37.

Ian woke up at six the next morning, and I brought him to the bed and gave him the boob till we both fell back to sleep. When the alarm went off, I heard the shower go on, then later the sound of drawers opening and later still, the sound of shoes shuffling around the apartment. Each time I woke, I remembered Will and me, holding each other the night before, and drifted off into a peaceful, happy sleep.

But a while later I opened my eyes to Will standing in front of the bed with wet hair and a stiff face.

“You shouldn’t sleep like that when he’s in bed with you,” he said. It felt like a kick in the stomach. “You could suffocate him.” I picked Ian up and stumbled over to his Pack ’n Play, where he remarkably stayed asleep after I laid him down. Will watched me with his arms folded as I crossed the room. I wondered what had happened, how it had slipped away so easily. I thought he’d been right there with me. I stopped at the kitchen trash bin and tugged the red plastic garbage tie to keep it from spilling over. I didn’t know anything anymore.

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said, his voice sounding thick, underwater.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I sat down next to him on the bed, the first inkling that we might not make it plowing through me, spreading fear over me like seeds. “Will, we’re doing it. We may not be doing it great, but we’re doing okay, which is enough for now.” I wanted to keep going, to tell him how full of messy hope I was for us, to tell him we had to keep trying because when the three of us were in bed together, Ian kicking up at the ceiling, the two of us sandwiching him, wasn’t it amazing? Didn’t he wonder how people could ever let go, after being together like that? The three of us on an island, how could you ever say goodbye to those moments? Just let them go? How did my parents ever let them go? How was it possible?

“I want to give him up.” He stared straight ahead at the wall. “For adoption.”

My eyes skidded over to the Pack ’n Play. For a second I felt like Will was going to get up and take him away. “Don’t say that,” I said. “That’s cruel.”

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” he said. “I don’t know, Thea. When I came to the hospital that morning and saw him in bed with you, lying in front of you on the bed … his leg looked like it had been blown off, Thea, I’m not kidding. I can’t stop thinking about it. It hit me that morning, so hard. It isn’t right, what we’re doing. I’ve been trying to tell myself we’ll be okay, but this isn’t right. It’s not right for him.”

I knelt down on the floor in front of him and gripped his knees. We were both crying. “That’s not true and you know it,” I said. “You’re hungover and you feel like crap.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. The shades were down and the room was dark, but I could still see his eyes. “I really do believe it, Thea.”

Over in his Pack ’n Play, Ian’s foot stuck straight up in the air, his toe pointed like a dancer’s. I thought of that first night, walking to the Seagram Building with Will in the freezing cold, the fiery orange squares of office lights, how they sort of exploded inside me, little pops of bright, burning sun. I believed they were also exploding inside him. That first night, he told me he was an optimist and I believed him. I looked at that face, into those uneven eyes I didn’t know yet, and believed he’d do anything. From the very beginning, I’d thought, This is a guy who’ll do anything.

Ian started his coughlike cries. Could Will take him away from me? I stood and went to pick Ian up as Will gathered his stuff for school and left.