Baby Proof (22 page)

“Look. A cross,” she says, presenting me the plastic stick. Her hands are trembling.

“You’re pregnant?” I ask, still in disbelief. Never mind the scientific results before me.

“I’m going to have a baby,” Jess says, looking teary. The happy kind of teary. The standing on the Olympic podium, mouthing words to “The Star-spangled Banner” kind of teary.

“Wow,” I say, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Jess whispers.

“Did you call Trey?”

“Yeah. He didn’t answer.”

“Did you leave a message?”

“Uh-huh. I said it was important” Her voice trails off.

“How do you feel?” I ask.

“Scared,” she says. “Overwhelmed But happy.”

I hug her as I whisper congratulations. We separate, staring at each other, then down at the stick, then back at each other.

“What are you thinking?” she asks after a minute more of silence.

I shake my head, feeling a wave of jumbled, crazy emotion. Mostly I am afraid for my best friend. I know how hopeful she is, how badly she wants things to work out with Trey, and how devastated she will be when reality sets in over the next nine months. I also can’t help but feel a twinge of anger at Jess for doing this to herself, for going about motherhood this way. I resent her for making bad decisions in her life, and can’t help but consider how those ill-advised decisions will impact me and my life. I didn’t want a baby with Ben, my husband , so I certainly don’t want one with a friend. But how awful would I be to move out when my friend is pregnant and needs me? How awful would I be to intentionally distance myself at such a critical juncture?

Then, buried beneath all of the obvious reactions is this other strange pang. This worry that if I do move out and separate myself from Jess and her baby, I will be sidelined. Left out of something extraordinary. That Jess’s life will become so much more than my life. It is almost as if I’m jealous of her. Which is insane because obviously I do not want a baby. I do not .

I start wondering what I always wonder when I have irrational, uncontrollable emotions of any kind: Is it normal to feel this way? Do other people feel wistful over something they don’t want in the first place ? I hope that the answer is yes, as there is always something comforting about knowing that you are not alone. That other people feel the way you do. That you are a bit screwed up, but still normal .

Jess reclines on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, as I scramble to come up with an analogy, something that will make sense of the way I’m feeling. My mind lands on my first love, Charlie, whom I occasionally run in to when I’m back in Huntington. Charlie is a firefighter in my hometown, which means he spends his weekdays rescuing stray dogs and cats and teaching fire safety at our old elementary school. He spends his weekends watching Jets games and chain-smoking Camel Lights with his high school buddies and playing in the backyard with his four kids. I would wager that Charlie doesn’t own a passport and hasn’t read a book since graduation. In short, his life is nothing like mine and life with Charlie would never have been enough for me. But when I see him, I still feel a small burst of longing remembering the way it felt to be sixteen, emerging from a movie theater on a warm summer night and then parking in Charlie’s car while we made out and listened to his cassette mix of love songs. And yet I do not confuse these feelings for actually wanting to be with Charlie.

I don’t want a baby, either, but I feel a pang anyway. A very small pang, but still one that makes me blurt out to Jess, “If I had known this were going to happen”

Jess’s eyes widen. She says my name slowly, as a question.

“What?” I say innocently.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“About what?” I say.

“About Ben? About having a baby? About having Ben’s baby?” she says, looking concerned, suspicious, and hopeful all at once.

“No,” I say emphatically. “Don’t be ridiculous. No second thoughts here.”

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing,” Jess says slowly. “Because if you were having second thoughts, your life would be, like, ten times more fucked up than mine is right about now.”

I look at her and say again, “No second thoughts here.”

The next morning I stay in bed, reading Wuthering Heights for about the fiftieth time. It is my favorite book of all time. And I think I love it even more now that my own relationship has ended. In a perverse way, I almost enjoy feeling as tormented as Cathy was over Heathcliff.

I find my favorite lines and read aloud to myself: “My great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be He’s always, always in my mind, not as a pleasure but as my own being.”

I sigh and flip to another clutch passage: “Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you , of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.”

Then, just as I’m getting all riled up in the satisfying, melodramatic throes of passion and despair, I think of how, early in our relationship, Ben read the book at my insistence. His first words when he finished the book were: “Well. That Heathcliff is a real laugh a minute, huh?” I smile, remembering how I laughed then.

And in that instant, my cell phone rings. I irrationally expect it to be Ben calling, but when I look down at the screen on my phone, I see that it’s just Daphne. I answer, and she asks me what’s new. It’s not until that second that I process how bad it will be when she finds out about Jess. I take the path of least resistance and tell her nothing is new at all. Jess can share the news herself. I’m not going to unless I absolutely have to.

“What’s going on with you?” I deflect.

“Oh, not much,” she says.

“Did Tony’s results come in?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “They did.”

“And?”

“He’s fine. No problems at all,” she says, her voice sounding strangely high-pitched and happy. It occurs to me that maybe she is pregnant, but I don’t dare ask. Instead I keep the conversation safe and say, “So what else is going on?”

“Oh, you know, just getting back in the swing of the school year Working on some new bulletin boards and stuff.”

“That’s good,” I say. “Your bulletin boards are amazing.”

“Aww, Thanks, Claudia,” she says.

There is a long pause and then Daphne says, “So, Claudia, do you think you can come over for dinner tomorrow? Around seven? I want to make you my lasagna.”

“Is Maura coming?” I ask.

“No.”

“Mom or Dad?”

“No. Just you. I thought it would be fun!” she says.

“Sure, Daph,” I say, concluding that she’s probably not pregnant. If she were, she’d likely invite us all over. But the way my life is going, I’m pretty sure that some baby talk will be involved.

The next evening I take the train to Huntington. As I step down from the platform, I see Daphne waving at me from her bright yellow Mini-Cooper. I walk toward her and can see something in her face that looks unnatural and exaggerated. Like a beginning actress pretending to be happy.

When I get to the car, I say, “Hey, Daph!” recognizing the false cheer in my own voice. I realize that it’s mighty difficult to act normal when someone else is behaving oddly.

We make small talk on the drive back to her house, discussing her kids at school. She also tells me, in terms that go way beyond effusive, how much she adored Amy Dickerson’s novel. She says she selected it for her book club even though they usually stick with chick lit.

“The girls are going to love it,” she says. “It’s just so thought-provoking.”

I glance at Daphne, thinking that it is quite possibly the first time Daphne has ever referred to her thoughts as being provoked . My sister is not at all dumb, but she is far from introspective.

When we get to her house, Daphne clicks open the garage door. I see Tony’s black minivan parked inside and mentally rule out marital problems. At least anything imminent. Then again, this strange brand of chipperness would not really make sense in the context of divorce. Something else is going on.

“Home again, home again, jiggity jig!” Daphne says with a nervous laugh. It is what my father says every single time he pulls into our garage. Daphne picked the habit up. Maybe I would, too, if I had a garage to pull into.

I follow Daphne into the kitchen, say hello to her two yapping Yorkies, Anna and Gary, and survey a hearty spread of crab puffs made from English muffins and a lot of butter. Daphne is not a fancy cook, she just does the basics exceptionally well. Tony is sitting at the counter watching a baseball game, but when he sees us, he stands, walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you, Claudia!” he says, sounding as stilted as my sister.

“It’s wonderful to see you, too, Tony,” I say.

Daphne turns down the volume on the TV and says sweetly, “Could you please turn the music back on, honey?”

He obliges, as I say, “Wow, Daph. Crab puffs. What’s the special occasion?”

She gives me an innocent expression. “No special occasion. We just wanted to have you over. That’s all. Right, Tone?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony says. “That’s right.”

I can feel myself grinning. “Uh-huh.”

“What?” Daphne says innocently.

I laugh. “Something is going on here.”

Daphne and Tony exchange an unmistakable glance.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Daphne says. “We have white and red.”

“Uh-huh. And let me guess what you have in the fridge. Chocolate mousse for dessert?”

Her eyes grow wide. “How did you know?”

“Because I know that you know that chocolate mousse is my favorite So, Daphne, just tell me what’s going on here. I mean, do you need to borrow money?”

I instantly regret my joke. My sister has never asked to borrow money from me, but things are frequently tight for her and Tony and maybe they do need some money for fertility treatments. Just in case, I add, “It’s not like I have anything to spend my salary on now that I’m alone!”

Tony laughs. “Well, yeah, actually I could use some cash. Do you have an extra five grand lying around? I’d love a new set of golf clubs. Or a motorcycle,” he says, making the revving hand motion of a biker.

“You’re not getting a motorcycle! They’re too dangerous,” Daphne says, lapsing into her normal self for one second. Then she says to me, “Don’t be silly. We don’t need any money. But thank you. Thank you for offering. You are such a generous, caring sister.”

I laugh and say in a hillbilly accent, “Okay. Listen, missus, I want my sister back. What did you do with my sister?”

Daphne gives me her best Stepford Wife expression and says, “I have no idea what you mean by that.” Then she turns, wipes her hands on her apron, and busies herself with a Screwpull wine opener, Ben’s Christmas gift to Tony years ago when we first began our Secret Santa name draw. I can’t believe it stuck around longer than he did. I sit at the counter next to Tony and help myself to a crab puff. It is sheer perfection.

“Okay,” I say. “Have it your way. I’m just happy to be getting the star treatment. These crab puffs are divine .”

Daphne slowly pours three glasses of red wine, and when she finally turns back around, tears are streaming down her face.

Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she says, “We don’t want your money, Claudia But we do want something from you.”

I swallow my bite of crab puff and feel a knot in my stomach. For some crazy reason, I think that Daphne needs a kidney. Of course I will give her one of mine.

“Are you sick?” I ask, feeling weak with fear. The thought of one of my sisters dying young is simply too horrible to bear.

“No,” Daphne says, her voice cracking. “I’m fine But my eggs”

“Your eggs?” I say, even though I know exactly what she is saying and exactly what she is about to ask me. I look at Tony. He is welling up, too. He covers Daphne’s hand with one of his.

“I had my tests last week and our doctor told us that my eggs are no good,” she says, sobbing now. “They are, like, total shit .”

“Daph I’m so sorry,” I say, standing to hug her.

She holds up her hand to stop me and then continues, “So Tony and I were wondering if if we might have one of yours.”

nineteen

“So why didn’t they ask your other sister?” Richard asks me after I’ve told him the whole story about Daphne’s worst fears coming true. About all of the tests. About the somber meeting with their doctor and his news that even in vitro with Daphne’s eggs would be a waste of time and money. I hadn’t planned on telling Richard the story, but I feel like I need to tell someone, and I don’t want to discuss the topic with Jess. She’s sensitive enough about her aging eggs as it is. Besides, Richard and I have just had sex, and I am feeling that surge of closeness, that urge to confide in a man who has just made me come. Twice.

Richard runs his hand through my hair and says, “Doesn’t Maura seem to be the more logical choice since she’s already had kids?”

I nod and say, “They had a few reasons for picking me First, I’m younger. Better eggs, I guess. Second, I think they think it’d be too weird, you know, if they used Maura’s eggs, then the kids would be cousins and siblings. Or at least half siblings.”

“That would be sort of weird,” Richard says.

“And the final unspoken reason,” I say, “is that Maura would never agree to it.”

“Why not?”

“She can be a bit selfish,” I say, instantly regretting the comment. I feel disloyal and I don’t want Richard’s opinion of Maura to be colored before he even meets her.

“Selfish how? Like stingy with her time? Like she won’t go pick a friend up at the airport kind of selfish?” he asks, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear.

“No Maybe self-centered is more accurate. She means well, but I think she gets her sense of empathy from my mother,” I say. “My mother will bitch for ages about the fact that Chanel discontinued a certain shade of lipstick, but then she’ll expect a cancer patient to just buck up and think positively”

“Yeah. I know the type,” Richard says. “But for the record, I don’t think it would be all that selfish to turn this request down. I mean, that’s a lot to ask.”