“We believe in forgiveness,” the Mrs. says.
“Forgive and be forgiven,” the Mr. adds.
“Besides, you are not the problem,” the Mrs. says, her face hardening.
And then a voice from the other side of the room says, “This whole teen pregnancy industrial complex is the problem!”
Zen!
harmony
I CAN TELL FROM THE LOOK OF PITY ON HIS FACE THAT JONDOE knows exactly which mother I’m talking about.
“I thought for sure that my birthmother would come for me,” I say, “for us. I thought she might want another chance to have a family. . . .”
The heaviness of Jondoe’s judgment makes it difficult for me to continue.
“You thought your birthmom would come back to be a mother to your twins?” he asks incredulously. “Like a do-over?”
I press my trembling lips together, too embarrassed by my own childish notions to speak. All this time I believed my birthmother could reclaim me, and take care of me by taking care of my babies while I tried to figure out what kind of person I want to be.
“Oh, Harmony,” is all Jondoe can say.
“I saw her, Jondoe. I had a vision of my mother. . . .” I say in a whimper.
Jondoe draws a breath and looks to the ceiling like he’s consulting God directly for advice. When he lowers his head, he looks me in the eyes, though I can see that he is struggling do to so.
“It’s not going to happen, Harmony,” he says in a gentle but firm voice. “Your mother is not coming back for you.”
“Miracles do happen!” I say with false cheer. “Not just in the Bible.”
He takes my hands in his and levels me with such a grave look that I have no choice but to silence myself.
“Your mother is never coming back for you or your babies,” Jondoe says, “because she is dead.”
melody
ZEN RUSHES PAST THE JAYDENS. AND WITHOUT ANOTHER word, he cradles my bruised head in his hands, presses his mouth to mine, and I . . .
Dissolve.
My problems are far from over. I’ve destroyed the dreams of two innocent people and defrauded countless others. I’ve ruined my reputation, trashed my flawless file, and will surely be rejected outright by every institution of higher learning I apply to. I will be immortalized on the MiNet as the scammiest scammer in history.
But when I’m kissing Zen and he’s kissing me, all the weight crushing down on me for the past eight months is finally, finally lifted.
We break apart reluctantly, if only because we’re aware of the four eyes watching us.
“I’m Zen.” He shakes the Mr.’s hand. “I don’t know what Melody has told you, but I’m here to accept my share of the responsibility for what happened.” His voice cracks with emotion. “I was too focused on protesting against the culture of reproductive profiteering that I never once considered that you were real people with real feelings. It was so much easier to scam you when you were anonymous cradlegrabbers. . . .” Zen covers his mouth. “No offense!”
Immediately the Mrs. and Mr. start shaking their heads in protest.
“You and Melody exercised poor judgment, yes,” says the Mrs. “But we’re the adults here. We’re the ones who participated in and therefore perpetuated the culture of . . . what did you say?”
“Which part? Reproductive profiteering? The teen pregnancy industrial complex?” Zen provides helpfully.
“All of it.” The Mrs. takes her husband’s hand in hers. “That’s why we’re going to drop all charges against you, and hope that any aspiring litigants do the same.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“Make no mistake, what you did was . . .” She swallows loudly. “Wrong. But we are all part of the problem here. And the locus of blame cannot and should not fall on two teenagers.”
I’m for seriously about to cry. At this point, I’m beyond wishing that the Jaydens fulfill their dream of becoming parents. I want them to be my parents.
“That’s what we’re going to tell the world.” She stops to look at me meaningfully. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Really?” I ask, still not believing what I’m hearing.
“Really,” says the Mrs. “You two obviously have a lot to catch up on first. So we’ll leave you alone for a few moments while we prepare our statement. I have to warn you, though. The media isn’t going to hold off for too much longer.”
The Mr. and Mrs. leave the room and close the door behind them.
Zen and I lock eyes.
And before I even know what’s happening, our hands and mouths are all over each other again. . . .
But this isn’t the time or place.
FOR SERIOUS, MELODY. THIS ISN’T THE TIME OR PLACE TO GET ALL HUMPY.
I literally have to push him off me or I would never stop kissing and being kissed. Can you blame me? I’m running on almost seventeen years’ worth of pent-up lust. . . .
And love?
“So you forgive me?” Zen says breathlessly.
I playfully tug on his hair spikes.
“If the Jaydens can forgive me, I can forgive you,” I say. “I can forgive Ventura. I can forgive my parents. I can forgive Lib. I can forgive anyone.”
I can only hope that the world feels the same way about me.
And if it doesn’t, then I guess I deserve whatever I’ve got coming to me.
harmony
I FEEL LIKE I’VE BEEN KICKED IN THE CHEST.
“She’s not dead,” I gasp. “You’re just saying that so I don’t get my hopes up. . . .”
“No, I’m not,” Jondoe says somberly. “And I’m sorry to tell you that she is.”
“You’ve lied to me before!” I rail, pushing him away from me. “You’re lying to me right now to get what you want.”
“What I want,” Jondoe says, “is for you to be happy. And for me to be happy. And in the best scenario, for us to be happy together. You have every right to be suspect of everything I say. I would respect you less if you didn’t mistrust me a little, because I’ve got a disreputable past. But I would never lie about something like this, Harmony. Especially when I wanted so much for the opposite to be true for you. That’s why I pushed so hard for Lib to tell me the truth.”
“Lib?” I ask. “Lib knew?”
Jondoe nods. “As your representative it’s his job to know the unknowable. That’s what makes him the best, right?” He sighs heavily. “He’s been trying to track Melody’s—and your—birthmother since he signed your sister almost four years ago. I guess her DNA came up in the death databank sometime in the past year.”
“What do you know about her? Was she young? Was she a musician? Did she—”
Jondoe cuts me off. “Lib wouldn’t tell me anything other than that she’s dead. I don’t know if he knows any more than that.”
“How long have you known the truth?”
“Since your first trimester.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have if you had been willing to talk to me. I almost confessed to Melody, but when she told me how desperate you were to meet your birthmother, I just couldn’t crush your hopes like that. If I had any idea what you were really thinking, about creating a new family.” He lowers his head. “I’m sorry.”
My birthmother is dead. I’ll never meet her. She’ll never answer my questions. She’ll never help me.
“Your father is still out there somewhere but . . .”
“But he might not even know he’s a father,” I finish for him.
He nods solemnly.
I feel hollowed out. Too empty to cry.
“Melody doesn’t know?”
“I don’t think so,” Jondoe says. “Not unless Lib told her.”
I need my sister. She was never as invested in finding our birthmother as I was, but she deserves to hear the truth.
“Where is Mel?”
I don’t know if he was listening in or not, but right at that moment, Ram rushes into the room.
<
br /> “They’ve dropped all charges against her!” Ram announces.
“Melody?”
“Yes! She’s on the MiVu right now!”
And before he’s finished saying it, Melody comes forward, larger than life on the wall. She’s wearing a light green hospital gown that hangs loosely from her trim frame, exactly like the one I’m wearing right now. . . .
“Wait a moment! Is that the Birthcenter in the background? Is she here? Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
“She’s on another floor,” Ram explains. “Her parents brought her in when she jumped off a table at the detention center.”
“She what?” Jondoe and I ask at the same time.
“They thought she, um, tried to, you know,” Ram mumbles, “end those babies—”
“But she wasn’t even pregnant!” Jondoe interjects.
“Her parents didn’t know that at the time,” Ram explains. “But they know now.”
Sure enough, Ash and Ty come forward and flank Melody on either side. I hope that they are actually being supportive of their only daughter and aren’t just taking advantage of this international attention.
“When I betrayed my brand, I betrayed America,” Melody is saying in a quavery voice. “So I, um . . . want to apologize to everyone who believed in The Hotties, believed in me.”
She stops midsentence and nervously glances over her shoulder at someone out of the scope of the lens. Draws in a breath. Purses her lips in concentration. Then her eyes light up from within, like she’s just touched the matchstick to the wick.
“Our whole world has gone”—she hesitates slightly—“baby crazy.” You can practically hear the collective intake of breath. “That’s right. I said the B-word. And I’ll say it again. Baby! Baby! Baby!” She’s smiling now, getting braver. “That’s what we’re dealing with here. Not bumps or preggs or deliveries,” she says each word pointedly. “Or whatever other euphemism you want to use to distance yourself from the truth. We’re making babies. We’re creating people. And we’re having meaningless sex to do it! And yet we pretend like it’s no big deal. We pretend that we aren’t in the business of buying and selling human beings. . . .”
At this point I see Ty tightening his grip on Melody’s arm.
“I think we’re done here!” Ash sing-songs.
“No!” Melody tells her. “I’m not done yet.” She shakes off her dad’s arm and takes another step forward, closer to the cameras. “I know that there are girls who have been put in far worse situations than me. These are the girls we don’t want to talk about, the ones who have been kidnapped—”
“This isn’t polite talk!” exclaims Ash.
“Isn’t polite?” Melody asks incredulously. “Isn’t polite? I’m not farting at the dinner table! I’m talking about baby trafficking! That’s beyond impolite. It’s inhumane! And it’s tough to talk about. But it’s happening right nowwww.”
“Shut these cameras off!” Ty menaces, but the media ignores him. They know this is history in the making.
Melody does too. She continues calmly and confidently.
“I bet what I’m saying makes a lot of sense to you girls out there. How many of you have felt the pressure to pregg? How many of you have bumped with someone you barely know? Or have put off getting physical with someone you really, really care about and, um . . .” When she glances off camera again, her cheeks flush pink. “Maybe even love . . .”
“She’s talking about Zen!” Ram says giddily.
“Shhhhh!”
“But you can’t be with him because he doesn’t meet the minimum Standards, or because you’re contracted to bump with someone you don’t care about at all! We’ve got it all backwards! We should be able to bond emotionally and physically—not either/or. And if you’re an amateur lucky enough to be with someone you love or like a lot or—at the very least—genuinely lust after without the artificial humpiness of Tocin or some other off-brand drug, why does it always have to end in the delivery room? Shouldn’t we be able to have sex without making babies? Condoms are legal in other countries, like Sweden and Norway, and the birthrates aren’t falling any more drastically than our own. . . .”
There’s some booing. And an angry voice in the crowd shouts, “Socialist!” Ty is literally grabbing at Melody’s hand to try to drag her off camera, but she is unbowed.
“I’m obviously striking a nerve here. But if my stunt makes you all think a little bit more about the pressure our government, our media, our schools, our parents”—she shoots a look at Ash and Ty—“are putting on us—we’re carrying the weight and fate of Western civilization, for Darwin’s sake!—then I don’t regret doing it. I’m just sorry that in taking a stand, I stomped on someone else’s dreams.”
There’s a moment’s pause, followed by the faint sound of one person clapping, soon joined by another set of hands. The sound gets louder as the applauders approach Melody from behind, on the opposite side of her parents. One is a man I’ve never seen before and the other . . .
I don’t believe my eyes.
It can’t be.
“Harmony? What’s wrong?” Jondoe asks.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ram adds.
“I have! I mean, I am! That’s her!”
“Who?” Jondoe asks.
“My birthmother! She is alive! And she found us!”
Ram freezes, petrified. Jondoe looks at me, then the wall, then back at me.
“The blond woman behind Melody! She’s the one I saw in the sky! It’s her! I’m certain of it! You were wrong! Lib was wrong! My birthmother lives! Miracles do happen!”
I know I sound crazy. But she is the same woman I saw in my dream, welcoming me into Heaven.
Jondoe approaches me cautiously, with Ram following close behind.
“That’s not your birthmother, Harmony.”
Jondoe doesn’t know what he’s talking about. She’s the spitting image of me and Melody! Or we’re the spitting image of her! She’s beautiful, and I hope I don’t sound immodest when I say that because I look just like her, but she is. The twins will be blessed to grow up to look like her too.
The camera zooms in on her radiant face as she starts speaking.
“Turn it up! I have to hear what she has to say!” I’ve waited my whole life for this. Tears spring to my eyes at the very notion of hearing her, my birthmother, say my name aloud.
“Harmony!” Jondoe snaps his fingers in front of my eyes. “I know you want to believe she’s your birthmother. But she’s not . . .”
But I’m not listening to him. I’m ready to listen to her when she speaks directly to the millions of eyes watching, confident and unafraid. I’m going to hear my birthmother’s voice for the very first time. Was Melody right about her ambitions? Will she have a musical voice?
“I want everyone to know that my husband and I have forgiven Melody Mayflower for her deception, and the world should forgive her too.” She smiles at Melody, but it’s a joyless smile. “Melody isn’t to blame here. We are to blame. She is a product—and I mean that in both senses of the word—of her times. We need to look at ourselves, and the conception-crazy culture we have created that have turned girls in breeding machines.” She inhales and holds her head up high. “That is all.”
Her face is just starting to crumple when she turns and buries her face into the shoulder of a man I don’t recognize. He is also crying.
And now I’m crying too.
This isn’t the reunion I’ve been longing for.
My birthmother hasn’t found me.
And if she hasn’t by now . . .
“I tried telling you, Harmony,” Jondoe says, patting my hair soothingly.
She never will. Jondoe was telling the truth. She’s dead.
“Who is she then?” I eke out.
“The Mrs. who hired Melody and me.”
I take a long shuddery breath as I let this sink in.
I know she’s the woman I saw in my dream, even if it doesn’t m
ake any logical sense. I refuse to believe that my God-given vision was a meaningless hallucination. There is a reason why all of this is happening. But I hope the Lord doesn’t get offended if I can’t just sit idly and wait for that reason to present itself on its own.
“I need to see my sister,” I say.
Ram hops up and takes off toward the door.
“And tell Melody I want to meet her.”
“Meet who?” Ram and Jondoe ask.
“The Mrs.,” I reply.
Jondoe waits until Ram leaves the room before placing a comforting hand on my knee. “But she’s not your birthmother. . . .”
“I know that,” I say, giving him a fragile smile.
What I don’t say is that I believe our meeting holds a greater purpose.
melody
EVEN THOUGH I’VE ALREADY GIVEN THE MINET ENOUGH material to last a millennium—my optics must be going off the spring right now—no one interferes when Ram picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and carries me through the crowd and into the hospital. It’s all great material. The paparazzi and reporters must sense I’m going to drop out of eyesight when this day is over, so they better capture glimpses of me while they still can.
“Thanks, Ram,” I say when he sets me down outside Harmony’s room. “What you did today was very brave.”
“You too,” he replies.
“I hope you and Zeke can be happy together now that you aren’t living a lie.” He presses his hands together like he’s praying, kisses his steepled fingertips, and blows it in my direction.
“You too.”
I put my hand on the doorknob. “Are you coming in?”
“No,” he replies. “Now I have to get the Mrs.”
And he takes off before I can ask why.
When I open the door to see Harmony sitting up in the hospital bed, I’m flooded with relief. She’s still here.
“Melody!”
“Harmony!”
I’m afraid if I hug her too tightly I’ll bust her belly glue. She has no such reservations and squeezes me flat against her.