Expecting: A Novel (12 page)

Moving through the second trimester gets her past the “Oh, she’s just fat” phase and into the “Oh, she’s
pregnant
” phase. Much easier. And the more pregnant Laurie gets, the nicer people are to her. They open doors, let her cut in line at the market. The only creepy part comes when strangers want to touch her stomach. It makes sense in some primal, shared-existence desire to share new life way. Still creepy though.

Gaining weight feels odd for someone who has lived her life as a skinny girl, the girl who had extra portions of everything and never gained a pound. Now she looks at a slice of bread and is suddenly five pounds heavier.

“Maybe your body is making up for all those second helpings,” Alan says.

“Ha-ha. It’s odd. Like my identity’s changing in front of me,” she tells him.

“At least it’s
your
identity,” he says, and he’s trying to be funny but regrets the comment immediately. “Sorry.”

Laurie nods. How many more years of “your baby, not mine” comments can she put up with? Alan bends over to her stomach. “Sorry to you too, Buddy,” he says.

“I don’t want to name our baby Buddy. That sounds like somebody who works at a job where his name is embroidered on his shirt.”

“Think of all the famous Buddys in the world.” Alan tries to think of one. “Buddy Hackett.”

“The fat comedian with a squished-in face?” Laurie doesn’t want the baby to grow up with a squished-in face. “And didn’t he have a squeaky voice?”

“Buddy Ebsen,” Alan announces. “He was a dancer and then on some TV shows.”

“Wasn’t he a
Beverly
Hillbilly
?” Which is worse, a squeaky-voiced, squished-in face comedian or dancer hillbilly?

“Buddy Guy,” Laurie says. “The blues guitarist. And Buddy Holly.” She feels better. Alan calling the baby Buddy means he’ll be musical. But hopefully not die in a plane crash when he’s twenty-two.

***

Clothes don’t fit the same way. Laurie knew pants would be tight around the waist. But it’s as if the weight gain shows up in unexpected places. For example, why should her shirts feel tighter around the arms? It figures, Laurie’s good luck/bad luck streak continues. She’ll give birth to a healthy baby, but afterward, she’ll have permanent Popeye arms.

It’s a mental thing, Grace tells her. You think about weight so much you obsess about it. They’re touring The Mystery House of Toluca Lake, supposedly a smaller version of the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose with staircases that lead nowhere and windows that look out to views of brick walls. So far the Toluca Lake house seems like an ordinary house built by exceptionally bad contractors.

“How’s Alan?” Grace asks Laurie.

“Great,” Laurie says. “A little distracted.”

“Men are goofy around pregnancy. Like they can’t show how excited they are so they go all introspective. But he’s thrilled. He’s going to be a daddy.”

Laurie nods. She should tell Grace about Jack. Not yet though.

Grace tries to open a closet door, but it’s stuck. The homeowner appears and nods at Grace. “See? That door sticks for
no
reason
at
all
.”

Grace is unimpressed. “Sometimes a stuck door is just a stuck door.”

When they are in front of the house, Grace crosses The Mystery House of Toluca Lake off her list.

“There’s a Mystery House in Agoura Hills we could check out,” Laurie says.

“Let’s check out happy hours instead.” Grace frowns at Laurie’s stomach. “Damn. I’ll be glad when you can drink again. You know, your baby is going to be gorgeous, don’t you? The combo of you and Alan. I’m the godmother, right? Because I’m counting on it. No surprises.”

“Yeah,” Laurie says. “I hate surprises too.”

***

“I’m pudgy,” Laurie says to Alan as she’s getting ready for bed.

“You’re not pudgy. Pudgy is this face.” He puffs out his cheeks.

“I knew a girl they called Pudge in elementary school. She wore shirts that were too short and you could see her round poochy stomach.”

“Kids are cruel.” Alan is looking through a six-month-old
New
Yorker
.

“Suppose Buddy is fat. And kids tease him.”

“Suppose Buddy is the one doing the bullying,” Alan says. “And we get a call from the school office and the principal tells us he belongs in reform school.”

Laurie imagines Buddy in reform school, learning to boost cars and roll joints.

“How much do you know about Jack’s background?” Alan asks.

“Are you suggesting he has a criminal past? His parents are college professors,” Laurie says.

“There are a lot of things we don’t know about him. He can’t put his whole life in a sperm donor application.”

Laurie looks at her reflection in the mirror. If she watches closely, she’s sure she’ll see her thighs growing in front of her.

“We could talk to his parents. The ‘college’ professors.” Alan makes air quotes with his fingers.

“He hasn’t told his parents about the baby.”

“Why?”

“The same reason we haven’t told anybody.”

“But they’re going to be grandparents,” Alan says. “Well, sort of.”

Sort of grandparents. None of the grandparents (real or sort of) know yet. When is the right time to tell them? How will Alan’s parents react? Laurie’s mom? For all they know, Jack’s parents might have the best reaction of all.

“We should hire a private detective,” Alan says.

“Why?”

“To check him out. They have detectives who track down birth mothers and birth fathers for adopted children. It’s almost the same thing.”

“I’m going to have lunch with Jack again,” Laurie says. “You could come, ask him questions. Think of the money you’ll save. You won’t have to hire your private detective.”

“I’m not ready.” He goes back to his magazine.

Laurie wonders what ever happened to Pudge. A group of boys chased her at recess one day and she fell in the playground and chipped a front tooth.

“Her real name was Julia,” Laurie says.

“Who?”

“Pudge. The fat girl.” Laurie puts her hands on her stomach. She doesn’t care if she gains two hundred pounds. She’ll put up with Popeye arms and being called Pudge. She will give up everything for Buddy.

“Do you wish I hadn’t met him?” Laurie says.

“In a way. It might be easier if we never knew anything about him.”

“How would that be easier?”

“I don’t know. We could pretend.”

Laurie frowns. “Pretend what?”

“He could be anything we want.”

Laurie looks at Alan. “But he’s not. He’s Jack Mulani.”

Alan shakes his head. “The information in the file was bad enough, but you meeting him—”

“You sound like I’m planning on running away with Jack.”

“But he’s the father of your baby.”

“
Our
baby.”

Alan looks at her. “Do you really think it still feels like that? Because I’m not sure it does. And I’m trying. I’m trying very hard.”

Laurie doesn’t say anything for a minute. “Why don’t you write up some questions for Jack and I’ll ask him the next time I see him?” she says.

Alan doesn’t answer but nods and continues to read.

***

In the morning, Alan is gone before Laurie wakes up and she sees an envelope on the counter. He’s written “Laurie” on the front as if he’d be leaving an envelope for someone else in the house. Inside he’s typed a list of questions for Jack. Laurie knows that’s what they are because at the top of the page he’s written “A List of Questions for Jack.”

When did he make this list? In the middle of the night? He’s been spending a lot of time in the office lately. She assumes it’s work-related, although he asked her a question the other day about CityVille.

“1. I realize this is hard for you, and I’m sure you’re aware the situation is awkward for us as well, but we’re delighted to get to know you and see what you can bring to our family.”

It’s not a question. “An awkward situation.” That’s one way to put it. “What you can bring to our family” seems dismissive and condescending. You’re bringing something to our family, but it’s not as if you’ll ever be part of it.

She decides she can’t read the rest of the questions—assuming Alan has decided to make some of the questions actual questions.

***

Jack is already at the restaurant when she gets there. “Sorry I’m late,” she says.

“I just got here.” Laurie looks at the empty breadbasket and sees crumbs on Jack’s plate. How long has he been waiting? He smiles at Laurie. And she realizes—
oh, am I looking at
Buddy’s
smile?

They order lunch, and Laurie can tell Jack is more relaxed today. “How are you feeling?” he asks her.

“Great,” she says. “I’m reading these books and they talk about how pregnant women feel more womanly and connected with nature and that sounds ridiculous, but suddenly I
do
feel this weird connection to the world I never had before. Scary, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat. “Do you know, I mean, have you seen pictures or anything? Of what the baby looks like?”

Laurie nods. “I had an ultrasound a week ago. Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I have a photo.”

Jack’s mouth is open and he doesn’t close it. “Really?”

Laurie nods and takes an envelope from her purse. Alan’s envelope is there too, but she can’t bring herself to pull that out yet.

“The moving image is amazing,” Laurie says. “You can see the heartbeat. And he was sucking his thumb.”

“He?”

Laurie shakes her head. “We asked not to know the sex. But we say ‘he.’ Or call him Buddy, as a joke name.” She hands Jack the picture. He takes it carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll damage it.

“It looks like a real baby,” he says. “Wow.”

***

At the ultrasound Alan made his usual bad jokes. “Is that a Bob Hope nose? I hope not,” and everybody laughed.

Of course it was tough on Alan. The ultrasound tech didn’t know about Jack and the switched sperm. He talked about the similarity of baby’s profile to Alan’s and how he can tell they have the same long fingers and toes.

Is Laurie living in a fantasy world, imagining that as the baby gets bigger, Alan will become more invested? It’s almost as if he takes one step forward, then two back. On the ride home after the ultrasound, Laurie looked at the photo and said, “I need to start a scrapbook. Buddy’s first photo.”

“There’s the ultrasound of his heartbeat picture.”

“But you can barely see anything. It’s blurry and the tech put a little X on where the heart is. It could be any baby.”

She realized what she said. To Alan, this baby
is
almost any baby.

***

“Do all babies look the same at this age?” Jack asks her. He hasn’t let go of the ultrasound picture.

“I don’t know,” Laurie says. “It would be interesting to put together a bunch of pictures and compare them. I bet your mother has an ultrasound picture of you.”

“She probably threw mine away. My sister’s is framed and hanging in the bedroom with the rest of her shrine.” Jack’s smile seems both happy and sad at the same time when he talks about his parents.

“She didn’t throw it away. She probably keeps it in a safe place. That’s what I’m going to do. Would you like me to make you a copy?”

“Could I take a picture of it?”

He has his phone out of his pocket before she can say anything.

“Sure,” Laurie says.

Jack checks to make sure there’s no glare and clicks a picture. What will Jack do with it? Show it to the guys at his fraternity? Post it online? He gives the photo back to her. “Thanks.”

***

After lunch, they go to a nearby park and sit on swings. Laurie watches children playing. And she watches Jack watching the children.

“This must be crazy for you,” Laurie says.

Jack nods. “Sometimes I think I’m being punked.”

Laurie smiles.
Oh
no
—she remembers Alan’s list. “My husband has some questions for you. If that’s okay.”

Jack looks suspicious. “Like what?”

“No big deal. I think things that weren’t in your profile.” She doesn’t want to make Jack paranoid just because Alan is paranoid. She pulls Alan’s envelope out of her purse.

She won’t read the first “question”; it’s too insulting. “Alan’s nervous. He hasn’t met you yet.” Yet. Like Alan will ever meet Jack. “Okay, here’s one,” she says. “‘If you could be any superhero in the world, who would you be?’”

Oh my God. Why did Alan write that? He doesn’t even like superheroes.

“Superheroes?” Jack looks puzzled. “Are you going to write down what I say?”

“I guess I should.” Laurie takes out a pen, curses Alan in her head.

“Shape-shifter maybe.”

Laurie shakes her head.
Who?

“Hobgoblin, from X-Men. You can change who you look like, that’d be cool.”

Laurie writes down, “Shape-shifter.”

“Or Superman, Green Lantern, somebody who can fly.”

Laurie writes, “Ability to fly.”

“This is easy so far,” Jack says. He’s pushing himself on the swing, going higher and higher.

“Okay, next one. ‘Dallas Cowboys or Washington Redskins?’”

“I like the 49ers,” Jack says. “But I’d go with the Redskins over Cowboys because I hate that ‘Texas is best and everybody else sucks’ attitude.”

Alan will approve of this answer, Laurie thinks. “Good, Alan is a Redskins fan.”

Jack nods, ready for the next question.

“‘Have you ever shoplifted?’” Laurie frowns as she reads that one—oh, the criminal element thing.

Jack thinks. “I took a six-pack once from a 7-Eleven, me and a bunch of buddies. It was a dare. That’s probably the wrong answer.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a wrong answer.”
Totally
the wrong answer. Laurie writes down, “No, never shoplifted.”

Jack stops swinging. “He thinks I’m not good enough.”

“It’s not about being good enough. It’s about you not being him.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

“Alan wants to be a father,” Laurie says. “And he wants to be genetically related to this baby. Of course he does. It’s natural. But now—he feels distant, not as connected to the baby as he’d like to be.”