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"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.

  It's second nature.

  It's so that the people inside have nothing to stare at.

  On Tuesday mornings I go to a hospice and do music therapy with people who are dying by degrees. It is brutal, soul-draining work. And yet, I'd far rather be there than sitting next to Angela Moretti again, this time for a hearing on an emergency motion that was filed by Wade Preston just before the close of business last night. Angela is so angry, in fact, she's not even making lawyer jokes at Preston's expense.

  Judge O'Neill stares daggers at Preston. "I have before me an emergency motion filed by you asking to disqualify Angela Moretti as Zoe Baxter's attorney, and a Rule Eleven motion to strike this motion, filed by Ms. Moretti. Or, as I like to call it, a whole bottle of Excedrin before noon. What's going on, Counselor?"

  "Judge, I take no pleasure in bringing this information to the court. But as you can see from the attached photograph, which I'd like to enter as Exhibit A, Ms. Moretti is not only a lesbian sympathizer . . . she is engaged in this deviant lifestyle herself."

  He holds up a grainy eight-by-ten that shows Angela and me, embracing. I have to squint to figure out where on earth this was taken. Then I see the chain-link fence and the lamppost and realize it is the high school parking lot.

  Angela and I didn't have a scheduled meeting that day.

  Which means Preston has had someone following me.

  Wade Preston shrugs. "A picture's worth a thousand words."

  "He's right," Angela says. "And this fallacious photo speaks for itself."

  "If this is what they're willing to do in public, imagine what they do in private . . ."

  "Oh, my God," Angela mutters.

  "It's a little late to start praying now, darlin'. Clearly the defendant and her attorney are embroiled in an improper relationship that's in violation of the ethical rules governing attorneys in the state of Rhode Island," Preston says.

  Ben Benjamin slowly comes out of his seat. "Um, actually, Wade? In Rhode Island, you can have sex with your client."

  Preston whips around and looks at him. "You can?"

  I blink at Angela. "You can?"

  Benjamin nods. "As long as it's not in lieu of legal fees."

  Undaunted, Preston faces the judge again. "Your Honor, Rhode Island notwithstanding, we all know there are ethical standards in the practice of law, and a counselor would have to be morally bereft to have a relationship with a client that crosses the boundaries of propriety as indicated by Exhibit A. Clearly, Ms. Moretti is not fit to represent her client impartially in this matter."

  The judge turns to Angela. "I assume you have something to add here?"

  "I absolutely, unequivocally deny that I am having an affair with my client, whose wife is sitting behind me even now. What Mr. Preston's paparazzi witnessed was an innocent embrace that followed a meeting with my client, when she became distraught after learning about Wade Preston's attempt to distort justice by filing a motion to appoint a guardian ad litem for zygotes. Although I comple