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“Oh. Uh. Okay.” I take the baby from her, and she walks off into the east wing of the house.
Conscious that I’m holding Leia like a rugby ball, I put her up against my shoulder the way I’ve seen Aroha do, and the baby snuggles up to me. She’s sucking on a dummy, but she doesn’t seem sleepy. She looks up at me with her big turquoise eyes. They’re the same color as James’s—the color that Maddie’s were. I feel a sudden sweep of grief. Maddie will never get to see her daughter grow up. God, that’s so incredibly sad.
I walk to the window that overlooks the garden. It’s raining, and I immediately see a fantail jumping from branch to branch in the lemon tree. The piwakawaka is said to be a messenger between the living and the dead, and it makes me catch my breath. Maybe Maddie hasn’t gone entirely. Surely, if it was at all possible, she’d stay around Leia to keep an eye on her?
“It suits you.”
I turn at the voice to find Juliette smiling at me. At my querying look, she gestures at Leia.
“I didn’t really have a choice,” I say gruffly.
“You look like a natural.”
I glance down at the baby. She looks back, the dummy moving up and down as she sucks.
“She’s very small,” I say.
“Everyone’s small next to you,” Juliette states. She steps back, holds up her phone, and takes a photo of me. “For my own private collection,” she says.
I shift from foot to foot, awkward and uncomfortable. “You want to take her?”
Her smile fades. “Sure.” She lifts Leia out of my arms and coos to her, a natural, like women often seem to be.
I look away, out at the garden. The fantail has gone, and it’s raining more heavily now.
“She’s so beautiful,” she says, kissing the baby’s hair. “So James is going to bring her up as his own?”
I nod. “He’s a bigger man than I am.”
She lifts her gaze to me. “You wouldn’t do it, if you were in his shoes?”
“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to bring up another man’s child.” I’ve already told her that I wouldn’t want her to have a sperm donor, so it can’t come as a surprise to her.
Our eyes meet. Hers are shining, and she seems to be having trouble holding back tears as she drops her head and kisses Leia’s hair again.
I go to reply, but James comes out then, Aroha at his side. “Let’s get this party started,” he says, and he grabs a drink and heads to the middle of the room.
He gives a speech about Maddie, makes everyone laugh, starts some music playing, and bids everyone to eat, drink, and dance.
I don’t talk to Juliette much for the rest of the afternoon. She always seems to be somewhere else, in the middle of a conversation. Once it stops raining, I play rugby outside with Saxon, Kip, Alex, and Huxley, and afterward I sit on the deck and chat to some of the others as the sun begins to head toward the horizon, hoping to catch up with her before the end of the day.
But later, when people start saying they’re leaving, I look around for her and realize she’s gone.
When I eventually get home, it’s late, and I’m tired after the emotion of the day. I haven’t drunk today, wanting to make sure I was able to help James if he needed me, so for the first time I pour myself a whisky and sit out on the deck.
Rangi finally messaged me this afternoon. I asked how he was doing, and he came back with one word. Shit. The poor kid. He’s in his last year at high school, with no job prospects, no brilliant future to speak of. I wish I could do something, but Philip will do his best to dissuade his son from accepting my help.
I message him back, saying I’m always here for him and that he can message or call me anytime if he wants to talk.
Then, feeling lonely and sad, I text Juliette. It was good to see you today. Hope you’re doing okay. X
But she doesn’t message back. We often send each other little texts—jokes, memes, songs—and it’s only now that I realize they were the same as the Rubik’s Cube—a private communication that said far more than what was actually contained in the message. And I miss it. I miss her. She’s been with me, in my heart, for so long, and now she’s been snuffed out like a candle flame, and all that’s left behind is smoke.
I’m tempted to call her—Cam is in Australia, after all—but I know she might be in bed. It’s late, and she was tired, too. But I can’t help but think she just doesn’t want to reply.
She’s slipping through my fingers, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not just infertile, I’m fucking impotent, helpless in what feels like every area of my personal life.
It’s starting to rain, so I go inside and stretch out on the sofa. My New Year’s resolution not to drink too much is already down the drain, so I pour myself another and welcome the slow, relentless slide into oblivion as the rain patters on the deck and drums fingers on the window, its reflection like tears on my skin.
