been trying to accomplish for years. Would Vanessa carry the baby? She was certainly younger than Leslie and the obvious candidate. Would they adopt? Where would they get the sperm? Wouldn’t the baby get confused if it was getting breast milk from two sources? June googled breastfeeding adopted child. She scanned over the first article that appeared, which confirmed the possibility of inducing lactation in non-birth mothers. She felt pleased until she read:
Adoption universally involves loss. Babies recognize their mothers at birth and at delivery, healthy babies placed on the abdomen of their mother will crawl up onto her chest and, locating the nipple via its familiar smell, will attach to her breast and suckle. Newborn infants desire to remain with their mother and if removed from skin-to-skin contact with her will give a specific “separation distress cry/call” as an appeal for reunion. Maternal separation is stressful for infants, and all adopted children have experienced the loss of their birth mother (Gribble, 2006).
Profound sadness befell her. This was not how adoption was presented. Public service announcements portrayed it as a win-win situation, where love and a capable set of parents with traditional jobs and expensive strollers were all you needed. Was it all propaganda? Where were the campaigns showing babies being ripped off their birth mother’s chests, their separation calls the last thing you heard when the screen went blank and it switched to a commercial for Tide? Had she screamed when she was taken from her birth mother, where nature intended her to be? Was her distress call like that of a Cessna losing altitude or a bleating sheep? A missing firefighter or a fawn? Or did it resemble the agonizing low-pitched wail she was expelling now? How dare her birth mother give her up? Why was it her birth mother decided she was better off with educated Maritimers who liked Christmas than with whatever she was? She did not feel like the girl with the one blue hand. She felt like the girl with the single black heart. She felt adopted.
June got ready for bed in silence. She didn’t bother to read, because she forgot what had happened in the last chapter of her book. She stared at the ceiling tiles and tried to forget the vignette she’d created surrounding the separation from her birth mother. She knew the details were all wrong. Since in old pictures she looked like any red-headed baby, she made herself three and more recognizable when the nurse, an older lady with perfect skin wearing a dress and bonnet circa 1919, grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her away from her birth mother with one stockinged foot braced against the metal hospital cot. June grasped desperately for something to hold on to as she slid down her mother’s body — the gaps between her ribs, her hips, which were hard to negotiate under the guise of her massive gelatine post-partum belly, and eventually her mother’s ankles, which she imagined were delicate but still too thick for June to get a good grip. She pictured her birth mother sobbing while this took place, covering her eyes with her IV-pricked hands, head rolling side to side against her stark white pillow. But she also considered the unimaginable — her mother kicking away her tiny dough hands during her final attempt to stay united. Every time she managed to go minutes without replaying the story, Randy’s restless leg syndrome would act up.
“Stop moving,” she said, as he rolled from one side to his other, legs flutter-kicking and bending in two-minute intervals.
“I can’t help it,” he whined. “I have to move them.”
“Well, don’t put your feet on me.” She gave his legs a nudge.
Randy groaned and tried to get comfortable by curling his body into the shape of a shrimp. “Now I can’t sleep,” he said.
June adjusted her pillow. “I guess there’s no chance of selling the house and getting a place in Phoenix now.”
“I can’t give up my workshop.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Still wouldn’t mind that cruise though.”
“What about a river cruise? On the Mediterranean.”
“I’d like to go to Alaska.”
“Alaska? What on earth for?”
“I’ve always wanted to see a polar bear, and they’re dying.”
“You can see those at the zoo.”
“You hate the zoo.”
She rolled to face him. “Derek didn’t seem set on moving in with Jenny, did he?”
“Not really.” Randy wiggled his legs.
“If Vanessa moves out, her room would be a good size for Jaxx.”
Randy rolled over again. June did too, and then Randy rammed his pelvis into her side. A shark bump.
“What are you doing?” She hoped it was RLS.
“I want to be close to you.”
She didn’t say anything, because she wanted to be close to him too. She wanted him to be there when she lost grip of her mother’s ankles and was removed from the hospital room. How small and far away that room seemed when she left it, the ward, the building. How extreme the loss when she could no longer smell her mother.
Randy mounted her carefully. She picked up the scent of wood glue, the Scope in their toothpaste. He brushed her bangs to the side with one hand, temporarily transferring more of his body weight onto her small frame. She wanted to tell him about the trauma she’d experienced when she’d been taken from her mother. The same trauma Fergus endured when he was removed from Glenda. That no adopted babies were exempt. The loss was all-inclusive. There was no opting out.
