A Bump in the Road (30 page)

Seriously though—these people would rather me stay home and be a miserable, cooped-up woman addicted to
General Hospital
(which is exactly who I would become), than a happy, well-adjusted, although admittedly somewhat stressed working mother. I mean, I don’t think I’m a bad person or I will be a bad mother because I will look forward to spending time with adults during the day rather than changing diapers. I also want to give my kid the best—vacations every year, a nice house, a paid college education. I don’t want him to be a spoiled brat but I want to be able to give him the One Thing he wants for his birthday.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been brainwashed because my mom worked. But God, I’ll take that kind of brainwashing any day over the kind of brainwashing that means I’m responsible for laundering Jake’s underwear. I want to be the best role model I can be for my son, and to me, that is being a working, professional woman. I hope I’ll show him that while I love him and he is the absolute best thing
in my life, the entire world doesn’t revolve around him, and someday when he gets married, the housework and child-raising are shared responsibilities between husbands and wives.

And that is when his wife will send me a dozen roses every day.

My oak tree beckoned to me again today. I had planned on grabbing a sandwich at the deli down the street, but I stopped as I saw the oak tree. Desperate to clear my head after all the day care drama, I bought a slice of pizza and plopped my huge self down on the ground. I figured winter is about to kick all of our asses, so I may as well enjoy the fall while it’s still here for a brief period.

I rubbed my stomach as I watched a mom pushing a stroller across the park. I knew she was a stay-at-home mom. Her leisurely gait and her sweatpants gave it away. I decided to make sure Skeletor knows he’s going to be well taken care of.

“Listen, Mr. Skeletor. I’m not going to be staying home with you after you’re born. I know, it’s kind of a bummer, because I’m sure you’ll want to hang out with me and only me all the time.” I laughed. He didn’t respond. “But,” I continued, “it’s going to be OK. We found a wonderful day care for you that you’ll love. The babysitters are so nice and they’re going to love you. And when you get older, you can play with all the other kids and have best friends. Does that sound all right?” I waited until I got a kick. “Good. I just want you to know, though, that you’re going to be the most important thing to me. Nothing, not work or money or friends or anything else, will come between us. Although I might work during the day, it doesn’t mean I love you any less or that we won’t be close. I will always make sure you have the best, even if it means your father and I don’t. Sound good?” He kicked and I knew he understood.

Jake didn’t completely buy my story about having a conversation with Mr. Skeletor yesterday afternoon. He just doesn’t get it. It’s that women’s intuition crap Reese is always preaching about. I
know
he heard me and I
know
he understood everything I said.

I couldn’t debate my clairvoyant powers with Jake for any length of time after I got home from work last night because I had plans to meet Julie in the city for drinks.

“Thank God you’re here! This jerk to my right kept trying to steal your seat,” Julie said as she saw me walk into the restaurant. She jabbed her thumb toward a very fat and sweaty man glaring at her. “I almost put my new boots through his ass.”

“Holy shit! I totally forgot; let me see!” I shoved the fat and sweaty man aside and sat down. Julie happily extended her leg and pointed her toe inside her brand-new buttery leather boots.

“Fab! I’m about to drool all over them!”

“Ugh. Please don’t. They cost a fortune,” she said.

“Lucky bitch. All of my shoe money will be going toward day care soon. What are you drinking?” I asked.

“Saketini. It’s to die for and has enough alcohol to make me forget about Perverted Married Man.”

“Ooohhh, do tell.” I signaled to the bartender to bring me a glass of wine. He pointedly looked at my stomach and I just stared back at him.

“Well, he—”

“Wait!” I interrupted. “I need a drink first.”

The bartender brought over my wine; I took a small sip and then looked at her. “OK, go!”

She took a long, deep breath in and exhaled while reapplying her lip gloss. She smacked her lips together.

“So! Disgusting Perverted Married Man finally stopped stalking me.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The freak gave me flowers last week that said, ‘Hey, stud. Let’s get together for another Happy Hour again.’ What a loser.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Not to mention the fact he has a wife who probably never gets flowers,” I said.

“That, too. Anyway, that was the last move from the fuckwad. I took the flowers to his office, threw them at him, and told him I’d be happy to forward the card to his wife so she’d know what a pathetic shithead he is.”

“So he left you alone after that?”

“No. He asked me to go on vacation with him. So I kneed him in the crotch. And then threatened to expose his cheating ass all over the Internet.”

“That’s my girl.”

“So, what’s new with you and Jake?”

“Besides my ass rapidly expanding? Nothing, except I have to deal not only with my own pregnancy but the excruciating torture of hearing about Ash Leigh’s every diaper change from Marianne.”

Julie gave me a sympathetic look. “That’s why I’m never getting married. No in-laws to deal with, no wedding showers to attend. And I certainly don’t have to worry about that stuff in my family—you know how they are.”

Yes, I do. Julie’s family parties usually consist of people drinking kegs of beer while watching NASCAR and listening to Toby Keith.

“Believe me, I would’ve married an orphan had I found one,” I said.

“You guys see his parents so much. Doesn’t it drive you absolutely insane?”

“Of course, but it means a lot to Jake so I try to do the best I can. But it’s hard. Especially now that Natalie keeps sending me forwards at work with titles like ‘Why Liberals Hate Christmas’ and ‘The Ten Commandments Belong in Public Schools.’ ”

“Natalie is a piece of work. Tell her to go fuck herself.” She
opened her bag and pulled out a compact and examined her dark eye shadow and adjusted her gigantic cleavage.

“At least she’s still really big and fat and squashy from being pregnant.”

“Well,” Julie said, snapping her compact closed and throwing it back into her purse, “just remember she had to push a human being out of her cooter.”

“Um, hi. I’m pregnant, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Oh my God! I almost forgot to tell you!” she suddenly shrieked, nearly snorting her drink out her nose. “I haven’t told you about the new nurse who just started, have I?”

I gave her a blank look.

“Oh, Jesus. You’re going to die. It’s so disgusting. OK, so there’s this new nurse who started last week and she’s young, like early twenties, and mildly attractive though sometimes her eyebrows remind me of Russell Crowe’s . . .” She trailed off, looking far away.

“Point?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. But her eyebrows
are
really weird. So, when she started working I noticed something really disgusting but I didn’t know if anyone else noticed it so I didn’t say anything. Clare, it’s so bad.”

“What?” I whispered, a look of horror on my face. I realized the bartender was washing glasses very slowly in front of us, hanging on Julie’s every word.

“She has an, um, odor problem.”

“Like BO?”

“Uh, an odor problem in a certain area.”

“
No!
” I sat back in horror, noticing out of the corner of my eye the bartender still listening.

“Yes! Everyone else has noticed it, too. People have to hold their breath when she walks past.” That did it. The bartender started gagging and walked away.

“Well, how do you think I feel?” she snapped at him.

“And the entire office talks about it?”

“Well,
yeah
! I mean, we can’t even use the bathroom on our floor anymore because it smells so bad. I don’t know what her problem is or if she doesn’t shower or what. I feel bad for her but she’s always talking about having one-night stands so you know there is something nasty growing down there. Oh! And get this—her name is Eve. Like Summer’s Eve!”

“No!”

“Trust me, I couldn’t make this shit up.”

I always know whatever great story I come to dinner armed with, Julie will top it in about five seconds. I could come to dinner after winning
The Apprentice
and she’d tell me she gave Donald Trump a blowjob during her lunch hour.

My stories involve things like: I found a coupon for hamburger buns in Sunday’s paper and
it was for forty-five cents. Can you believe it?

“Man, that’s nasty. I don’t want to hear any more.”

We realized that the bartender wasn’t the only male listening to our conversation. A group of yuppie businessmen still dressed in their Brooks Brothers suits heard every word about poor Eve and her problem and were looking at us with complete disgust.

I whirled around on my stool. “Here’s a solution: don’t listen.”

“Whoa, chill out, baby,” one of the yuppie guys said.

“Assholes,” I muttered.

“Hey, why don’t you let us buy you a water and your friend a drink and we’ll call it even, OK?” one of the other guys said.

“No, that’s—,” I started to say.

“Well, it’s the least you could do!” Julie jumped in quickly, giving me a look that said
I will kill you if you ruin my chance for a free drink
.

“Thanks,” I said tightly as one of the assholes handed me a glass of water.

“So, what are your names?” the asshole with the plastic hair and cosmically unnaturally white teeth asked.

“Linda,” I said.

“Jane,” Julie replied.

We turned to each other and started talking about a new BCBG dress I bought at an outlet last week for like fifty bucks.

“So, you’re obviously taken,” the asshole with the Cartier watch jabbed his finger at me, “but what about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, but I have a girlfriend,” Julie replied and put her hand on my knee.

The assholes’ faces lit up.

“Score! All right!” They high-fived each other. They bought Julie another drink and I gave her the Sign.

“I have to check my lipstick. Will you come with me?” I asked her. She looked at me sharply, seeing as how she was actually having fun flirting with these losers.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes. Now.”
I am too pregnant to pretend to be interested in what they are saying
.

We told the assholes we were going to the bathroom and promised on a stack of cocktail napkins we were not ditching them and then slipped out the back door of the restaurant.

As we walked out, my cell phone beeped.

“Mark wants us to meet him at Barleycorn’s for a drink.”

Julie raised her eyebrows.

“Forget it.”

We arrived at Barleycorn’s fifteen minutes later. As we pulled our IDs out of our purses to show to the bouncer at the door I heard a familiar voice yell from inside, “Don’t let them in! They’re underage!” The bouncer waved away my ID and stared at my stomach. The bright spot is apparently I don’t look like a pregnant teenager.

I craned my neck to see Mark and spotted him at the bar, draft beer in hand, surrounded by guys in their early twenties. He waved me over.

“Hey, sis. Glad you guys showed.” He put his arm around Julie. “And you brought my favorite girl.”

“Too bad Clare will never let us consummate our relationship,” Julie said, and rested her head against his broad chest.

“Don’t even think about it. In fact, excuse me.” I pushed them apart and walked in between. “Jules?”

“Apple martini.”

“She’s such a bitch,” Mark said.

“An apple martini and a water,” I yelled to the bartender, who completely ignored me to flirt with two girls with giant breast implants.

“I’m hitting the bathroom,” Julie yelled to me.

“Yo, Steve—hook this girl up,” one of Mark’s roommates (Neil?) called to the bartender.