... and Baby Makes Two (12 page)

“Is your Mom okay?” He sounded so cheerful—he had to be a sinister character.

“Oh, yes. She's fine. She had a flu, but she's okay now.”

They worked a bit more, and then Jane said, “So, that must have been weird for you, getting pulled into a family birthday party—not to mention all the family dramas. Sorry about that.”

“Your family is fine. I like the way your brothers sing. I like the way your Mom
is
with you.”

“Is?”

He described how Jane sat at her mother's feet, and how Betty had curled her daughter's ringlets around one finger. It must have been a nice picture.

“She used to do that when I was little, and I loved it.” Jane's voice was soft. “Then I turned twelve, and I'd freeze every time she did it. And then I went through my hair-straightening phase. No curls to curl around her finger.”

“How frustrating.”

He knew too much. He was going to write a Howe Family Exposé for the
New York Post.
He was going to tell all their family secrets in front of People. Jane tightened a corner of the bureau and realized that Peter was behaving exactly the opposite of Dick-Richard. He was drawing her out. Asking her questions. She knew almost nothing about him. Time to turn the ready-made table on him. And if he refused to answer her questions, she could confirm that he was hiding something.

“So, why don't you have any dishes? Do you live on take-out food?”

“I work such long hours, and there's only me here. Why bother cooking?”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes I get scared that work is completely taking over my life. I think about it too much. I like my job, but I resent it creeping around my whole world. Here. Put glue
in these holes and then hammer in the dowels. I'll get the other side ready.”

It was starting to look like a bureau—from Willy Wonka's Factory. Jane had messed up this project, and she was also turning out to be a lousy detective. She still hadn't figured out Peter the Puzzle. She needed cleverer questions. And then it happened.

She was reaching for the screw gun while he was reaching for a dowel with his left hand. A band of gold on his ring finger. He was wearing a wedding ring.

Had he been wearing that before? Did her Mom know this? Why hadn't Jane noticed it before? Where was the wife?
Was it her body that was going in the bureau?

Jane lifted a piece of pressed wood over her head. It was lighter than she had expected it to be, and she knocked down the photograph of Peter's mother.

“Oh, God, did I break it? I'll replace it. I'm so sorry!”

“It's not broken. It's fine. Don't know your own strength, huh?”

They were both looking at the photo, and Jane was speed-thinking: come up with a not lame way to draw this guy out.

“You don't look like your mother.” Lame.

Peter smiled and nodded. “Don't look like my dad, either.”

This would be the part of the movie where he reveals his alien/robot self, wouldn't it?

“I'm adopted. So is my brother. We don't look like each other, either.”

Jane moved slowly and quietly. Adopted. What next?

“My wife thinks I look like Brad Pitt, but I don't see it.”

Adopted and married. What is his story?

“What is your story?”

“I don't think I have one.” Peter sounded so truthful. But Jane was still stuck, so she kept talking.

“My mother thought she was fixing me up with you. Are you telling me that my Catholic mother would fix her daughter up with
a married man? Has she met your wife? Where is your wife? Answer that one first. Where is your wife?”

“My wife writes travel books. She bought this apartment before the neighborhood was cool, and she paid practically nothing for it. She's so smart.”

“Where is she?”

“Oh, right. She's living in L.A., but she's only there for a few months out of the year. So here I am, living in her old place. It kind of sucks. I miss her a lot, but I guess this works for us. We really get to appreciate the time we have together. She's so great.”

And now, of course, Peter was looking very handsome and desirable in a neglected-husband kind of way. Information overload. Jane needed to go home. Maybe she could teach him how to finish the bureau and then go home.

“Jane, did you think this was a fix up? Did you think tonight was some kind of date?”

She blushed before she could answer. Damn that pale skin—it always gave her away.

He was apologizing while she was busy faking that everything was fine. And now she felt obligated to finish his damn Willy Wonka bureau before she could go home. She worked quietly. One more table leg on top and she could go home and tell Ray or Sheila all about this. Maybe she'd do a three-way call and tell them both at once.

“So, do you have kids?” she asked without looking up.

“I wish. I mean, no. We don't. I thought we were going to adopt someday, but my wife sort of changed her mind about that. And this would be a tough way to raise a kid. She's right about that.”

He was trying to sound very matter-of-fact. Trying not to reveal himself, or so it seemed to Jane. But she heard the sadness behind his voice. The regret. Jane was having trouble concentrating through it all. She nearly sliced her finger with the screw gun.

“Want the last dumpling?” he offered. She smiled and took it.

“Thanks.” Nice guy. Damn.

…

“Sheila, he was such a nice guy.”

“Damn.”

Jane looked like a teen in
Bye Bye Birdie.
She was on the floor, wearing a baby doll nightie, with her feet up on the couch. She played back the evening in complete detail for Sheila to analyze. Sheila, never an optimist to begin with, foresaw doom and gloom in a teacup.

“Janie, stay away from Mr. Married. He's just looking for a little something-something to keep him happy while his wife's away, and she is
away way
too much.”

Jane's arguing gene surfaced.

“He never made a move on me. Not one. I think this was a simple misunderstanding. I thought it was a date. He thought it was a home repair.”

“Married men have no business hanging out with single women. End of story. And I hope I said that loud enough for Raoul to hear. Oh! Oh-oh-oh! Maybe he's not really married! Maybe it's like one of those old movie tricks where he pretends to be married so he can avoid commitment.”

“We watch too many old movies. I think he really is married.”

“Jane? What about adoption? Are you going to try it?”

Jane wasn't sure, but she wanted to be, so she said, “No. Not on my own. No.”

“Honey, were you thinking of Peter as potential Daddy material?” Sheila was very gentle.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“I'm sorry.”

…

Talking with Sheila didn't fix the knot in her stomach. As Jane pictured the mess she could make of her life entangled with Mr. Married, she barely realized that she had started tidying up her home. It evolved into a vacuuming and scrubbing the tub. And it actually
helped—or wore her out too much to maintain the stomach knot. It was untied until she saw the flashing light on her answering machine.

You have
one
new message.

“Tell Janie to call her mother when she gets home.” Betty. “Is she still out? I guess so. That's a good sign. Howard! I got her machine.”

Beep.

Jane hesitated, then dialed.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I called ten minutes ago. Did you just get back?”

“I was cleaning. I didn't hear the phone ring. Over the vacuum cleaner.”

“Jane. No one vacuums on a weeknight. Everyone vacuums on Saturday morning. That's when the dirt is ready”

“Okay. I'll do it again on Saturday.”

“So? Tell me? How did it go? Has Peter called you?”

“Are you serious? I just left his apartment two hours ago. So, no. He hasn't called. And even if he does … I don't want to see him again. Mom, he's married. Did you know that?”

“I know.”

“I thought you were fixing me up with him. I thought you wanted—”

“Jane. He sees his wife maybe thirty days out of the year. If that. She keeps an apartment in Los Angeles so that she can travel around the Pacific. She has their dog, Jane! Their dog! She's got her dog with her, but not her husband. I mean, come on! This is no marriage. This is a sham. He's a nice fellow. He deserves a real life, and a real family.”

Jane was mute. How often does a mother encourage a daughter to break up a marriage, excluding Joan Collins?

“He wants children, but his wife doesn't. And, Janie, a good son like him would make such a good father.”

“He told you he wants children?”

“Yes. In so many words, yes. He did. Even the Catholic Church would give him a divorce. In a New York minute, they would!”

“Mom. I'm not going to break up his marriage. I wouldn't know how.”

“Watch my soaps. I'll tape them for you. Take a few tips from Erica Kane, and you'll know what to do.”

“Good night, Mom.”

“Just picture it. You could live right here by me in the house on Albemarle. And you could stop by here every day. Every day! Oh, Janie. I want you to have a family. I want you to be happy, that's all. I love you.”

Jane thought of telling her how she was haunted by babies. She thought of telling her mother about Choosing Single Motherhood and Families with Children from China. She thought of telling her about Little Red Bathing Suit, and how she had backed away from it all, too afraid, to awed, too overwhelmed.

“I love you too.”

…

The phone rang at
5 A.M.
Jane sprang out of bed, heart in her throat. It was her father.

“Janie. I'm afraid I have bad news. Your mother. She wasn't feeling well last night, after she got off the phone with you. She went to bed, but then, a few hours later, I heard her. She was calling to me. She was on the floor next to the bed. She was in a lot of pain. I called the ambulance.”

Jane tried to push the words away. She knew what was coming.

“They said it was a heart attack. They got her to the hospital, and the doc said she was stable. They sent me home. They told me to go home. I didn't want to leave her there, but they told me that she needed to rest. So I came home.”

“Oh, Dad.”

“They just called. Just now. They said she had another attack.

This one was worse. They couldn't save her. She's gone. She's gone, Janie. What am I going to do?”

…

Jane walked out the door and saw the Christ Child in front of her building. The sun had been up for hours, but Jane couldn't make herself go to New Jersey. Not yet. She couldn't let this day move forward. She went outside because she thought she'd be more reluctant to cry in public. It was true until she saw Him. He seemed more active, more animated this time. He waved his arms, as if performing manic miracles. His mother seemed to have a cold, but He hadn't cured it. He saw Jane and shouted, “Adaa!”

Jane felt herself splitting open. Afraid of alarming mother or Child, she managed to say, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry” while she gulped through her tears. Mother and child remained unfazed. She ran back upstairs and called Ray.

“I'm coming over. Don't move.”

He must have flown to her apartment—he was there so quickly. He sat her down, made a pot of tea, and proceeded to make enough scrambled eggs for a platoon. He sat with her, ate, and practically spoon-fed Jane, who seemed oblivious to everything around her, until she said, “I thought you didn't eat eggs anymore.”

Jane sniffled as she ate.

“Oh. That. Well, things change,” Ray replied. “It's important to evolve as a person, and not get caught up too much in the physical world. You know? All that vanity is bad karma.”

“So now you're a Buddhist?”

“Sort of. Maybe. Yes.” Ray sounded a little embarrassed. “If you take enough yoga classes, you start to realize that the physical plane is not the most important thing.”

“Are you giving up on being a perfect physical specimen?”

“Did I sound that stupid? Sorry. I don't know what I'm doing exactly. But I think that it would be better for me to pursue my identity
on a spiritual plane, instead of a physical one. Let's face it. The body is mortal.”

Jane put her fork down. Ray gasped and said, “Oh, God. I did not just say that. I'm an idiot. Please, Jane. I'm so sorry”

“It's okay. And anyway, it's true, isn't it?”

…

Ray stood by as she called Sheila. Jane repeated Howard's early morning phone call, word for word. Sheila cried quietly, almost from the beginning.

“Oh, Jane. I didn't want it to end this way” She was already disintegrating.

“Please, Sheil, please. Come to the funeral.”

“Mom wouldn't want me there.”

“I'll make it right with Dad. I'll stay with you the whole time. I'll be with you. Please be there.”

“I'm scared. What are the boys going to say to me? And what about Dad? I can't go.”

“She's
your
mother too.”

Jane ate cold scrambled eggs with hot sauce. She called into work and let them know she would not be in for several days. Maybe a week. A death in the family. She found a dozen unimportant tasks that needed doing. She knew she was stalling, and Ray didn't rush her. Finally, Ray accompanied her to Port Authority.

That afternoon, she arrived at her parents' house, hereafter known as her dad's house, to find that the funeral would take place in three days. Flowers, music, prayers, reception, coffin, headstone, mass cards—everything was arranged. Kevin was playing alpha male and wouldn't part with one detail. She pretended to be angry that everything was done, all the work “taken.” But in truth, she had dreaded making any of these decisions. Sam's funeral had convinced her that when her time was up, she should disappear from the planet and the body should never be found.

“Have you picked an outfit for her?” She should at least do something. She should figure out what Mom would want to wear forever. Jane pictured Betty's signature cardigan sweaters, chunky cotton and colorful. She had a big collection of them, so it would be hard to choose. Definitely include one of these, so that Betty would look like Betty.