Jodi Picoult - Sing You Home

We had to fight the clinic director to begin the process of in vitro-in spite of the fact that a court order held the frozen embryos in limbo. She agreed to allow us to get the psychological components completed, and then-if the court ruled in our favor-to start Vanessa immediately on the drug regimen. But, she pointed out, if Max wanted Reid and Liddy to have the same privilege, she would have to give it to them.

We have already explained to the counselor how we met, how long we’ve been together. “Have you considered the legal ramifications of being same-sex parents?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’ll adopt the baby, after Vanessa gives birth.”

“I assume you both have powers of attorney?”

We look at each other. Unlike straight couples, if I were in a car crash and dying, Vanessa wouldn’t have the rights as my spouse to sit by me at the hospital, to make the decision to turn off life support. Because our marriage isn’t federally recognized, we have to jump through all these extra legal hoops to get the same rights-1,138 of them-that come naturally to heterosexual couples who get married. Vanessa and I had been planning to sit down with a bottle of bourbon one night and ask each other questions no one ever wants to have to answer-about organ donation and hospice care and brain death-but then we were served with a lawsuit and, ironically, asking a lawyer to draft a power of attorney was moved to the back burner. “We’re in the process of getting that taken care of.” It’s not a lie if we meant to do it, is it?

“Why do you want to have a child?” Felicity asks.

“I won’t speak for Vanessa,” I say, “but I’ve always wanted one. I tried for almost a decade, with my ex-husband. I don’t think I’ll feel complete if I don’t have the chance to be a mother.”

The social worker turns to Vanessa. “I see kids every day at work. Some of them are shy, or funny, or complete pains in the neck. But every single one of them is living proof that, at one point, their parents believed they’d have a future together. I want to have Zoe’s baby so that she can grow up with two mothers who have moved heaven and earth to bring her into this world.”

“But how do you feel about being a parent?”

“I’m obviously fine with it,” Vanessa says.

“Yet you’ve never expressed a desire to have a child before now…”

“Because I wasn’t with a partner I’d want to have kids with.”

“Are you doing this for Zoe, then, or for yourself?”

“How can you ask me to separate those?” Vanessa says, exasperated. “Of course I’m doing it for Zoe. But I’m also doing it for me.”

Felicity writes something down on her pad. It makes me nervous. “What makes you think you’d be a good parent?”

“I’m patient,” I reply. “I have a lot of experience helping people with problems express themselves in a different way. I know how to listen.”

“And she loves harder than anyone I’ve ever known,” Vanessa adds. “She’d do anything for her child. And I-well, I’m a school counselor. I have to believe that will come in handy eventually with my own kid.”

“She’s also smart, confident, and empathetic,” I say. “An amazing role model.”

“So Ms. Shaw-you work with teenagers. Did you ever babysit when you were younger? Have any younger siblings you helped raise?”

“No,” Vanessa says, “but I’m pretty sure I can Google how to change a diaper if I get stumped.”

“She’s also funny,” I interject. “Great sense of humor!”

“You know, I’ve come across a few teen mothers during my career,” Vanessa points out. “They’re close enough to childhood to remember it intimately, but I wouldn’t say that makes them better equipped for parenting…”

Felicity looks up at her. “Are you always this sensitive?”

“Only when I’m talking to someone who’s a-”

“What else?” I say brightly. “You must have some other questions for us.”

“How are you going to explain to your child why she has two moms, and no dad?” Felicity asks.

I was expecting this question. “I’d start by telling her that there are lots of different kinds of families, and that one isn’t any better than another.”

“Children, as you know, can be cruel. What if a classmate makes fun of her for having two mothers?”

Vanessa crosses her legs. “I’d go and beat up the kid who teased her.”

I stare at her. “You did not just say that.”

“Oh, fine. We’d deal with it. We’d talk our kid through it,” Vanessa says. “And then I’d go beat up the bully.”

I grit my teeth. “What she means is that we would speak to the bully’s parents and try to explain a way to get their child to be a little more tolerant-”

The phone rings, and the social worker answers it. “I’m sorry,” she says to us. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

As soon as Felicity Grimes steps out of her office, I turn to Vanessa. “Really? Did you really just say that to a social worker who is going to decide whether or not we get to use these embryos?”

“She’s not deciding. Judge O’Neill is. And besides-these questions are ludicrous! There are plenty of deadbeat dads in the world who are reason enough to glorify lesbian parents.”

“But the social worker has to give us the green light before the clinic will start any procedure,” I point out. “You don’t know how to play this game, Vanessa, but I do. You say anything and do anything you have to in order to get her to sign off on us.”

“I’m not going to let someone judge me just because I’m gay. Isn’t it bad enough that our relationship is being dragged through the court system? Do I really have to sit here and smile while Pam Ewing here tells me I can’t be both a lesbian and a good parent?”

“She never said that,” I argue. “That’s just what you heard.”

I imagine Felicity Grimes listening in on the other side of the door, and putting a big red X through our file. Couple can’t even see eye to eye during an hour-long interview. Unfit to parent.

Vanessa shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I won’t play this game like Max did. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not, Zoe. I spent half my life doing that.”

In that moment, the anger I feel toward Max bubbles up like blisters on my tongue. It is one thing for him to take away my right to use these embryos. It’s another thing to take away what makes me happy.

“Vanessa,” I say, “I want a baby. But not if it means losing you.”

She looks up at me as the social worker sails through the door again. “My apologies, again. Everything looks good on my end.”

Vanessa and I look at each other. “You mean we’re done?” I ask. “We passed?”

She smiles. “It’s not a test. We don’t expect you to have the right answers. We just want you to have answers, period.”

Vanessa stands up and shakes the social worker’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Good luck.”

I gather my coat and purse, and we walk out of the office. For a moment, we just stand in the hallway, and then Vanessa grabs me and hugs me so hard I am lifted off my feet. “I feel like I just won the Super Bowl.”

“More like the first game of the season,” I point out.

“Still. It feels good to have someone say yes instead of no.”

Her arm is draped over my shoulders as we walk down the hall. “For the record,” I say, “when you went to beat up that hypothetical bully? I may not have wanted to tell the social worker, but I would have been right behind you.”

“That’s why I love you.”

We’ve reached the elevator, and I press the button. When the bell sounds, Vanessa and I step away from each other.