Jodi Picoult - Sing You Home

Liddy leans into the countertop, rolling the dough between two sheets of plastic wrap. The ball flattens into a perfect circle, which she flips into a ceramic pie plate. “It sounds complicated.”

“Yeah, but they know what they’re doing.” I don’t want her worrying about this. I want her to believe it’s all going to happen just the way she wants. A positive frame of mind is just as important as any reproductive plumbing when it comes to pregnancy. At least that’s what Zoe’s OB used to say.

Liddy spoons the filling-there are berries in there, which she’s tried to keep me from swiping-and some sugar and that white powdery crap that’s not flour-into the crust. She puts a few pats of butter on top. Then she takes the second ball of dough out of the fridge so that she can roll the top crust.

She lifts up the Saran Wrap and pulls the sheet out. But instead of rolling, she jackknifes, leaning on the counter and covering her face with her hands.

She’s sobbing.

“Liddy? What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, waving me off.

I start to panic. I ought to call Reid. I ought to call 911.

“I’m fine, Max,” she chokes. “Honestly.”

“You’re crying!”

She looks up at me. Her eyes are the color of sea glass, the kind you find on the beach and keep in your pocket. “Because I’m happy. You’ve made me so unbelievably happy.”

It doesn’t make sense to me, but neither does the way I feel when she leans against me for a second. She gives me a quick hug and then moves back to the pie, rolling the pastry dough as if the world has not just shifted on its axis.

Ben Benjamin has little round glasses and a mouth pursed like a funnel. He’s sitting across from me in the church office conference room writing down everything I say, as if there’s going to be a quiz later. “How did you divide your assets?” he asks.

“We just kind of split everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Zoe took the musical instruments, and I took my landscaping equipment. We said we’d each take care of our own debt. We didn’t have a house or anything.”

“Did you address the issue of the embryos in your final judgment?”

“Well, no. It wasn’t like they were property.”

Wade leans forward, hands clasped. “Of course not. They’re people.”

Ben makes a note on his pad. “So while you were representing yourselves during the divorce, the two of you just made an honest mistake. You forgot to talk about those little… people… in their frozen time capsules during the divorce decree. Right?”

“I guess so,” I say.

“No, you know so,” Ben corrects. “Because that’s how we’re going to open this up. You didn’t realize this needed to be addressed during the divorce, so we bring it back to family court again by filing an action.”

“What if Zoe files one first?” I ask.

“Believe me,” Wade says, “the clinic isn’t going to make a single move without having consent from both of you-or a court order. In fact, I’m going to give counsel for the clinic a call just to make sure of it.”

“But even if we go to court, won’t the judge think I’m scum for wanting to give my babies away? I mean, Zoe wants them for herself.”

“That’s a compelling argument,” Ben agrees, “except you both have an equal biological claim to the embryos-”

“Pre-born children,” Wade interrupts.

Ben glances up. “Right. The children. You have just as much right to say what happens to them as your ex-wife does. Even if you wanted to have them destroyed-”

“Which he doesn’t,” Pastor Clive says.

“No, but if you did, the court would have to consider your legal right to do so.”

“The court cares about the best interests of the children,” Wade adds. “You’ve heard that term. And the choices here are a traditional Christian family or a unit that doesn’t even come close to approximating that definition.”

“We’ll have your brother and sister-in-law testify. They’re going to be a very central part of this trial,” Ben says.

I run my thumbnail along a groove in the table. Last night, Liddy and Reid had been online looking up baby names. Joshua’s nice, Reid had said, and Liddy had said maybe Mason.

Too trendy, Reid had said.

And Liddy had said, Well, what does Max think? He ought to have a say in this, too.

I flatten my hands on the table. “About this trial… I probably should have brought this up before. But I can’t afford one lawyer, much less two of you.”

Pastor Clive puts his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that, son. The church is taking care of it. After all, this is going to bring us a lot of attention.”

Wade leans back, a smile unraveling across his face. “Attention,” he says, “is what I do best.”

Ilike Emma. And Ella. And Hannah.

“Does every baby name have to be a palindrome?” Vanessa asks.

“No,” I tell her, as we sprawl across the living room floor, surrounded by every single baby name book stocked by the local bookstore.

“Florals?” Vanessa says. “Rose? Lily? Or Daisy. I’ve always liked Daisy.”

“Amanda Lynn?” I wait to see if she’ll get the joke.

Vanessa smirks. “Well, it’s better than Tuba or Banjo…”

“How about girl names that are also boy names?” I say. “Like Stevie. Or Alex.”

“It would save us half the work here,” Vanessa admits.

I have been pregnant three times and have avoided doing just this: hoping. It’s a lot easier to not be disappointed when you have no expectations. And yet this time I almost can’t help myself. There was something about the way I left things with Max that makes me believe this might actually happen.

After all, he didn’t say no right away, which is what I expected.

Which means he’s still thinking.

And that has to be good, right?

“Joey,” Vanessa suggests. “That’s kind of cute.”

“If you’re a kangaroo…” I roll over onto my back and look up at the ceiling. “Clouds.”

“No way. I’m not doing the hippie thing. No Clouds or Rain or Meadow. I mean, imagine the poor kid when she’s ninety and in a nursing home.”

“I wasn’t talking about a name,” I say. “I was thinking about the nursery. I’ve always thought it would be peaceful to fall asleep staring up at clouds painted on your ceiling.”

“That’s cool. You think Michelangelo is listed in the yellow pages?”

The doorbell rings as I toss a pillow at her. “You expecting anyone?” I ask.

Vanessa shakes her head. “Are you?”

A man is standing on the porch, smiling. He’s wearing a red baseball cap and a Red Sox sweatshirt and doesn’t strike me as a serial killer, so I open the door. “Are you Zoe Baxter?” he asks.

“Yes…”

He pulls a sheaf of blue papers out of his back pocket. “These papers are for you,” he says. “You’ve been served.”

I open the folded document and words leap off the page at me:

Pray this Honorable Court…

… award him full possession and custody of his pre-born children…

… wishes to provide them with an appropriate two-parent family…

I sink to the floor and read.

In support thereof, it is hereby stated:

1. The plaintiff is the biological father of these pre-born children, which were conceived during a heterosexual, God-condoned, constitutional marriage for the purposes of being raised in a heterosexual, God-condoned, constitutional marriage.

2. Since these pre-born children were conceived the parties have divorced.