Page 49 of Beautiful Small Things

“Of course not. I just like hearing it,” I confess.

“In that case, settle in,” he smiles.

Marcus

I close my eyes and remember back to that day, smiling as I focus on the first time I laid eyes on my daughter. The timing was not ideal. Although, is there ever an optimal time for a child to turn up on your doorstep?

I had the most iconic trip planned for Costa Rica. No stress, no work, no responsibility. It was going to be a ten-day party, and I’d earned it. Completing my oncology fellowship was exhausting. I had buckled down for years, putting my future first, which was uncharacteristically ambitious. My plan was to get drunk, surf, hang glide, jungle trek, and screw my way through the country.

I was rushing around, getting ready to leave for the airport, when I heard a faint knock on the door. I kept throwing things into my bag, and when they didn’t knock again, I figured whoever it was had left. And I was right. But they left something behind. Something precious.

Something life-changing.

My car retrieval app alerted me to imminent arrival, making me whip open my front door to find a bundle of baby on my front porch.

I did a double-take. I assumed the missed sleep had finally caught up, causing my mind to play tricks on me. So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and blinked them open.

Nothing had changed. Lying in an oatmeal-colored car seat was a baby—a newborn. The baby was fast asleep; dark lashes fanned out around fresh, pink cheeks—tiny watermelon-colored lips in a full pout. I remember thinking that this baby was beautiful, whoever it belonged to.

Then I laughed. I looked around and waited for whoever played this joke on me to reveal himself.

“OK, you Fuckers. Very funny,” I called out. “Come on; this isn’t funny. I’m leaving in five minutes. Come get this kid.”

But no one jumped out. No one laughed. No one appeared out of the blue to let me in on the joke.

I approached the sleeping infant like a tiny bomb with caution and reluctance. All I could make out was a newborn infant wrapped in a white blanket and wearing one of those hospital caps. I clearly remember thinking I would have to book a later flight, which pissed me off.

If I only knew exactly how much my life would change.

Chapter nineteen

The Daughter

Marcus - Age 30

Callan lazily answers the phone on the third ring, drawing out my panic even further. “What’s up, Dude? I thought you were leaving for a trip today.”

“I’m supposed to be leaving, Callan, but instead, I’m freaking the fuck out and calling you.”

His tone is suddenly serious. “What’s going on, Marcus?”

“Someone left a baby on my front doorstep!” I screech.

He pauses briefly. “What do you mean?”

“Am I speaking Russian? Somebody rang my bell and left a baby. What should I do?” I panic.

“I don’t know, Man. Call the cops.” I hear frantic whispering in the background. “Wait, Colby says don’t do anything yet. We will be there in 10 minutes,” Callan says, rushed.

“Hurry up!”

I approach the baby, still asleep in the car seat on my kitchen table. I examine her for signs of injury. I don’t know how I know, but I feel confident this infant is a female. Her breathing is steady and regular. Her hands look fine. I carefully unwrap the blanket with shaky hands to look at her more closely. She is so tiny. I doubt she’s more than a week old. Her head lulls to the side, and one eye cracks open ever so slightly. She yawns as the other eye pops open so that they are both staring directly into my soul.

“Oh fuck,” I hear myself say out loud. “No, no, no. This cannot be happening,” I say to myself as I run my hands through my hair and tug on the ends.

I know those eyes. I haven’t seen them in nearly a year but recognize them. Rare, purple, and beautiful. I know an infant’s eye color can change, but there is no mistaking what I see before me.

The baby makes a squeaking noise as I panic. The squeaking turns into a louder wail as I pace back and forth, doing math in my head. The last time I saw Chelsea was about ten months ago. She wouldn’t do this. Would she? Do I call her? Do I call my father? An attorney? What should I do?