baby and they get emotional and then they lose
objectivity
, Diane, they get all
embroiled
and they can’t see straight, and for women—this is true—their hormones get stirred up. It’s just not a good time for
anyone
to be making a decision about
anything
, it’s really not.”
“It’s actually vice versa, Walter. You don’t know what you really want until your emotions come into play.”
This didn’t sound too teen-agerish to him—its maturity was curious, even startling—but was that important right now? The whole thing just couldn’t disintegrate like this, not when he was so close to slipping out of it. “Diane,” he said, “come on, please. There’s a family out there expecting a baby. There’s more than just yourself to think about.”
“That’s ironic,” Diane pointed out. “You telling me there’s more than just myself to think about.”
“Listen,” said Walter, “I’m not a bad guy. I understand what you’re saying about emotions. Your point of view is completely valid, but this just isn’t
the time
.”
“It is pre
cise
ly the time,” Diane countered. “It’s the forty-eight hours I’ve been allotted to reconsider. Walter, if you were named as the father—yes?—then you might call this a discussion between two people who both have a hand in a decision. But—Walter—you are
not
named. Youmight be the father, but you are not named.
If
you were named, then the two of us might be deciding this together, but you’re not, so just stay out of it. I mean it.”
“I’m not Norwegian, but Lydia is,” said Walter, “and this is a really good time to say
uff da
.” With that he fell, hard, into a chair.
“Lydia who?” asked Diane.
Now what? A counselor? Someone from the adoption agency? More money? All of those were bad ideas.
Walter repaired to the hospital cafeteria, intending to see if a late burger and fries would help him think about what came next. But when his burger was gone, there was still no solution, so he returned to the buffet line for butterscotch pudding, and, while eating it, made a list of options under the headings “pro” and “con.” Should he go back and argue? Try to reason with Diane? Remind her of her dream to go to college someday, which probably wouldn’t happen if she kept the baby? Should he offer something? Ask what she wanted? Ask her, flat out, what it would take, in cash, to get her to keep to their plan? How about pushing the morality angle? He could already hear himself, he practiced a little:
You’re giving the child a better life
. Nope.
When you promise someone something, make an agreement with people, you have a moral obligation to keep to your word
—but no, that wouldn’t wash, either.
This Diane Burroughs was a tough little bird, but he’d known that from the first—ever since they’d played Life together. Clever and immune to manipulation. Always watching, thinking, weighing. What would she respond to when push came to shove, this girl who hailed from a gritty slice of England? He didn’t have a clue. He couldn’t tell.
Feeling hopeless, but armed with peanut-butter cookies, he returned to Maternity to plead his case. What Diane really liked were snickerdoodles, soft in the middle and doused heavily with cinnamon, but there were none of those, not even approximations, so peanut-butter cookies would have to do, delivered by a supplicant named Walter. “Eat one,” he said. “They’re not snickerdoodles, but they’re good.” Diane, in answer, glared, shook her head, and then, with clear disgust, said, “
Please
, Walter.”
He retreated to a chair underneath her room’s mounted television. Diane had been watching a serial drama he wasn’t familiar with—aboutrich people and their alluring money—with curious avidity, he thought, given the pressing real-life matters at hand. How could she do that? He could never do that. “There’s something,” he said, getting up to take a cookie, “that I want you to
objectivity
, Diane, they get all
embroiled
and they can’t see straight, and for women—this is true—their hormones get stirred up. It’s just not a good time for
anyone
to be making a decision about
anything
, it’s really not.”
“It’s actually vice versa, Walter. You don’t know what you really want until your emotions come into play.”
This didn’t sound too teen-agerish to him—its maturity was curious, even startling—but was that important right now? The whole thing just couldn’t disintegrate like this, not when he was so close to slipping out of it. “Diane,” he said, “come on, please. There’s a family out there expecting a baby. There’s more than just yourself to think about.”
“That’s ironic,” Diane pointed out. “You telling me there’s more than just myself to think about.”
“Listen,” said Walter, “I’m not a bad guy. I understand what you’re saying about emotions. Your point of view is completely valid, but this just isn’t
the time
.”
“It is pre
cise
ly the time,” Diane countered. “It’s the forty-eight hours I’ve been allotted to reconsider. Walter, if you were named as the father—yes?—then you might call this a discussion between two people who both have a hand in a decision. But—Walter—you are
not
named. Youmight be the father, but you are not named.
If
you were named, then the two of us might be deciding this together, but you’re not, so just stay out of it. I mean it.”
“I’m not Norwegian, but Lydia is,” said Walter, “and this is a really good time to say
uff da
.” With that he fell, hard, into a chair.
“Lydia who?” asked Diane.
Now what? A counselor? Someone from the adoption agency? More money? All of those were bad ideas.
Walter repaired to the hospital cafeteria, intending to see if a late burger and fries would help him think about what came next. But when his burger was gone, there was still no solution, so he returned to the buffet line for butterscotch pudding, and, while eating it, made a list of options under the headings “pro” and “con.” Should he go back and argue? Try to reason with Diane? Remind her of her dream to go to college someday, which probably wouldn’t happen if she kept the baby? Should he offer something? Ask what she wanted? Ask her, flat out, what it would take, in cash, to get her to keep to their plan? How about pushing the morality angle? He could already hear himself, he practiced a little:
You’re giving the child a better life
. Nope.
When you promise someone something, make an agreement with people, you have a moral obligation to keep to your word
—but no, that wouldn’t wash, either.
This Diane Burroughs was a tough little bird, but he’d known that from the first—ever since they’d played Life together. Clever and immune to manipulation. Always watching, thinking, weighing. What would she respond to when push came to shove, this girl who hailed from a gritty slice of England? He didn’t have a clue. He couldn’t tell.
Feeling hopeless, but armed with peanut-butter cookies, he returned to Maternity to plead his case. What Diane really liked were snickerdoodles, soft in the middle and doused heavily with cinnamon, but there were none of those, not even approximations, so peanut-butter cookies would have to do, delivered by a supplicant named Walter. “Eat one,” he said. “They’re not snickerdoodles, but they’re good.” Diane, in answer, glared, shook her head, and then, with clear disgust, said, “
Please
, Walter.”
He retreated to a chair underneath her room’s mounted television. Diane had been watching a serial drama he wasn’t familiar with—aboutrich people and their alluring money—with curious avidity, he thought, given the pressing real-life matters at hand. How could she do that? He could never do that. “There’s something,” he said, getting up to take a cookie, “that I want you to
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