Fern

FERN

When I rouse from sleep, I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds, steeling myself for an onslaught to the senses. It’s been an arduous twenty-four hours. Every time I open my eyes, there’s someone different in my room, checking on the baby, or me, or bringing me food or medicine. The last time I awoke from a nap, for example, it was to quite the kerfuffle. Rose was here. She was over by the baby’s crib, speaking to one of the nurses.

“Has she been breast-fed?” Rose had said. The kind soothing voice Rose had used during my labor had gone. She sounded angry.

“Yes. Last night and early this morning. What is the—”

“The problem is I am the baby’s mother, and I did not want the surrogate breast-feeding!”

“I do apologize,” the nurse (not Beverly) had said. “It wasn’t written in the notes. Let me look into this for you.”

Rose and I had discussed breast-feeding on occasion during the pregnancy, of course. Each time, Rose said how awful it was, the pressure that “breast-feeding Nazis” put on new mothers, and assured me that formula was perfectly adequate in this day and age. But she’d never explicitly said she didn’t want me to breast-feed. And so, during the night, when Rose had gone home and the nurse put the baby to my breast, I hadn’t seen any reason not to give it a go.

The breast-feeding had brought on some afterbirth pains, and the nurse had been kind enough to administer some medication, which was fantastically effective. Possibly too effective, bringing on a temporary euphoria and then putting me to sleep within minutes of taking it. I’ve never been a big taker of painkillers, but after a few of these pills, I have to admit, I’m wondering why.

Now, when I open my eyes, Rose is at my bedside again, this time reading a John Grisham novel. I don’t know how long I stare at her before she turns to look at me and frowns. She looks like she’s going to speak, but she is interrupted by a young blond nurse with a high ponytail who appears in the doorway.

“Time for a feed,” the nurse says brightly, and Rose immediately puts down her book and starts rummaging in her tote.

“Come on in,” she says to the nurse. “Ah, here they are! I brought these bottles from home. We’re going to be formula feeding.”

Something about the way Rose says it sounds funny. Formula feeding. I laugh out loud. It is, perhaps, the medication. Rose and the nurse both frown at me for a moment before turning their attention to the baby.

“How is the little one doing?” the nurse asks. “Does she have a name yet?”

“Not yet,” I call, but they ignore me.

“I was thinking about Alice,” Rose says.

“Very pretty,” the nurse says. “And how’s Mum doing?”

“Fine,” Rose says. “She’s good.”

Neither of them even look at me. It’s as if, having now birthed the baby, I’ve been absorbed into the environment, disappeared.… The idea makes me laugh again. This time they look at each other, but not at me.

“I’ll go make up the formula, shall I?” the nurse says, and Rose nods. When the nurse has left, Rose comes to my side.

“Did you ask Wally for money?”

She blinks. “How do you know about that?”

I laugh. “Wally told me.”

“You’ve seen Wally?”

“Yes. Yesterday afternoon. At the library.”

In her crib, the baby begins to fuss. The sound of it causes my breasts to leak through my nightie. But I’ve barely had a chance to look at her before Rose picks her up and puts her to her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says carefully. “But … it makes sense, doesn’t it? He is the baby’s father. And he has plenty of money. Why shouldn’t he support her?”

“Why would he?” I ask. “He doesn’t know she is his daughter. Besides, do you really need the money? Surely Owen makes enough money to support her?”

The baby’s fuss becomes a cry. I want to take her from Rose, but she walks away from me, to the window.

“What is it?” I ask when she remains silent. “Rose?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you until after I took Alice home.” Rose’s back is still to me as she looks out the window. “But … as it turns out, Owen wasn’t coping so well with the idea of raising another man’s child. After giving it a lot of thought, he’s decided he can’t do it. He’s staying in London indefinitely.”

I stare at her back.

Rose turns around. “I know how important it is to you that this baby is raised in a two-parent family. But it wasn’t meant to be.” She comes to the side of my bed and puts a hand over mine. “Look, you’ve had a big twenty-four hours. What you need right now is sleep. I’ll get the nurse to get you some more painkillers. Everything will make sense later.”

I have my doubts about that. My baby might be raised by a sister I’m not sure I trust. With no husband and no money. At the same time, I can’t bear to think about any of this anymore. So when the nurse returns a few minutes later with the formula and some more medication for me, I swallow it down and go back to sleep.

---

I sleep. Late afternoon, Rose heads home for a shower and to change her clothes and I am left alone with the baby, who is tucked up close next to my bed, wrapped snugly in her pink blanket. It’s astonishing how easy it is to while away the time just staring at her, marveling at her tiny eyelashes and squashed-up chin and wisps of black hair falling out the sides of her knitted hat. I must do it for hours before my eye is drawn to a woman standing just outside my door, talking to one of my nurses.

“Her sister has advised that now would be a good time,” the woman is saying. She appears to be in her late thirties or early forties, and she smiles when she catches my eye. “Ah, Fern,” she says, taking a few steps into my room. “You’re awake.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Naomi Davison. I’m an adoption counselor. I’ve been speaking with your sister, Rose, and I wondered if now would be an okay time to have a chat with you? I promise I won’t take long.”

The nurse remains beside the woman. I get the feeling that if I give some indication that I’m not interested, she will be whisked away. But I am curious.

“All right.”

She drags a chair up to the bed, and glances briefly into the baby’s crib before sitting and pulling some paperwork out of a leather satchel. “As I said, I’m an adoption counselor. As you may or may not know, it’s mandatory in Victoria for birth mothers considering adoption to have counseling prior to relinquishing their parental rights.”

Naomi places a stack of documents and pamphlets on the tray table in front of me.

“My services are free of charge to both yourself and the intended adoptive parents. My role today is to ensure that you understand all your options, not just adoption. Okay?”

“Okay?” I mimic her tone.

“I understand that you have been considering intra-family adoption,” she says.

My blank face must convey confusion, because she goes on. “Intra-family adoption is the adoption of a child by a stepparent or relative.”

She looks up. I hesitate, then at a loss, nod.

“Okay. Well, we can talk about that in a moment, but first I want to talk to you about your other options.”

It’s the first I have heard about other options. But Naomi informs me I have several. Placing the baby in temporary foster care. Shared care. Open adoption—where the child is aware of their adoption and knows who his or her birth parents are (this has been found to be the most beneficial to the child)—and closed adoption, where the child doesn’t know his or her true parentage. She talks about the permanence of adoption; how once a child has been adopted, the adoptive parent will continue to be the child’s legal guardian even in the event of a marriage breakdown or divorce. There is also the option of raising the baby myself. It’s a lot of information. A lot of options I didn’t know I had.

“If you decide to proceed with intra-family adoption, you will be required to sign papers relinquishing your parental rights. After signing these papers, you will have thirty days to submit a signed revocation, should you change your mind. After this time, you will be unable to change your mind. In order to make the adoption official, we require the signature of both biological parents except in such circumstance where the father isn’t known, which I understand is the case here?”

This time she doesn’t wait for a nod, and I’m glad.

“As a registered adoption counselor, I can witness you signing consent documents. Your sister has already signed this one. If you feel ready, you can sign it today. If not, you can take as long as you need, and then give me a call, and I will come back.”

I look at the document with Rose’s signature at the bottom, and my mind swims.

The problem, I realize, is that there are two Roses. The Rose I rely on, and the other Rose. The Rose who hated Mum. The Rose who goes behind my back to speak to Wally. The Rose who would possibly betray me to get the baby she wants so badly.

I don’t know which Rose I’m getting. I don’t know which Rose my baby would get.

“If it’s all right with you,” I say, “I’d like you to come back.”