Chapter 12

Author’s Note: I thought that I was done with this story, to be perfectly frank, especially with the grief I got over the way that I wrote it, the direction that I took, or rather that it took me. I go with the flow of the characters and what they want half the time as well as the path that the inner logic of the story takes me. Some might not be happy, but I can’t force myself into a box just to suit them.

Two months later...

“Up to you if you want to do this, babe. Just know that I respect you, either way. And we can be discreet enough at home to protect innocent eyes from seeing what they’re not meant to see yet, just as we will with the others,” an almost bursting Jamie assured me as we went to the maternity ward of the resident hospital of the women’s prison.

“I must. A child’s life hangs in the balance, dear. You know that. I can’t do that to a child that’s kin, no matter who his father might be,” I resolved.

I was about to become a father ... to a child whose paternity was still unclear. This could very easily be Ramone’s baby, not mine. Ordinarily, I would let his family handle it, but Ramone was my cousin, so he was family, like it or not. It could also be my child, very easily, because it wasn’t as if Danielle and I had never been intimate, especially right after the honeymoon. I had decided not to test paternity, because if it were Ramone’s, it would be basically an orphan, wouldn’t it, and I didn’t want to make any baby an orphan.

Unfortunately, this meant that I had to be present for the birth, which was very difficult and damn near killed Danielle before they finally opted for C-section. They put her on bed rest, which had to be easy enough on a hospital bed, even in prison. They weren’t going to let her be active now, were they?

The knowledge that the mother had killed the father if it was Ramone’s, or else held him hostage for hours if it were mine was still something jarring for everyone. Either way, co-parenting was impossible, particularly with the mother rotting in the state women’s penitentiary. By agreeing to support my decision to raise this baby rather than give it up for adoption or something else, Jamie had signed on to be the stepmother, basically the mother, for life. She was already about to have our baby, too, so this was gonna be double duty, though thankfully Michelle, Carly, Ana, and Oscar would help out.

“You’re gonna be good with this?” I asked Jamie as we sat in the waiting room, still halfway shocked that even a prison hospital had one of those.

“Are you kidding me? Our baby will have yet another sibling to grow up with, someone who’ll always have her back. A big brother. I’m so glad that it’s gonna be a boy. When they’re all grown up, we can always push them in a certain direction, if you catch my drift,” Jamie winked at me.

“Incest?” I whispered back.

“Hell, yes!” Jamie told me under her breath.

“We can pass on our family values, not Danielle’s or Betsy’s. A child is a blank canvas. I’m tired of society indoctrinating them to be mononormative, heteronormative, etc. Those are society’s old-fashioned, traditional values, not ours, are they?” I smiled as we held hands.

“Indeed, and what’s more, we can teach them true equality between the sexes, not male or female supremacy. We can teach them to respect themselves too much to let society or bullies or organized religion push them around. The adult stuff will have to wait, of course, but the values, the code, the morals, we can pass on our own principles and beliefs very early,” Jamie replied, clearly on the same page as me.

“We can discourage greed, hate, bullying, fear, superstition, narrow minds, fanaticism, etc. We can foster creativity, reason, a love of nature, healthy exercises of the body and mind alike, intellectual curiosity, openness, etc. We can teach them to reject modesty, false humility, piety, and platitudes. We can teach them that sharing is good, while jealousy is no longer necessary in a world with less scarcity.

“We can teach them how to do things. How to build things. How to grow things. How to repair things. How to cook and clean for themselves, so that when it’s necessary, they can do so. How to love and accept people ... and animals who are different or strange. We can teach them how to hunt, fish, etc. How to conserve, how to recycle. All that jazz,” I continued.

“Speaking of jazz, we can teach them music in all of its glory. Painting, sculpture, drawing, coloring, etc. Let them discover what gifts they might have. Including writing, of course. I really think that we need to move out more to the countryside as we’ve discussed, away from prying eyes. Just sell it all. What did you think of my idea of moving us all to the northern part of Mexico, where Carly and Ana would never have to fear deportation again?” Jamie brought up that idea again.

“Works for me. I’d love for my children ... our children ... to grow up bilingual, for one thing. As much as I love my country, let’s be frank. It doesn’t really love us back very well, at least not the Jesus Freaks who tend to be in charge with their accursed ‘Judeo-Christian ethic.’ Speaking as one whose mother was Jewish and whose father was Catholic, there’s no such thing as a damn ‘Judeo-Christian ethic.’ No matter how much Dennis Prager says otherwise.

“One religion allows divorce, the other doesn’t. One has gotten over some of the more rigid and puritanical sexual ethics, at least in the Reform branch. The other hasn’t. One tells wives that they’re entitled to their husband’s sexual favors. The other tells ladies that ‘nice girls don’t do that’ and that sex is only meant for procreation. One not only doesn’t proselytize, it makes you ask three times to even join. The other sends people out in droves to tell you that if you don’t join it, you’ll burn forever in Hell.