Of Fathers & Daughters

Chapter 2: Of Fathers and Daughters

“Sweety, there’s something we have to tell you about.”
The sentence simply hung in the air. Delilah eyed her parents with a calm face although her stomach was doing backflips in spite of her. She truly was ready for anything, foster care had prepped her for moments like these. She assumed that the following sentence out of her mother’s mouth would have been something like, “We’re sending you back,” or “this really isn’t working out.” So she started racking her brain for things she could have done wrong in the short 6 months since she’d lived there.

She accidently broke a vase in the hallway when she was testing out her cartwheel skills, and spilled apple juice on the universal remote effectively ruining it altogether. Still, she didn’t think any of those things were too upsetting.

“Your father and I...we-” her mother stopped and it seemed as if she was trying to be delicate, which Delilah had little patience for.

“What happened?” She didn’t mean for it to come out clipped, but it did. If they were trying to kick her out, they at least better be quick about it. She briefly pictured herself walking down a dirt road with all her things in a little bag tied to a stick like in the cartoons.

“What she’s trying to say is- you’re going to be a big sister!” Her father exclaimed; he was smiling so wide it almost looked painful.

All of a sudden a rush of enthusiasm hit her, she had been so lonely without Wilson. And growing up in foster care, she was accustomed to being surrounded by a lot of kids. A new body in the house close to her age would be great. “You’re adopting another kid? Are they like me? Brown, I mean? Is it a girl? Or-”

Her father’s smile seemed to waiver but held strong as he corrected her.

“No, we’re not adopting another child-” his voice was smooth as he cast a look at his wife.

“You’re mother is pregnant.”

Mrs. Bachman went to Columbia University in the late 1980’s where she was as she puts it “The Girl To Be”. Editor and chief of the paper, member of almost every club, valedictorian, and she even dated a football player the entire four years. She says that in those days success meant a wealthy husband and children- at least she got one out of the two.

“That is until you!” she’d add, mostly for Delilah’s benefit.

The Bachman’s met at a rally against the pollution that was being caused by the brewery on the other side of town. Mrs. Bachman was there on accident, but Mr. Bachman was there on purpose, he was quite the activist. The two bonded over the last soft pretzel at the concessions table, and married 3 years later. They tried and tried to conceive, but the doctor said Mrs. Bachman had a strangely shaped uterus and that, sadly the two would most likely never reproduce.

It’s important to mention that the Bachman’s live in California. This is particularly interesting to Delilah, because she repeatedly questioned why they traveled all the way to New Jersey to adopt a baby. A black baby at that- when there were probably so many healthy Jewish babies right here. Whenever this topic arose from Delilah, her parents always changed the subject.

Curious, isn’t it? Well at least that’s what Delilah thought.

When she first heard the word, “pregnant” leave her father’s lips, Delilah experienced a couple of emotions. Excitement for a new playmate, fear of being forgotten about, and one emotion she couldn’t quite identify.

“Delilah? Sweetheart?” her mother asked, placing a cool hand on her cheek.

“Are you going to send me back, since you have your own baby now?” Delilah asked, and this time her calm facade crumbled. She started to cry, the fierce kind of cry that happens when genuine fear is felt. She put both hands on her head and laid her face against the cool wooden table. She felt certain that her tears were so hot they could eat through her very skin.

“Oh Honey, no!!” her mother cried as she wrapped her arms around the weeping mass of her daughter. Her father made his way over to her as well, patting her hair as her mother rocked her soothingly.

“All this means is that our family is expanding. It’s a gift from, God.”

Delilah listened to her father’s words and nodded into her mother’s chest. It had been 6 months since she moved in and she had yet to call either of them “Mom” or “Dad”, she only ever did that in her mind. Instead, to get their attention she’d simply say, “hey” or “excuse me.” But in the thick of the fear that was creeping inside her, she simply said, “Thank you, Mom and Dad.”

Four months into her mother’s pregnancy the doctor said there were some complications. Complications Delilah, herself did not know in detail. By month six, her parents had friends over doing large prayer circles for the health of the new baby. By month seven they finally got the news. Twins.

It wasn’t until the eighth month that the news that kept her mother in bed for days wailing came through. The twins, although originally thought to be alright were conjoined at the chest. The details regarding limbs were still being determined. Upon doing research and talking to several medical professionals, her parents were informed that conjoined twins arrive stillborn 40-60% of time and that if they make it, the survival rate was extremely low. Delilah knew something was wrong but specifically what it was she couldn’t process. All she knew was there was trouble.

The final month of her mother’s pregnancy, the house that was once a magical place to Delilah, seemed to dim a bit. The colors seemed less bright and her father no longer smiled and her mother no longer called her “Honey” or “Sweetheart”. The truth was, Delilah wasn’t specifically fond of those pet names, but she missed them now that they were gone.

One afternoon, her father sat down with her and said, “We have to be brave right now, okay? This is a lot on your mom.”

“What about you?” She asked, and this surprised him. Delilah was good at that, asking questions that made adults stop and think.

He took a deep breath and let it out hastily. “Yeah...it’s hard on me too.”

He gave her a small smile then, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She couldn’t wait for the twins to come so that things could finally settle and she could find her home magical again.

Via C-section, her mother gave birth to twins, one boy and one girl. She didn’t want to name them just yet because Dr. Wade said there was a chance they wouldn’t live through the night. Delilah was not allowed to see her new siblings when they first emerged. She was saddled with her father’s mother in the waiting room.

“So, do I call you Grandma?” She asked, as this was their very first meeting. The old woman had thinning artificially brown hair, bright lipstick and the kind of glasses you only see on teachers in cartoons.

“No, you can call me, Yentl.” She has the hint of a smile on her old wrinkled lips. Delilah believes she must be at least one hundred and five.

“Yentl? That’s your name?”

“Well, no. But that’s what I like people to call me.” She’s was fully grinning then, so Delilah smiled back despite her confusion. As they waited, Yentl decided to tell her the reason she chose this name and consequently told the entire plot of the movie, Yentl, starring Barbra Streisand.

“Pretending to be a boy to learn stuff? No thanks.” Delilah huffed, although she quite enjoyed the story. Just then her father burst out of the hospital room with watery eyes as he approached his mother.

“They...they’re conjoined like the doctor suspected. But....they’re..they’re so- beautiful.” He hugged, her tight and let out a joyus laugh.

“I’m a father! Me! I’m a father!” He exclaimed running back into the hospital room followed by his mother.

Delilah did not move to follow the two, she just sat quietly on the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby. A woman sitting near her who saw the entire exchange, leaned over playfully and said, “It’s really sweet when guys get so excited about becoming a father, don’t you think?”

Delilah shook her head.

“He didn’t just become a father,” she mumbled. Or maybe he did.