Catching Air (25 page)

Kira walked into the living room and tapped her index finger against her chin as she surveyed the space. They were going to move out all the furniture the morning of the ceremony, except for a few chairs in case elderly relatives needed to sit down. Two local guys were bringing by a U-Haul, and they’d carry out the sectional couch, dining room tables, and benches—then carry them right back once the reception was under way. That way the guests would have room to cluster around while Jessica and Scott stood in front of the fireplace, exchanging vows.

As soon as the I dos were uttered, everyone would be ushered outside. The big white tent was scheduled to be delivered and set up on the front lawn a day before the wedding. Kira knew they’d need a window of time so Peter and Rand could get the chairs and tables into place for the dinner, the tables could be set, the sound system tested, the dance floor and the heaters arranged. But maybe she should ask the local guys to do all that, too, so that Peter and Rand could avoid each other, given their history at weddings.

Everything was under control.

A prosecutor, though? Why couldn’t Jessica’s father be a plumber, or a pediatrician, or . . . a zookeeper, for God’s sakes? Out of all the hundreds of possible professions, he had to have the most dangerous one.

Kira realized she was biting her fingernails, and she yanked her hand away from her mouth.

She wondered why she was the only one of the four of them who was worried about the surcharge. She knew they deserved it; her thickening notebook was proof. But the idea that she was
taking
it chafed her.

Kira felt the beginning of a headache throbbing between her temples.

“You’re going to be in the kitchen with me,” she said to Dawn, “but we’ll need to hire extra waiters and a bartender. Or two bartenders? I have no idea how many we’ll need. I’ve never done this before!”

“I bet a local restaurant will let us hire a few waiters,” Dawn said.

“Good idea,” Kira responded. “Can you ask around when we get to town?”

She should’ve added on ten percent to Jessica’s proposal, not twenty! Ten percent would’ve been easier to justify.

“Okay,” Dawn said. “How many do we need?”

“Hmm? Oh, let’s see . . . A hundred guests,” Kira said. “We’ll have four different passed hors d’ouevres—I’m going to make a hundred pieces of each item—and there will be ten round tables under the tent.”

“So four waiters?” Dawn suggested.

“Better make it five,” Kira finally decided. “And two bartenders. I only budgeted for three and one, but we’ll eat the extra cost. I thought we could have waiters circling the crowds with glasses of wine right after the ceremony, since most people drink wine at weddings. Then the guests can carry the drinks with them when they walk to the tent and they won’t have to wait in line at the bar unless they want something else.”

“Five waiters and two bartenders,” Dawn repeated.

“Just . . . can you make sure they don’t try to give us some seventeen-year-old?” Kira said. “Ask how long the waiters have been working there, how much experience they have . . . And make sure to tell the restaurant that we’ll keep a copy of their menu here in the future to steer guests to them, as a way of thanking them.”

“Okay,” Dawn said. “No problem.”

Why did Dawn want to know if Peter was coming with them? It rankled Kira that the two of them had spent so much time together lately, especially since she and Peter were barely speaking. She’d caught the way Dawn gazed at him with hero worship in her eyes, and how quickly she laughed at his jokes. And Peter seemed to be a little different around Dawn, too—more confident and verbal. It wasn’t that she was jealous; she just wished things were better between her and Peter. How had they gotten so bad, so quickly?

“Should we go to town now?” Dawn was asking.

“Sure,” Kira said. “I’ll grab my coat and meet you at the car.”

Kira hesitated, then went into the bedroom, where Peter was working on his laptop.

“Do you want to come into town?” she asked. “Dawn and I are going.”

He closed his laptop. “Sure,” he said, his voice brusque. “I feel like getting out of here anyway.”

Kira felt a little sting of rejection. He wasn’t coming because he wanted to be with her; he’d made that clear.

He followed her to the car, but instead of taking the seat next to her as she’d anticipated, he held open the door for Dawn, then climbed into the back.

“Oh, I can sit in the back,” Dawn said.

“Nope, ladies get the front,” Peter said.

Kira started the engine and shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She wondered if Peter wanted to keep his distance from her. She’d invited him because she wanted to shake up the dynamic that had formed with Peter and Dawn’s constant pairing off, but now she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

She pulled out of the driveway and realized the streets still had spots of snow and ice. She steered the car to the side of the road and turned to look at Peter. “Actually,” she said, “would you mind driving? I get a little nervous in the snow.”

“Sure,” he said.

She switched places with him, climbing into the backseat. She tried to think of something to say, some joke to lighten the mood, but she came up empty. Then Peter reached for the radio to turn on music and her opportunity vanished. Her husband, the guy who never got upset, was still angry with her, and for once in her life, the girl who always had a plan didn’t know what to do.

• • •

“So, do you want to know the gender?” Dr. Natterson asked.

Alyssa’s eyes skipped from the ultrasound screen to the doctor’s face. “You can tell?” she asked.

Rand had driven her to the hospital that morning for a routine checkup while she’d reclined in the front seat, dipping it as low as possible and propping her feet up on a stack of pillows so she could be close to a horizontal position. An orderly had met her at the entrance with a wheelchair and had pushed her to the exam room while Rand went to park the Jeep.

First Dr. Natterson had revealed the fantastic news that her cervix was hanging in there. Then he’d checked out the baby with an ultrasound. The little one was growing so quickly! Alyssa could make out the shape of its nose and its impossibly delicate, graceful fingers. They were the fingers of a pianist, or a sculptor, she thought.

“I can tell,” Dr. Natterson confirmed.

“Wow,” Alyssa said. “We haven’t even talked about it . . . Rand? What do you think?”

“It’s up to you,” he said.

Wrong answer,
she thought. She wanted Rand to show some excitement, to take a stand one way or the other. He could’ve said he was looking forward to the surprise, or that he was eager to know so they could start thinking about names. His nonanswer was a tremendous disappointment.

“Alyssa?” Dr. Natterson was saying.

“Let’s wait for now,” she said. She knew Rand was trying, but feelings were slippery entities with their own agendas. They couldn’t be forced to fall into line, no matter how hard you wished for them to. The heaviness in her chest returned, and she turned her head to hide the expression she knew must be flooding her face.

“Sure,” the doctor said. “You can always call me if you change your mind.”

He removed the wand from her stomach and gently rubbed away the gel with a tissue. “Just keep on doing what you’re doing,” he said. “I’ll see you next month.”

Rand stood up from his chair, his knees making a little cracking sound. “I’ll go warm up the Jeep and bring it around front,” he said. “I’ll call your cell when I’m there, okay?”

She nodded, and he left the room. She expected Dr. Natterson to follow him out, but he stayed seated.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, trying for a joke but knowing her tone was falling flat.

“Being on bed rest is incredibly difficult,” he said. “A lot of women get depressed being stuck there month after month. If you need to talk to someone, I can give you a referral.”

She shook her head. “It isn’t that,” she said. “My husband and I are having some . . . difficulties. Is that normal, too? Maybe it’s one of the stages I haven’t read about yet in
What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
”

Dr. Natterson smiled. “Sure, it can be tough on a marriage.”

“I’m just not sure . . . I don’t know . . .”

She gave up the pretense and succumbed to tears. “I’m worried Rand’s only staying with me out of guilt,” she sobbed. “I don’t think he really wants to be here, even though he’s trying to pretend he does. And I’m so scared it’s not going to work out between us.”

Dr. Natterson just nodded, as if he didn’t find her words shocking or horrible.

“He’s going to go to China to pick up Grace alone,” Alyssa continued. “We just bought the tickets, and he’s supposed to leave in a couple weeks. And I don’t want her introduction to her new life to be a father who isn’t sure he wants her. Kids are really bright. She’ll probably pick it up.”

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hospital gown.

“What you said before, about bed rest being hard on me . . . It isn’t, not really. Other than not being able to pick up Grace—that’s the only bad part. But Rand’s the one who feels like he’s stuck.”

“Maybe he should talk to someone,” Dr. Natterson suggested. “Or couples counseling . . . you could find a counselor to do it over the phone.”

“I guess,” Alyssa said.

“I don’t mean this to minimize what you’re going through,” Dr. Natterson said. “But I have seen it before.”

Alyssa’s head snapped up. “You have?”

“Sometimes parents completely freak out, for lack of a better term, around the birth of a child. The advertising industry doesn’t help—they make it look like all you have to do is give your kid a lavender-scented bubble bath and your problems will be solved. But the truth is, this is the biggest life change you’ll probably ever endure. Some people are exhilarated by it, some are scared—there isn’t any perfect reaction. But it’s often a bumpy road.”

Alyssa nodded.

“Give it a little time,” Dr. Natterson said.

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

She got dressed after the doctor left, and a moment later, a nurse came back with her wheelchair.

“Ready?” the nurse asked.

“I don’t think my husband’s here yet,” Alyssa said. She looked at her cell phone. “He went to get the car.”

What if Rand just kept going? she suddenly wondered. What if he eased the key into the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot and flicked on the car’s right blinker instead of its left one? He could be in Canada in hours, or Mexico in a couple of weeks. He could continue with the kind of life he’d always wanted.

“I’ll check in a few minutes, then,” the nurse said. She had a hint of a southern accent. Alabama, maybe. Or South Carolina.

The bachelorette party.

Alyssa’s thoughts flitted back to that event, as they had so often lately. When she’d awoken the next morning after her heavy, dreamless sleep, Rand had been beside her, snoring loudly, the way he always did when he’d had too much to drink. She’d run her eyes over his strong features, the stubble on his chin, the hollow at the base of his throat that she loved. She’d leaned down to give it a kiss.

He’d smiled without opening his eyes and pulled her closer.

“You smell like beer and cigarette smoke,” she’d said, nuzzling his chest.

“Mmmm . . .”

“Was it a late night?” she’d asked.

“Not really.” He’d opened his eyes and stretched. “We got in around midnight. Maybe one.”

Alyssa had immediately felt better. She’d never held tightly to Rand before, and she didn’t intend to start doing so. She’d wanted to stay in, Rand had felt like going out—they were married, not conjoined twins, so what was the harm in that?

A few minutes later, she’d peeled herself out of his arms—he’d fallen back asleep—and gone into the kitchen to discover Kira layering yogurt, blueberries, and granola into parfait cups. Kira’s granola was homemade, and had dried cherries and almonds and golden raisins in it. It was out of this world.

“Should I set the table?” Alyssa had asked.

“Dawn’s doing that,” Kira had said. “But maybe you could squeeze some juice? I bet those girls need rehydrating.”

“Rand said they didn’t get in too late last night, so hopefully they’re not feeling bad this morning,” Alyssa had said.

“Well, yeah, but they were in the hot tub after that. Didn’t you hear them shrieking and splashing?”

“I must’ve slept through it,” Alyssa had said.

She’d finished gathering silverware and coffee mugs, then walked into the dining room. Rand wouldn’t have gone in the hot tub with the girls, would he? That taste of tequila on his lips, Miss South Carolina’s hand on the curve of her hip, a smile playing across her full lips as she asked Rand to fix Nutty Irishmen . . .

Knock it off
, Alyssa had ordered herself. When she and Rand had begun dating, they’d both had to untangle themselves from other liaisons. Alyssa had met a guy from New Zealand during a round of her travels, and they’d spent a few weeks together in hostels and on beaches. He was working his way across the United States, and was planning to come visit her. And Rand had had a half dozen women chasing him; they called his cell phone incessantly, and showed up at his house late at night. Once, when Alyssa was lying in Rand’s bed, still naked and flushed and sweaty after an incredible lovemaking session, a girl had pounded on the door. Rand had wrapped the sheet around his waist and gone out to talk to her. Alyssa could hear the girl growing belligerent and arguing, and she’d walked into the hallway to listen.

“I’m not going!” the girl had been yelling at Rand, her voice a mixture of anger and pain. “So why don’t you get rid of
her
?”

“I’m sorry,” Rand had said after he’d finally managed to ease the girl out the doorway, but Alyssa didn’t think he had anything to apologize for. If he’d wanted to be with that other girl, Alyssa would have felt gutted—she was already in love with Rand by then—but she never would’ve begged. What was the point in trying to cling to someone who’d obviously moved on?