INT. HOUSE - DAY
MOM
Then how are you going to reproduce? Photosynthesis?
You can only blink at your mother. A few times fast so the world flickers like quick jump cuts in a horror movie.
VIV
What?
You let the trailer you were cutting yourself slip into the final suspenseful scene before the title drop. Photosynthesis could make an interesting premise for a horror movie. Something about a foreign object or a stray spaceship carrying some sort of cargo crashing into the sun and changing its composition. Then the plants start releasing strange gasses instead of oxygen, gasses that turn people or animals into monsters. It would probably be more of a thriller than a horror, but the line of distinction between the two is virtually invisible anyway.
Someone would probably pick it up. They’ve picked up weirder concepts before; you have a talent for making some of the strangest stories sound like future box office successes. You would just need to find someone to take it and make it good.
MOM
How do you plan on having children? Photosynthesis?
VIV
Mitosis. You’re thinking of mitosis.
MOM
What’s the difference?
You sigh, wishing you could erase the past few minutes and crawl back into the closet. Sure, it was dark and a little cramped, but it was safe. There was no one shining a bright light in your face and prodding at everything you’re still trying to understand yourself.
VIV
Photosynthesis is how plants turn sunlight into energy and oxygen. Mitosis is how cells reproduce. They copy their DNA and duplicate themselves. It’s what you’re thinking of. Photosynthesis isn’t a reproduction process. Mitosis is, and it doesn’t involve sex.
She flinches.
MOM
How can you say that so...so easily?
VIV
What? Mitosis? It’s not that hard to pronounce. I have a harder time pronouncing paraphernalia.
(Pronounces “paraphernalia” wrong)
Par-a-pher-nal-i-a.
(Still wrong. Accepts defeat.)
MOM
No, not that.
She lowers her voice to a whisper and leans close, glancing around like she’s about to tell you a classified secret right before rival spies break down your door.
MOM (CONT’D)
Sex.
VIV
Well, that’s easy to pronounce. It’s only one syllable.
Your smile drops when the joke plops to the ground like a dart without a flight.
MOM
You really shouldn’t talk about that. It’s uncomfortable.
VIV
You asked, though.
MOM
No, I didn’t!
VIV
You asked when Ethan and I were planning on having kids. You can’t make kids without sex.
MOM
Well, no, but I wasn’t asking about that. You’ve been married for five years. That seems like enough time to settle down. I was wondering when I can start planning for grandkids.
VIV
You have two other kids who can give you grandchildren. I don’t have to have them if I don’t want to.
MOM
But you’ll want kids someday. It’s only natural.
VIV
I must not be natural then because I don’t want kids.
MOM
But you will-
VIV
I might. That’s open to change, of course. If we decide we want kids, then we’ll have kids. We can adopt if we want to. It’s not like there aren’t options outside of sex.
Adoption would actually be your most feasible option, but the reason for that is not your secret to share. If something strikes you from above with the intense desire to take responsibility for another life, it wouldn’t come about in any way close to the “natural” method she’s so obsessed with.
MOM
Are you telling me you two really don’t do anything like that?
She emphasizes the word that as if you won’t be able to understand what she’s referring to unless she really sticks the landing.
VIV
Sometimes, but only because it makes Ethan happy. It’s kind of like how you watch Dad’s softball games. You read a book most of the time, but it makes him happy to have you there. And it makes you happy to make him happy.
MOM
You read a book?
She completely missed the point. Phoosh. Flew right past.
VIV
No, I usually watch a movie.
She gapes.
VIV (CONT'D)
You know what? Forget I said anything.
You get to your feet and check the time on your phone.
VIV (CONT'D)
I’ll see you later, okay?
MOM
Okay.
She gives you a tentative hug.
MOM (CONT'D)
Love you, honey.
VIV
Love you too.
INT. VIV’S CAR - DAY
You tap the steering wheel as you drive home, the music a dull hum in the background. You knew she wouldn’t understand. To her, the world is simple and straightforward, defined by rules that fit into her definition of natural. This facet of your identity breaks her rules, so she denies its existence. You didn’t have to tell her. You could’ve hidden it for the rest of your life, but you hated hiding it. The closet was safe, but it wasn’t the outside world. The outside world is so much bigger, full of so many possibilities. Unfortunately, plenty of those possibilities are disappointing.
Tears blur your vision so that the brake lights of the car in front of you expand and grow lines. You slam on your brakes once you register the red, stopping right before you tap the rear end of the car. Your hands shake, and you pull into the nearest parking lot once the stoplight turns green.
You rest your forehead against the top of the steering wheel, your eyes leaking and your chest shivering. How could she watch you open up to her and slam the lid closed on your fingers? It wasn’t even that bad, considering the stories you’ve heard. You haven’t been disowned or killed or sent to someone to fix you. No one got rid of every pair of pants in your closet to try and force you into an incorrect identity. All she did was accuse you of being a plant.
So why does it hurt so much?
The car is too small. It’s pushing in on you, forcing you to replace the oxygen with carbon dioxide until there’s nothing left to breathe. You stumble out of the shrinking space, taking a deep breath of fresh air. You glance around the island of seclusion you’ve stumbled upon. Pinwheels spin and fountains bubble and wind chimes sing in the green surrounding a greenhouse sitting alone at the edge of a wood. It feels similar to a house made of candy or a witch’s cabin; something about the eccentricity and solitude pulls you into a fairytale setting. Or maybe the name, Mother Thyme, written in crooked, chipped letters on a wooden sign, feels like a piece of a storybook plopped into the real world. The chimes whisper that if you step through the glass door, something magical will change everything.
INT. MOTHER THYME'S GREENHOUSE - DAY
VIV
Plants, of course.
You chuckle, perhaps to break the still air. How can the air be so still when everything is so bright and loud? The door creaks when you push it open, but no bell chimes to alert anyone to your presence. You creep inside, gliding between the rows of plants spilling green toward the floor and up to the sun.
VIV (CONT’D)
Hello? Anyone here?
The greenhouse echoes with the thoughts of growing.
VIV (CONT’D)
This isn’t a private greenhouse, is it? I’m sorry if I’m trespassing. I’ll leave if you want.
No answer. No wizened old person appears at your shoulder. No witch starts chanting until you shrink into a frog. The greenhouse is empty but full at the same time. Your fingers brush the chalky leaves of a nearby plant. The air smells of life, surrounding you like a bubble of tranquility and promises. A sign catches your eye.
Struggling to have a child?
Grow one yourself!
You examine one of the packets, the solitary seed hidden behind the plastic.
VIV
How odd.
MOTHER THYME
Do you want to have a child?
VIV
Jesus Christ!
You jump at the voice. A woman stands behind you. She looks like someone froze her at each stage of life and fused them all together. Her face is wrinkled and smooth, and her voice creaks like a floorboard and rings like a bell.
VIV (CONT’D)
Um, I’m not sure.
MOTHER THYME
Are you unable to have one?
VIV
I’ve never tried.
MOTHER THYME
Quite a conundrum you have there. Only the desperate or lost can find this rack. You must be one or the other.
She leans in close until your noses nearly touch.
MOTHER THYME (CONT’D)
Which are you?
You tilt away.
VIV
Both, I guess.
MOTHER THYME
Interesting.
She drops back outside your personal bubble.
MOTHER THYME (CONT’D)
Take it. There must be some reason you found it. Even if you never use it, it’s nice to have the option, right?
She smiles and spins away. You glance between the packet in your hand and her retreating back.
VIV
But how- But how does it work?
She waves a hand without turning around.
MOTHER THYME
Instructions on the inside flap.
You pull up the flap to find a list of words you don’t take the time to read.
VIV
How much do I-
You scan the rustling leaves, but she is nowhere to be seen.
VIV (CONT’D)
-owe you.
INT. VIV’S HOUSE - DAY
You’re suspended in a state of disbelief and surrealism until you somehow find yourself in your house. Ethan jumps off the couch when the door shuts, pocketing his phone that had been pressed to his ear until he saw you. He has that look in his eyes that he gets when his imagination gets the better of him and pulls him into a spiral of irrationality.
ETHAN
Where were you? You said you’d be home by four, but it’s almost six-thirty. I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up. So I started picturing you flipped over in a ditch somewhere or in a serial killer’s basement, and I know that’s ridiculous, but-
(Beat.)
Are you okay?
You blink at him.
VIV
Was there always a greenhouse on the way to my parents’ house?
He blinks back.
ETHAN
Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure.
VIV
How did I not notice it before?
ETHAN
Well, you aren’t exactly reliable when it comes to landmarks.
VIV
But I grew up there. I took that road to school every day. How did I not see it?
ETHAN
Didn’t you always read or watch something on the bus? And you’re usually pretty busy putting on a personal concert when you’re driving, so I’m sure you just missed it. What’s this about?
VIV
Yeah, I guess you’re right.
ETHAN
Viv? I’m still confused here.
He gives your shoulders a squeeze to pull you back to earth. The haze that was starting to fade out the world lifts.
ETHAN (CONT'D)
Did something happen?
VIV
I came out to my mom.
ETHAN
Oh, uh, okay.
(Beat.)
How did that go?
VIV
She called me a plant.
You deflate. You let your heavy head drop on his shoulder. He coughs up in a half-chuckle.
ETHAN
What?
VIV
She asked if I plan on using photosynthesis to reproduce.
ETHAN
Are you sure she didn’t mean mitosis?
VIV
Probably. I don’t know. I don’t know why I did it. Everything was fine. She never had to know. But she just kept asking and asking about kids and when we were going to have them and why she doesn’t have grandkids yet. I just thought that maybe if I told her, explained it to her, she’d understand and she wouldn’t push so hard. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing her or making her wait for nothing anymore. And, I don’t know, I guess I thought that maybe if she knew, she’d understand me more and we wouldn’t disagree as much. But that was stupid. I was stupid. She didn’t understand. She just looked so confused and got angry whenever I said sex and sad whenever I said I didn’t want a traditional family that I finally just left.
ETHAN
Is the greenhouse important?
VIV
I’m getting to that. Okay, so I couldn’t drive because I couldn’t think straight. So I parked, and I was in front of this really weird greenhouse. I went inside because plants and my mom thinks I’m a plant so I might as well make friends with the plants. And this weird lady gave me this seed that apparently grows a baby in case I decide I want one.
ETHAN
Wait, what?
VIV
She gave me a seed that turns into a baby. Keep up.
ETHAN
And I repeat, wait, what?
You sigh and pull the packet from your pocket. You hand it to him.
VIV
Here. The instructions are on the inside flap.
ETHAN
(Reading the instructions.)
“Swallow with eight ounces of water. Spend at least two hours in the sun and drink thirty-six fluid ounces of water every day for nine months. The perfect way to have an ordinary pregnancy without intercourse.”
He looks up.
ETHAN (CONT’D)
Is this supposed to make a plant baby?
VIV
I don’t know. The lady just gave it to me and then she disappeared, so I took it.
You shrug, feeling stupid and shrinkable.
ETHAN
Huh. This reminds me of how our parents told us that if we swallowed a watermelon seed we’d grow a watermelon in our stomach. Only with a baby. You know we can try to have a baby, right? Like the way most people do.
VIV
Um, no, we can’t.
ETHAN
What do you-? Oh! Right. No, we can’t. Biologically impossible.
VIV
Mhm.
ETHAN
Sometimes I forget.
VIV
Makes sense. Why wouldn’t you?
ETHAN
I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forget.
You kiss him quick because he just looks so happy. He presses his forehead against yours, and you just grin stupidly at each other.
ETHAN
So back to the plant baby. We can just adopt. Or get a sperm donor.
VIV
I know! I don’t want a baby!
ETHAN
I don’t really either, but I’d consider it if you wanted one-
VIV
I don’t want one.
ETHAN
Good. I didn’t want to have to worry about that.
Right, you made him worry. Again. You promised you’d get better about that, but sometimes you forget.
VIV
I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I turned the ringer off on my phone because I didn’t want to know if my mom called me. Then I wandered into a greenhouse and lost track of time. I didn’t mean to worry you.
ETHAN
It’s okay. I kind of went a little overboard with the freaking out. I know it doesn’t make sense, but you know, it doesn’t matter if it makes sense.
VIV
But I know that. I’m your wife, I should be helping you with it, not making it worse. I’ll call you next time I take a detour, I promise.
ETHAN
You don’t have to.
He waves the seed packet.
ETHAN (CONT’D)
So...what are you going to do with this?
VIV
Stick it in the magician’s hat.
You take it from him and drop it in the bottomless pit overflowing with receipts, expired coupons, oddly shaped paper clips, and other miscellaneous items that have no clear purpose.
ETHAN
Never to be seen again.
He presses a kiss to your head. Happy shivers run down your spine.
ETHAN (CONT’D)
We don’t have to have kids to be happy.
VIV
I know. It just feels like the entire world thinks we do.
ETHAN
The entire world is wrong.
VIV
I hope so.
INT. VIV’S HOUSE - DAY
The seed in its paper and plastic casing sits forgotten in the magician’s hat for months. Overflowing and eventful months. Months too cramped to fit even the faintest idea of children. Ethan’s sister gets married in Texas, and his grandmother passes away a few weeks later. Your sister breaks up with her latest boyfriend and finds a replacement soon after. Both of your careers take leaps towards the better. Ethan’s hair salon opens a second location that promises to be successful, and you find a new, untouched writer with a fresh voice to help guide you from the slum pile to the movie screens. They think your photosynthesis idea has potential.
Life is bursting, on the verge of exploding everywhere in a gush of overbooking and scrambling for spare minutes to breathe. That perfect verge where you’re standing at the edge of the waterfall, water misting your hair, arms spread to hold the sky, one step away from falling.
Until, with a shove to the back, you find yourself tumbling.
Your plummet from this euphoric perch began as most do; at a family dinner.
INT. MOM’S HOUSE - EVENING
The conversation was riding smoothly, mostly stories reminisced and friendly jabs exchanged. Until it took a dangerous detour into the territory of controversial topics. Topics you forget are controversial to your family until they randomly decide to express their opinions on them.
DAD
I just don’t understand how anyone could go through a sex change.
You hate that phrase. “Sex change.” It makes it sound like deciding to get a mullet or a regrettable tattoo. Like the person brought this on themselves. Like they chose to have a mind and body that don’t fit together.
Ethan meets your eyes across the table. His fist is clenched around his fork, but his forced, close-lipped smile is begging you not to say anything. You tap his foot under the table, and he smiles a little bit for real. Holding hands is too obvious in uncomfortable situations like these, so you hold feet instead, where nobody can see that you’re stuck between wishing you could shrivel up and die and wanting to set the house on fire. You let yourself fall into his eyes, ignoring the mist-coated rocks at the bottom of the waterfall. The conversation fades under the roar of water.
Your mother’s voice grabs you by the collar and yanks you behind the waterfall.
MOM
People get married to have children. What’s the point if they don’t make a family?
It feels like you’re being pinned against the hidden face of the waterfall. There isn’t a plot-convenient cave to save you, so the water pummels you from above. It slams against your head and shoulder, flooding into your mouth and ears, drenching you until it feels like you’ve been beaten down to bones. You focus on Ethan’s eyes because you know if you look at your mom she’s going to be looking at you and then you’ll be crying. If you cry, everything will be ruined.
You know there are holes in her logic. Plenty of people don’t have traditional families. You grew up watching movies like The Parent Trap, Cheaper by the Dozen, and Yours, Mine, and Ours on repeat. Those certainly weren’t traditional families, and she seems to find them acceptable. No matter how nonsensical you know she’s being, you can’t pull free of the torrent she’s trapped you under. Your facade must be breaking because Ethan sets down his glass.
ETHAN
We really should get going. I have an early morning tomorrow.
MOM
Oh, alright.
Hugs are exchanged and you escape to the driveway.
INT. CAR - NIGHT
ETHAN
Are you okay?
VIV
Mhm. Are you?
ETHAN
It’s not the first time.
VIV
That’s not what I asked.
ETHAN
I’m not sure. I will be. I guess.
VIV
Yeah. Me too.
ETHAN
I forgot again. I literally thought ‘What’s that?’ Then I remembered, ‘That’s you.’ Stupid.
You stare out the window. The odd greenhouse squats on the side of the road.
VIV
Do you ever wish we were normal?
ETHAN
(Beat)
Sometimes. But then I remember that normal isn’t real. I’d rather be ourselves over something that isn’t even real.
VIV
Yeah, you’re right.
Your eyes are still locked on the greenhouse even after it disappears around the bend.
INT. VIV’S HOUSE - DAY
You work from home the next day, but you struggle to focus. You try contacting producers for your new writer’s screenplay, but the cursor just blinks at you without creating any words. You play music, make food, play a show in the background, spin in circles. Your thoughts just spin back to what your mom said last night, dragging you down the toilet with it.
MOM (V.O.)
People get married to have children. What’s the point if they don’t make a family?
There are plenty of points to marriage besides children, Mom. Companionship, for one. Now you have someone to rely on and who has promised to rely on you. And there are warm and fuzzy feelings and a constant supply of cuddles and forehead kisses. Not to mention the legal benefits.
Falling in love isn’t a transaction. It’s something that just happens, something that you never thought could happen to you. And she wants to diminish this precious thing you found because it doesn’t fit her perfect picture. If she could, she’d photoshop you into what she wants you to be.
Maybe she doesn’t love you at all. No, she loves you. You know she does. But there’s a difference between loving someone because you’re obligated to and loving someone because you see their soul and find it beautiful. She’d love you more if she liked what she saw.
If you want her to truly love you, she has to like you.
You have a way to make her do that. It’s sitting in a drawer a few feet away from you.
INT. VIV’S BATHROOM - DAY
You push yourself away from the toilet, fumbling for the flush with shaking fingers.
ETHAN (O.S.)
I’m home! Viv?
VIV
In here.
ETHAN (O.S)
Viv?
You try to answer him again, but only a sob breaks out of your mouth. You slump back against the bathroom wall and hug your knees to your chest.
ETHAN
Viv? What are you doing?
You feel him kneel in front of you, and his hands tighten around your arms, quivering with panic.
ETHAN (CONT’D)
Are you okay? Are you sick?
You shake your head between your knees.
ETHAN (CONT'D)
Which one?
VIV
I think I did something stupid.
ETHAN
Viv, please, come on.
He checks your wrists, the bathroom floor, the trash can. He pulls out his phone.
ETHAN
You’ve got to tell me what you took, okay? I’m calling an-
You hand him the seed packet, your throat too tight to make words.
ETHAN
Oh, thank god. You scared me.
You hide your face in your legs again. You should’ve realized that he would jump to the worst possible scenario. How could you do that to him? You keep doing that to him. You wish you didn’t. You watch him fold the packet between his fingers through the space between your leg and arm.
ETHAN
You took the plant baby? I thought you were trying to kill yourself.
VIV
I’m so stupid.
ETHAN
Just...just don’t do that again. Don’t scare me like that again.
VIV
I can’t get it out.
ETHAN
What?
VIV
I can’t get it out. I tried, but it’s stuck in me. And it’s going to turn into a baby, and I don’t want a baby. I don’t want to raise a baby if I don’t want it. That’s just cruel to the baby and me. Why did I take it?
ETHAN
I don’t know. Why did you?
He’s trying his best to take you seriously, but you can see that he finds you a little ridiculous. You love him for trying anyway.
VIV
I want her to love me. If I have a baby, she’ll love me.
ETHAN
I see. You shouldn’t change yourself so someone will love you.
VIV
I know. I know. That’s why I’m stupid. I want her to love me. I want it so much. But even if I have a baby, she’ll find something else she doesn’t like.
ETHAN
I know it’s not the same, but I’ll always love you.
You rest your head on his shoulder.
VIV
Thank you. I love you too.
He holds up the packet.
ETHAN
This says that you have to drink water and be in the sun to make the baby grow. You can’t stop drinking water, so you’ll just have to stay out of the sun for a while. Plants die if they don’t get sunlight. You can stay out of the sun, right?
VIV
Yeah.
ETHAN
There, problem solved.
VIV
If there even was a problem to begin with.
ETHAN
Better safe than sorry.
VIV
I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll try not to do it again.
ETHAN
Please. I don’t like the idea of a world without you.
VIV
Let’s hopefully never find out, okay?
ETHAN
Deal.
INT. VIV’S HOUSE - NIGHT
For the next week, you avoid the sun like your mother. She tries to call, but you cut the conversation to five-minute spurts by making up some urgent excuse. A producer or writer is calling you, you have to meet someone for coffee, Ethan clogged the toilet again. She never has enough time to prod the hole of guilt in your chest. The hole is stabbing at you enough, reaching down into your gut and stirring it around.
You and Ethan are eating take-out while watching a thriller when the stabbing crescendos into a coughing fit. You hide it in your hand, but every lump in your chest that you dislodge is replaced by another. Until something wets the palm of your hands and oozes between your fingers. You stare at the mess of bloody leaves in horror. Blood sprays across the screen as someone’s head is forcibly removed, but all you can see is the mix of green and red in your hand.
VIV
Ethan–
Another cough barrages your chest.
INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT
Ethan rushes you to the hospital with a plastic bag full of leaves and blood. The doctor mumbles something about the flu or bronchitis and prescribes a bottle of antibiotics. Ethan argues with the entire hospital staff that there’s obviously something else wrong with you until his face is red. You finally squeeze his hand to tell him that you should just leave. They can’t help you. You both know this is something they’ve never seen before, and you can’t blame them for their lack of knowledge. He calms down enough to bring you home.
INT. VIV’S HOUSE - NIGHT
The movie is sliding into its blood-coated resolution when you open the door. You’ll never know what happened in the middle. Ethan sets you up in your bed and stays up with a bucket all night, petting your head and promising both of you that you’ll be okay. You both know the promise might be empty, but you don’t want to voice any doubt in case it poisons any chance you have.
EXT. CAR - MORNING
He carries you to the car as the sun peeps its head over the horizon. He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, and any attempt to speak results in another wad of leaves to pool in the bag.
INT. CAR - MOTHER THYME'S GREENHOUSE - MORNING
He parks askew in the empty parking lot in front of the greenhouse, his brow furrowed as he watches the lot entrance.
The moment headlights lead a car into the lot, he jumps out the door. He catches the ageless woman as she’s stepping out of her car. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but his vehement gestures give enough context. He guides her to your side of the car and pulls open your door. More leaves spurt out of your mouth.
MOTHER THYME
Oh. She hasn’t gotten enough sun.
ETHAN
We were avoiding the sun.
MOTHER THYME
Why?
ETHAN
She didn’t mean to take it. It was a mistake.
MOTHER THYME
A mistake?
ETHAN
Yes, a mistake.
MOTHER THYME
Why would you make this kind of choice if you can’t take responsibility?
ETHAN
It was a mistake!
MOTHER THYME
Mistake or not, it’s been taken. It will either give life or take it. There is no in-between. Those are the rules.
ETHAN
Where does it say that? Shouldn’t this come with a warning or something?
MOTHER THYME
It’s in the fine print.
ETHAN
So, what you’re saying is that if we don’t follow the instructions, she’s going to die?
MOTHER THYME
Those are the rules.
ETHAN
The rules are fucking stupid!
He looks the closest you’ve ever seen him to punching an old lady, or anyone, for that matter. The greenhouse owner only blinks at him.
MOTHER THYME
Don’t forget the water.
She turns and walks back to the greenhouse.
Ethan deflates as soon as the driver’s side door shuts after him.
ETHAN
I’m sorry.
You squeeze his hand, fitting every word you can’t say in the motion. You try to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re the one who’s sorry, that you’ll figure this out together somehow. He gives your hand a squeeze back and starts the car.
INT. VIV’S HOUSE - DAY
You find a notebook and pen before he can force you back to bed. Then you open the blinds you’ve kept shut for a week. You plop down in the pool of sunlight and gesture for him to sit across from you. He settles down, his brow furrowed. You write in big letters.
VIV (WRITING)
I have to follow the instructions.
You show it to him, tapping the paper with the pen.
ETHAN
Yeah. Because dying is bad.
VIV (WRITING)
But we don’t have to keep it.
ETHAN
This is like magic or something. I don’t think an abortion would be safe. Might break those stupid rules somehow.
VIV (WRITING)
We can put it up for adoption. Find it parents who can give it the life it deserves.
ETHAN
I don’t know about deserves.
VIV (WRITING)
Find a family to love it. It’s not its fault I’m stupid. It didn’t ask to be...
(Beat)
Grown.
ETHAN
So we grow it and put it up for adoption. But what about our families?
You stare at the paper, tapping your pen as if it will magically hand you a solution.
VIV (WRITING)
Avoid them?
ETHAN
Really, Viv? My family, we can manage ‘cause they’re out of state and we don’t talk much anyway. But yours? Do you really think you can just not see them for nine months?
VIV (WRITING)
We can leave?
ETHAN
Viv, that’s worse. You can work anywhere, but I have to be here. The second location just opened, and I can’t just up and abandon them. And I’m not going to let you outside of a ten-mile radius of me until I know for a fact you aren’t dying. Not to mention we can’t afford to live somewhere else for nine months.
VIV (WRITING)
I’ll tell them.
ETHAN
Do you want me to come with you?
VIV (WRITING)
I have to do this myself.
He kisses your forehead. And you realize you haven’t had to cough for the entire conversation.
ETHAN
I’m proud of you.
VIV
(Hoarsely)
I love you.
ETHAN
I love you too.
EXT. MOM’S HOUSE - DAY
Your leg has been shaking since you left the house. The sun warms the back of your neck as you watch it bounce. You haven’t coughed up leaves for days, but you still dread whatever is growing in your belly. You look up to find your mom watching you from over her glass of water.
VIV
Mom, I’m pregnant.
A smile breaks her face and the glass clinks against the table.
MOM
Really?
VIV
We’re not going to keep it.
Her smile stays frozen on her face.
MOM
What?
VIV
Ethan and I have decided to put the baby up for adoption. We’re not ready for a baby, and I don’t think we ever will be. We’re going to find this baby parents who will love it. It’s the best thing for the baby and for us.
She just stares at you, her smile falling into a gaping hole.
VIV (CONT’D)
I just wanted to tell you so you knew before I started showing and everything. I don’t want to hide it from you. But this is our decision, and nothing you say will change it.
You get to your feet, your right leg aching to run a race all on its own. She doesn’t say anything, so you turn to leave. Her chair screeches against the deck boards.
MOM
How could you? How could you be so heartless? This is a baby.
VIV
Heartless? It would be heartless to raise a baby I’m not capable of loving, who I resent. It would be heartless to keep it just to please you when it could have a family who will give it all the love and attention it deserves. It would be heartless to pretend to be a mother.
MOM
You are going to be a mother.
VIV
No, I’m not!
(Beat)
Mom, please. I don’t need you to understand or even agree with me. Trust me when I say that this is the best thing I could do for this baby.
MOM
No. The best thing you can do for this baby is raise him. A baby needs a mother and a father. You and Ethan are his mother and father.
VIV
A child needs parents who love it. We can’t be that.
MOM
Yes, you can. It might be hard, but nothing worth having is ever easy.
VIV
I didn’t come here to ask for your permission. I just wanted you to know because I want to be honest with you. Our relationship is breaking, Mom. I can’t be the only one trying to fix it. You have to want to fix it too. I don’t think you do.
Some of the weight you have been hauling around with you floats away on your breath.
INT. RESTAURANT - DAY
After a series of intense interviews, you and Ethan find a couple five hours away. Gregory is the owner of a small clothing brand and Parker is a lawyer. You only planned to have lunch, but you ended up spending the night in their spare room after the minutes turned into hours without any of you noticing. You and Ethan unanimously decided that they were perfect. They were better than anything you could have hoped for.
INT. HOSPITAL - DAY
You barely see your parents or your siblings during your pregnancy, and all of them subtly refuse to come to the hospital. Ethan holds your hand and paces. He even takes it when you scream at him for breathing too loud and driving you crazy in stride.
Gregory and Parker are waiting when the baby arrives. They hold him first, rocking him in their arms and laughing at every noise he makes. They offer to let you hold him, and you do for a moment. And in that moment, it feels so right that he will grow up with them. He doesn’t fit in your arms the way he does theirs. He’s adorable, but he isn’t yours, not in the way a baby should be someone’s. You hand him back to Parker and smile at Ethan. He doesn’t say anything. He understands.
They name him Colin and thank you again and again until Parker whispers to Gregory and they leave you alone. Parker winks at you on his way out before returning to swooning over his son. Ethan climbs into the hospital bed next to you with a groan. You snuggle against him. He kisses your hair.