The Comfort of Lies

CHAPTER 1
Tia
Happiness at someone else’s expense came at a price. Tia had imagined  judgment  from  the !rst  kiss  that  she  and  Nathan  shared.  All
year she’d waited to be punished for being in love, and in truth, she
believed  that  whatever  consequences  came  her  way  would  be  deserved.
She  felt  vaguely  queasy  from  the  late  Sunday  lunch  she  and
Nathan had just shared. "ey'd ordered far too many courses; buttery appetizers, overdressed salad, and marbled meat roiled in her
stomach. Black Forest cake had le#her mouth pasty with sugar and
chocolate. Each time Nathan pa$ed his thickening middle with chagrin,  she  worried  that  she’d  become  Nathan’s  accomplice  in  more
than one sin.
Since childhood, she’d hated heavy food. Instead of sharing this
lunch, she wished they could have waited until tomorrow to see each
other, when they could sit on a blanket watching !reworks explode
on the Esplanade and listening to the Boston Pops. "e Fourth of
July  was  a  holiday  without  the  burden  of  expectations;  a  perfect
celebration for them.
Nathan  squeezed  her  hand  as  they  walked  toward  her  apartment. His obvious pride delighted her. She was twenty-four, he was
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|Randy Susan Meyers
thirty-seven, and this was the !rst time she’d been loved by a man
of  substance.  Each  time  they  met,  she  discovered  new  love-struck
traits—details she’d never admit to anyone, like the way his hands
seemed more like a cowboy’s than a professor’s. Qualities that might
seem ordinary to someone who’d grown up with a father, Tia added
to her list of Nathan lore.
Last week, he’d seemed like Superman when he came over carrying a toolbox, planning to install a showerhead that sprayed more
than a weak stream. A$ached to the handle was a card where he'd
wri$en, “"is is for you to keep here.”
"e words made Tia feel as though he’d use it again.
No present could have pleased her more.
Mostly, she found Nathan perfect. Muscled arms. A wide back.
His  sardonic  New  York  edge,  delivered  with  a  crooked  smile—
worlds away from the street humor of the South Boston boys of her
youth—cracked her up, while his innate competence wrapped her
in a thick blanket of security. Nathan’s too-rare presence oxygenated
her blood. When she ran her thumb up and down each of his !ngers,
the universe existed in that physical connection. Her life had shrunk
to being with him.
She’d spent many hours crying during this year of Nathan. A man
with a family couldn’t spare a whole lot of a$ention.
When  they  reached  the  two-family  house  where  she  lived,  Nathan circled her from behind. She leaned back and caught his kiss on
the side of her neck. He ran his hands down the length of her body.
“I never tire of touching you,” he said.
“I hope that never changes.”
“People always change.” A look of discomfort crossed his face as
he disengaged from her. “You deserve so much.”
Did he think she deserved having him with her always? Tia put
the key in the door. She comforted herself with the thought that he
believed her worthy.
"e moment they entered her apartment, Tia raced to the bathroom; lately she always needed the bathroom. A#erward, she spent
a long time drying her hands and straightening an out-of-place an-
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| 5
tique perfume bo$le he’d bought her. She was constantly rearranging things, trying to make the pink crystal !t in with her Ikea-ware
and her mother’s casto&s. Tia’s apartment became a stage set when
Nathan visited. She spent hours before he arrived seeing every book,
decoration, and poster through his eyes.
Nathan o&ered her a glass of wine when she joined him in the living room. “Listen to this one,” he said. “I used an old Groucho line
today—‘I  refuse  to  join  any  club  that  would  have  me  as  a  member’—to  illustrate  a  point,  and  a  student  asked  me  who  Groucho
Marx was.”
Tia put out a refusing palm for the wine. “No thanks. I’m not in
the mood.”
“It made me feel about a hundred years old. Now, tell me the absolute truth: You know who Groucho Marx was, right?” He pushed
the  glass  toward  her.  “At  least  taste  it.  It’s  probably  the  smoothest
Merlot you’ll ever have.”
When she didn’t have wine at lunch, he hadn’t commented. “I’m
in the mood for a Pepsi,” she’d said. Maybe he thought she was acting
like a teenager and he found it cute. Sometimes it bothered her, the
things he found cute.
“You Bet Your Life,” she said. “Duck Soup. A Night at the Opera.”
“"ank you. My faith in young people is restored.”
“"ere  aren’t  that  many  years  between  us.”  She  hated  when  he
dwelled  on  their  age  di&erence.  “God  knows  I’m  older  than  your
students.”
“And sharper,” he said.
“"at’s right—don’t forget.”
"e moment she shared her news, their romance would change
forever, not that it had ever had been sustainable as it was. From the
!rst time they slept together and he’d blurted out, “I’m crazy about
you,” she’d wanted more. First she’d wanted him in her bed all the
time,  and  then  she  wanted  the  ring  on  his !nger  to  be  from  her.
When her need for him hit full thro$le, she wanted the crease in his
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|Randy Susan Meyers
pants to be put there by a dry cleaner she’d chosen, his shirt to smell
of detergent she’d chosen.
Tia looked straight at him. “I’m pregnant.”
He stood with his hand still extended, the wine sloshing against
the edge of the glass like a riptide.
Tia reached for the glass. “You’re going to drop it.” She put it next
to his on the co&ee table.
“So that’s why you didn’t drink with dinner,” he said.
He delivered the words slowly, so slowly it terri!ed Tia. Despite
knowing how unlikely it was, she wanted to see a shy smile—a TV
smile followed by a movie-style kiss. She put a hand over her still-'at
belly,  nausea  welling  again.  She  pushed  away  thoughts  of  Nathan’s
wife.  Much  as  she  tried,  Tia  couldn’t  stop  thinking  of  Julie$e—
where she was, where she believed her husband had gone—but early
on, he’d made it clear that topic was o&-limits.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“A few days. I wanted to tell you in person.”
He nodded, !nished his wine, and then sat. He laced his !ngers
and leaned over until his arms rested on his legs. He glanced up at
her,  looking  stern,  like  the  professor  he  was.  “You’re  going  to  take
care of it, right?”
Tia  sank  into  the  armchair  across  from  the  couch.  “Take  care
of it?”
“Of course, take care of it.” He closed his eyes for one moment.
When he opened them, he sat up straighter. “What else can we do?
What else makes sense?”
“I  can  have  it.”  She  wouldn’t  cry.  If  nothing  else  good  in  this
damned world happened tonight, she’d keep from crying.
“Alone? Like your mother?” Nathan ran his hand over his chin.
“You of all people know what a hard road that is, right, sweetheart?”
“Where  are  you  going  to  be?  Are  you  planning  to  die?  Disappear?” Behind her brave front, Tia shrank to walnut size. She knew
where Nathan would be. He’d be in his beautiful house with Julie$e.
"e wife. "e wife she’d once spied on. "e wife who looked like sun
and sky, whose blonde shine had blinded Tia.
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“I’ll pay for whatever you need to take care of . . .”
“ ‘Take care of, take care of,’ ” Tia mimicked. “Take care of what?”
She wanted to force him to say the word abortion.
“My sons are so young.”
Tia clutched the arm of the chair. She craved the forbidden wine.
“I  can’t  stretch  between  two  families.  Please.  Look  at  what  this
means,” he begged.
Dry skin peeled from her cracked thumb as she wrung her hands.
Already this pregnancy had changed her, somehow drying her out
while also making her pee twice an hour.
Nathan  came  and  put  his  arms  around  her.  “Pregnancy  makes
women romanticize things. You think a#er seeing the baby, fatherly
love will overwhelm me and I’ll change my mind. But I can’t. I’m not
leaving my family. Wasn’t I always straight about that?”
Oh God. He was crying.
His family.
She’d thought she was having his family.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Finally she spoke. “I can’t do it, Nathan. What you’re asking—I
can’t.”
Nathan drew away. “I’m sorry, but there’s no possible way we can
be together, Tia. Please. Take care of this. It’s the best thing for both
of us. Honestly.”
By her sixth month of pregnancy, discomfort had become Tia’s new
normal. Once upon a time so skinny that people pressed milkshakes
on  her,  now  she  lumbered.  She  stuck  a  cushion  behind  her  as  she
sat on the couch, surrounded by begging le$ers, photos, and essays
from couples hungry for her baby.
Tia had refused to “take care of this,” as Nathan wanted. St. Peter’s
nuns and Tia’s mother had done too good a job. She couldn’t rid herself of the pregnancy for fear of being haunted into the a#erlife, and
she couldn’t !nd the courage to hold her child in this life, so here she
was, six months pregnant, choosing a mother and father for her baby.
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|Randy Susan Meyers
Picking adoptive parents, she was faced with impossible choices.
She sorted through hundreds of le$ers from men and women desperate for the baby growing inside her. Potential mothers and fathers
swam  before  her  until  she  could  barely  remember  who  was  the  librarian from Fall River and which was the couple reminiscent of her
scariest  Sunday  school  teachers. "ey  all  promised  nurturing  love,
backyards the size of Minnesota, and Ivy League schools.
A#er three cups of sugary mint tea, missing co&ee more with each
sip, Tia narrowed the choices to the three most likely couples. She
si#ed through their pictures and le$ers, and then laid them out like
tarot cards. "en, with the fear of continuing to face this task hastening her decision, she picked the man and woman she deemed most
likely to be good parents. She balanced their photos on her big belly
and then moved them around like paper dolls, acting out everything
they’d said during the phone conversation she’d had with them, both
of them sounding so sure of themselves, so smart and together.
“Hello,  Tia,”  she  imagined  Paper  Caroline’s  voice  squeaking.
“I  want  your  baby.  I’m  a  pathologist  researching  children’s  cancer.
My husband has a very large family, and he’s always been drawn to
children.”
“Tell her about being a counselor at Paul Newman’s camp. What’s
the name? You know. "e one for kids with cancer?” Paper Peter laid
a gentle hand on saintly Paper Caroline’s arm.
“"e Hole in the Wall Gang.” Paper Caroline bowed her head so
as not to appear boastful.
A month later, when Caroline and Peter learned it was a girl, they
told Tia they were naming the baby Savannah. An idiotic name. Tia
called the baby inside her Honor, her mother’s middle name—also
an idiotic name, but it wasn’t meant to be used out of utero, and besides, idiotic or not, it certainly beat Savannah. Why not simply call
her Britney and be done with it? If she wasn’t so busy caring for her
ailing mother, she’d choose new parents for her daughter.
Tia stumbled as she fumed over the choice, bumping into a food
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cart in the hall of the hospice that had become her mother’s home.
Clumsiness was Tia’s companion. Clumsiness, the constant need to
pee,  and  a  life  of  seclusion.  She’d  gone  from  existing  for  Nathan’s
visits, to carrying a relentless reminder of him. Each time she stroked
her stomach, she felt as though she were caressing him. Hard as she
tried, she couldn’t replace sadness with hate.
Her  mother  was  the  only  person  with  whom  she  spent  time.
Every other friend from her past—except for Robin, in California,
too  far  away  to  visit—thought  she’d  gone  to  Arizona  for  a  year  to
work on a master's in gerontology, based on her work with the elderly. In reality, she moved to Jamaica Plain, an entirely di&erent sort
of neighborhood from Southie.
Unlike her old neighborhood, where she’d see people she knew
on every street, Jamaica Plain was always in 'ux—a mix not just of
ethnicity and race, but of class, culture, and age. Her only acquaintance was the librarian, with whom she had a nodding hi, how are you,
relationship. JP was an easy place to remain anonymous.
She’d  wanted  to  be  where  nobody  knew  her  name.  Being  the
object of gossip or pity wasn’t in her plans. Her mother’s savings supported both of them—Tia rarely le#the house. Life became mainlining novels, watching TV, and caring for her mother, who’d moved in
with Tia until her pain overcame Tia’s nursing ability.
She  crept  into  her  mother’s  room  on  angel  feet. "at’s  what
her mother had called it when Tia the child tried to sneak into the
kitchen for extra cookies. “Sweet one, mothers can hear their children, even when they use their angel feet.”
"ough Tia tried to pretend otherwise, her mother lay dying as
Tia’s baby grew.
“Mom?” she whispered.
"e room remained silent. Tia dug her nails into her palms and
bent over the bed, watching until she saw the slight rise and fall of
her  mother’s  chest.  Her  mother  was  only  forty-nine.  Liver  cancer
had overtaken her in a ma$er of months, although Tia suspected her
mother had hidden the truth for some time.
Her  mother  had  been  in  hospice  for  twenty-three  days.  Maybe
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|Randy Susan Meyers
the younger you were when you became sick, the longer you held
on,  or  maybe  twenty-three  days  was  average,  normal—whatever
you’d call the amount of time from entering a hospice until you died.
She couldn’t bring herself to !nd out. Perhaps if she had a sister or
brother who’d team up with her, she’d have the courage to ask such
a vulgar question, but it had always been just the two of them, Tia
and her mother.
Dying could be such a long process, which surprised Tia. You’d
think  that  working  with  the  elderly  would  have  taught  her  more
about  death  and  dying,  but  she’d  provided  senior  recreation,  not
counseling. Word games were her specialty. In her work world, a client didn’t show up for Scrabble, and the next thing you knew, he or
she was dead.
You didn’t see the person die.
Losing  her  mother  seemed  impossible,  as  though  someone
planned  to  cut  the  string  that  held  Tia  to  earth.  She’d  be 'oating
without  ballast.  Tia  had  none  of  the  usual  family:  no  aunts,  no
uncles, no cousins—her mother !lled all those roles.
Tia se$led into the chair next to her mother’s bed. She wondered
why,  when  they  so  stressed  comfort,  the  hospice  didn’t  provide
chairs where a pregnant woman could sit pain free. She slipped a paperback from her tote: a mystery so simple that even if she retained
only  a  quarter  of  what  she  read,  she  could  still  track  the  plot.  Her
mother’s copy of Jane Eyre, complete with the magical happy ending,
was in her bag, but she saved that to read aloud to her mother a#er
supper.
Her mother opened her eyes. “Been here long, sweetheart?” She
reached for Tia’s hand. “Tired?”
Tia ran a hand over her large belly. “Always.”
“You don’t have to come here every night, you know.”
Her mother repeated this daily. It was her version of “I’m worried
about you.”
“Tired isn’t life threatening.”
“When you’re pregnant—”
“When you’re pregnant, it’s what you are. Remember?” Tia asked.
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“Was  it  like  that  for  you?  Did  I  drive  you  crazy  even  before  I  was
born?”
Her  mother  struggled  to  sit  up.  Tia  o&ered  a  hand  for  leverage
and  then  tucked  pillows  behind  her  mother’s  back.  Her  mother’s
skin,  once  such  a  pre$y,  pink-tinged  white—pale  Irish  skin  that
burned with one wink from the sun; that was how her mother described herself—now looked mean yellow against the sheets.
“I remember everything about being pregnant,” her mother said.
“Are you going to be able to forget?”
“Mom, please don’t,” Tia said.
“I  have  to,  honey.”  Her  mother  retrieved  her  glasses  from  the
metal  tray  a$ached  to  the  bed.  Once  the  wire  rims  were !rmly  in
place,  she  looked  healthier.  Glasses,  jewelry,  and  other  accoutrements  seemed  like  totems  against  death.  Tia  constantly  bought
bright  trinkets  to  cheer  her  mother.  Electric  blue  beads  threaded
onto  silver  cord  clanked  around  her  mother’s  wrist.  “"ey  match
your eyes,” Tia had said, a#er buying them the previous week.
“Why don’t I get you some ice water?” Tia said.
“Don’t run away. Listen to me. You need to face how sorry you’ll
be if you go through with this.”
!iswas the word her mother used to describe Tia’s plan to give
up her baby for adoption.
“I’d be a horrible mother,” Tia said.
“You think that now. Wait until you hold your baby.”
Each skirmish in her mother’s ba$le to stop the adoption made
Tia feel worse. Every reason Tia laid out sounded lamer than the last.
“I’ll be a bad mother.”
“I don’t have enough money.”
“I’m too ashamed of not knowing who the father is.”
Rather than telling her mother the truth, Tia pretended to be a
woman who’d slept with too many men and, thus, didn’t know the
identity  of  her  baby’s  father. "e  horror  of  that  lie  was  still  be$er
than the truth. She couldn’t bear telling her mother she’d been sleeping with a married man—and had tried to steal him.
Everything  she  said  sounded  ridiculous.  Maybe  she’d  be  a  bad
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|Randy Susan Meyers
mother, God knows she had no money, and immature should be her
middle name, but if that were all it took to give up a baby, the world
would be !lled with orphans.
Tia caressed her belly. Sweet li"le baby, I’m sorry.
Tia  had  grown  up  in  the  wake  of  her  father’s  vanishing.  In  a
vacuum of knowledge, her mother assumed he’d chosen a life with
another  woman—living  a  life  with  more  fun  and  liquor  than  Tia’s
puritanical mother would accept. In her mother’s estimation, sleeping with a married man was a sin only exceeded by abortion.
Without the truth, Tia could o&er no reasoning that would make
sense.  How  could  she  admit  that  she  was  giving  up  a  child  whose
existence  would  remind  her  of  a  man  she  loved,  but  could  never
have? How could Tia say this to her mother when Tia had no idea if
she was being the most sel!sh she’d ever been, or the most sel'ess?
“"e baby will have a be$er life than I’ll ever be able to give her,”
Tia said. “Really, Mom. You saw their le$er, the pictures. "e baby
will have good parents.”
Her mother’s eyes watered. Tia’s mother never cried. Not when
Tia  broke  her  leg  so  badly  that  the  bone  stuck  out.  Not  when  she
found out about the cancer. And not when Tia’s father le#—at least,
not in front of Tia.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother blinked, and the tears disappeared.
“Sorry? God, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
Her mother folded her arms and clutched her elbows. “I must
have done something awful to have you believe your baby will do
be$er  without  you.  Do  you  think  your  life  at  this  moment  is  as
well as you’ll ever do? Don’t you see that your future lies in front
of you?”
Tia shrugged as though she were a child shu$ing down against
shame, aching at the thought that she might let her mother die thinking she’d failed in raising her.
“Mom, it’s not that.”
“"en what?”
“I just don’t think it’s my path.” Tia covered her belly with both
hands. Every lie she told felt as though she were pushing her mother
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| 13
further  away,  now  when  they  needed  closeness  more  than  ever.  “I
don’t think she’s meant to be mine.”
“Please  don’t  make  your  decision  yet.  Something’s  tormenting
you, and I know it’s not what you’re telling me. "at’s okay. But believe me, if you pick giving in to your pain over choosing your baby,
you’ll never recover from either.”