A Bump in the Road (41 page)

I’m exhausted. I feel like crying and vomiting at the same time.

Reese brought Grace over after I got home from work.

“Is there anything I can do? Are you OK?” I asked her after she
handed Grace to me and showed me eight million times how to make a bottle.

“No. I think I’m good.” She gave me a wavery half smile and I was struck at how young she looked.

“What are you going to say?” I asked, shifting Grace to my hip.

“I don’t even know. I think I’m just going to ask him about the e-mails and see what he says. Like I said, I’m sure it’s nothing but I have to ask.” She shrugged.

“What made you change your mind? I mean, last time we talked, you were so angry and then I got your message today . . .”

She studied the scuff marks on the ceramic tile in our kitchen and slowly raised her eyes to meet mine. “I thought about what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“What you said about Grace. About thinking of her.”

“Oh. Reese, I’m sorry if I upset—”

She held up her hand and shook her head. “No, it was good. It made me think of my mother. She’s been miserable her whole life. She thought she stayed with my father for us, but really, she stayed for her. Because she was too afraid to change her life.” She gave me a rueful smile and smoothed her hair back. “I don’t want to be like her. I can’t be like her. I won’t let myself turn into her.”

My eyes filled with tears. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too. Are you sure you’re going to be OK with Grace?”

“Piece of cake.”

“Even without Jake?”

“Oh, please. He’d just sit on the couch and watch TV anyways. We’ll be fine,” I said, and gave Grace a little pat on the butt.

“Well, OK. I’ll be back soon,” she said.

I hugged her tightly, as tightly as I could with my beach-ball stomach and Grace.

The second the door closed, Grace screamed. I tried to feed her, burp her, sing to her, change her, offer her a drink, but nothing worked.
Her face contorted and turned purple. I barely heard the doorbell ring over her screams of fury.

“Hi!” I said brightly as I let Julie in.

She looked confused. “What is all that noise?”

“Oh. That’s Grace. I’m watching her for Reese.”

“Oh, God. Why? Oh, wait, is she asking Matt if he’s doing other women?” she asked as she walked straight into the bedroom. “So, where’s the shirt?”

“In the second drawer.”

“Great,” she said, and started for the dresser.

“But I’m holding it for ransom.”

“What?”

I raised my eyebrows and gestured toward the still screaming Grace. “Fuck no. I don’t need to borrow the shirt. Forget it.” She tried to walk out the door but I grabbed her arm.

“Please, Julie. I need some help. Jake isn’t here and it’s impossible for me to take care of her with this giant stomach. Please,” I pleaded, “I will so owe you.”

She folded her arms.

“I have vodka!”

She softened a little.

“I’ll consider letting you make out with Mark.” I’m a horrible person for pimping out my brother but I was desperate.

“Deal.”

I poured Julie a hefty vodka tonic and we finally got Grace to shut up so we flipped on the television to watch
Grey’s Anatomy
. After it was over, I put Grace to bed (it was so weird to see an actual baby in Skeletor’s room) and came back to the living room and collapsed on the couch.

“You’re huge, you know,” Julie finally said.

“Thanks. I know.”

Julie flipped to MTV. A rerun of the Video Music Awards was on and Jared Leto’s band was playing.

“Gawd. Remember when he used to be hot?” Julie said.

“Oh! I know! He made me want to kill myself, he was so hot. Remember him as Jordan Catalano on
My So-Called Life?
”

“Yes!” she shrieked. “So hot. Now he’s all gothic and wears eye makeup.” She flung herself back on the couch and sighed. “Ben looks a little like the old, hot Jared Leto.”

“Really? Damn, if that’s even somewhat true, I’ll sleep with him.”

“Yep. I’ll get a picture tomorrow night. Your pink boob shirt should be a winner.”

“Your boobs aren’t even going to fit into that shirt.”

“That’s the point, my dear.”

“So what’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing serious. Other than we have seriously good sex. And he’s seriously hot. But just having fun. The other day, he did this thing . . .”

Before she could finish, I saw Reese’s car pull into our apartment complex. Shit. I didn’t think she’d be back so early. I planned on kicking Julie out before she got here. Immediately, my stomach began to cramp up and my heart to pound.

“How did it go?” I asked her as I flung the door open before she had a chance to buzz in.

She looked terrible. Her mascara ran down her cheeks and pooled around her chin and her nose was bright red.

“Not so good,” she said quietly.

“What happened?” I asked, closing the door behind her.

“I showed him the e-mails and he denied everything. He said nothing was going on between him and Leslie and I was overreacting.”

“Isn’t that kind of what you expected?”

She dried her eyes on a wadded-up Kleenex as I glanced nervously toward the living room, where Julie was undoubtedly listening.

“He denied it but started saying all of these other things. Stuff about how he didn’t do anything with her but that he thought about it. About how getting married so young and having Grace makes him feel like he’s middle-aged. How he blames me for pressuring
him into being a husband and father before he was ready. He said he feels like he’s trapped and I need to lay off and give him space.” Her face crumpled.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. You know that’s not true, don’t you?” I asked.

“What’s not true?”

“You didn’t pressure him into anything. He’s lucky to have you as his beautiful wife and father to his kids.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to—” Her head snapped up and I followed her gaze.

Julie appeared around the corner. She held a glass of wine in her hand.

“Fuck him,” she said, and extended the drink to Reese. Reese looked surprised but took the drink and wordlessly gulped it down in one long pour. She met Julie’s eyes and started to tear up again. Julie stepped forward and hugged her tightly.

They both stayed for another hour, until Jake got home from work. That whole time we both just sat silently and listened to Reese talk. Talk about how much she loves Grace, about how she has everything she thought she wanted, about how she doesn’t really have anything she wanted. Talk about how she doesn’t know what she’s going to do now.

I felt like I’d been treading water for hours by the time they both left. I felt like crying for Reese, because even if Matt didn’t cheat this time, I doubt their marriage will last. I don’t want it to last, but I wish I could make it all better for her. Even just for a moment. She deserves it. She deserves to be happy. Not just regular happy, but pure bliss, floating on a puffy cloud happy.

I emptied the dishwasher and went into the bedroom. Jake was lying on his stomach in bed, checking his e-mail on his laptop. I walked in and placed my cheek against his bare back and listened to the whoosh of his breathing.

I’ve been so distracted with helping Reese emotionally that Christmas is quickly sneaking up on me. I announced to Jake this afternoon that I would be going out Christmas shopping alone, since I wanted some peace and quiet, not to mention exercise. He didn’t argue.

Wanna know how it went? Here’s the entry I just typed for my blog:

You know those dumbasses who wait until the week before Christmas to do all of their shopping? You know, those idiots who end up standing in line, cursing under their breath, noses red from the extreme cold outside and hair plastered to their face due to the extreme warmth inside? The people who go to Sharper Image asking about some stupid car gadget thing and get laughed at by the sales clerk because the car thing is like, the most popular gift this year and they sold out weeks ago. The schmucks who, in an oblivious haze, actually set foot inside Toys ’R Us and then quickly leave, running back to the child-free safety of their motor vehicle, throwing holy water on themselves and praying in tongues God will let them forget a place like that exists on this good earth.

Yeah.

Seriously. How long does it take to read a few articles and then send off an e-mail saying, “We hate your writing. We think it sucks. Actually, we think you as a person suck and should be banned from ever picking up a pencil or composing so much as an e-mail ever again.
We do not like you and we think you are ugly. P.S. We most definitely do not want to offer you a column.”

I am
dying
here. They need to just give me the answer, good or bad, so I can have a reason to eat the entire quart of cookie dough ice cream in the freezer.

Dear Dr. Clarke:

Re: My Birth Plan

If you are wondering what to give me for Christmas, please read the following suggestions:

I have no wishes of greatness. I do not buy organic shampoo, I don’t wear hemp clothing, and my favorite food is Taco Bell; I am not an advocate for anything “natural.” Thus, please be aware I have absolutely no qualms about using every legally available drug to numb the pain of childbirth. I am also open to illegal drugs, should the need arise. I also realize this child is supposed to come out of my vagina and would like to discuss some other options, such as: if there is any way you could wave a wand and make the baby magically appear without any of that gross hospital stuff, I would like to sign up. Please let me know what my options are re: magical birth on pink puffy clouds.

Clare Finnegan

P.S. If there is any way you could wave your wand again and make me bikini ready immediately after the birth, that would be awesome. I’d also like a pony.

The Christmas joy continues. I went to Target this morning to pick up a few last-minute gifts and nearly got knocked over by a lady who threw her body in front of me to get the last set of Christmas lights and then said, “Sorry! For my kids. You understand, don’t you?” I looked at her, wishing that I could strangle her with aforementioned Christmas lights and poke ornament hooks in her eyes, but then the headline “Crazed Pregnant Woman (Who
Is
Horrible Writer) Kills Shopper in Target and Then Eats Hot Dog” might not portray me in the best light so I just ate the hot dog instead.

I stomped into our apartment after the whole debacle, ready to spew hate and fire during my recollection of my morning, but Jake was sitting on the couch, head in hands. The reason being one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard:

Jake and a few of his friends chipped in and bought an old busted van to use for tailgating at Bears games. They all got the bright idea to take it in and have it painted orange and blue with the Bears logo on the side. Jake went this afternoon to go pick the van up from the detailer. When I got home, I looked out the window.