Page 79 of Our Last Vineyard Summer
When Betsy felt her mother’s slender arm slide around her back, she lifted her gaze. Her mother angled toward her, pushing Betsy’s bangs to one side of her face.
“I want to tell you a story, Betsy. Is that okay?” Her mother waited for her to nod, then she closed her eyes. “Once upon a time there was a young woman who met a handsome young man in midtown Manhattan. They fell deeply in love, spending every moment together, even as they nursed their own dreams. When the young woman found out she was pregnant, she worried about telling the young man. The young man had taken her hand and kissed her; this was a child that he wanted and that she wanted, and so they quickly married to hide the error. Itwas a marriage steeped in love and understanding, and when a second child came soon after the first, this one also a girl, the husband and wife cheered. They wanted this family, and it was the third baby they had wanted most, even though it had been hardest to get pregnant. So, when the young woman finally did, she discovered the child was a girl and she said a silent prayer. Because she’d always wanted three girls.”
Betsy looked up at her mother, confusion knitting her brows. “You and Dad got pregnant with Louisa before you were married?”
“It was terribly scary at first, but it happened, yes. But you were the most wanted children in the world, and because of that, I know what it means to want a child, even in a predicament like yours. Because if your father hadn’t wanted Louisa, I would have found a way to have you and Aggie and Louisa anyway, no matter what that looked like.”
It was difficult to understand. Betsy was always being pushed to be something extraordinary, and the message she received from her mother, through innuendo and example, was that being a mother was secondary. It was a career that came first. You didn’t start with a baby. Without a husband. But maybe what her mother was saying is that it didn’t matter what order you did things, if you did them with intention.
“So you’re not mad at me?” Betsy needed to know how her mother felt. One hundred percent honesty.
Her mother tilted her chin down, kissing the side of Betsy’s temple. “Oh, baby girl. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that women need choices. If this is your choice, then I will respect it. I’m glad you’re going back to school. You’re going to need to make a living. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Yes.” Betsy’s mind wandered to her term paper. She would finish as much as she could by the end of the summer. The baby would come sometime next winter. That would leave her pregnant during the first semester, with an infant during the second. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I have so much faith inside me about this baby, like I can shape this child into something special.”
“Someone told me as much when I was younger, that we all need faith that things could be better to feel strong.”
“All this time, I thought you would think I’m a failure if I didn’t do what you and Dad wanted,” Betsy said, wiping at the goop under her nose.
Virgie twirled at a piece of Betsy’s long brown hair. “Maybe you misunderstood me.” Her mother pressed her body into her, their sides touching with the same ease and comfort that they had when Betsy was young. “Feminism isn’tonlyabout swimming upriver to do a man’s job. It’s notonlyabout electing a woman president or Supreme Court justice or CEO of a major corporation. Feminism is about having the freedom to chart your own path, whatever that may be. It means that if you want to have this baby, then you can have it. No one will fault you.”
Betsy wished she could turn back the clock on summer, that she and her mother could have had these conversations from the start. The last few weeks seemed like wasted opportunities.
Her mother smiled, her voice turning somber. “Your decision, it’s going to make your life harder. You are choosing the most challenging path.”
Betsy felt like a soldier getting ready for battle. “I know.” But maybe she didn’t. Maybe this baby would ruin her.
Then her mother’s face lit up. “But a child is the single most worthwhile thing you’ll do, and I can say that because I’ve done it three times, and each one of you has brought me closer to who I was meant to be. It’s hard to explain with your children, but even when you long for the days before you had them, you’d never be able to return to that state of mind. Because you and your sisters are within me now.”
It was then that her mother removed her arm from Betsy’s shoulder and slipped it on her daughter’s belly.
“I may want to come live in the Vineyard house someday, set up a therapy practice here in Edgartown. I want to help all kinds of women, just in a different way than you did.”
“Oh, Betsy. I love that idea. You are welcome here. For good.”
Betsy was smiling broadly even as she wiped her eyes with theback of her wrist, a release of at least ten years’ worth of disappointment she’d stored inside her body. “I will need your help with this baby though. Will you help me?”
“We will all help you.”
Her mother pressed her cheek to Betsy’s, the fleshy part of their skin sticking from the crying. Betsy wanted to say: How? Will you come live in New York so I can finish school? Will you help me pay for a babysitter while I’m finishing? These details mattered. Betsy might be able to do it on her own, but being home this summer had shown her she didn’t want to.
“I will work and go to school, but will you babysit sometimes?”
Her mother’s reaction was knee-jerk, like she’d been waiting to be called into action her entire life. She said she’d pack her typewriter and revise her book between Betsy’s classes. “I can stay in New York for a few months and help you get on your feet, of course. But you need to be sure that you want this. I can’t undo it after it’s done.”
Betsy swallowed. “It is what I want.”
Her mother gave her an impish grin. “And if I come to New York to help, will you please forgive me for missing your graduation?”
“I would say we’d be even.” Betsy released one last great big exhale.
She would write that paper and she would return to Columbia. She would have this baby, and she would graduate. Then she would return to Martha’s Vineyard in time for summer, and she’d stay as the leaves fell and the snow blanketed the harbor. She’d rent a small office space in Edgartown, hang a sign on the door that read: BETSYWHITING, WOMEN’STHERAPIST.
I can do this, she told herself. Betsy drew a line around the lighthouse in the sky, a glow warming her at the thought of watching the lighthouse’s bright fiery light in all seasons.
She smiled. No one could say otherwise then. Just like her oldest friend, Betsy would be an islander.
THE END