Expecting: A Novel (15 page)

“What happened?”

“A small electrical fire in the kitchen upstairs. The only damage was to the stove. And some water damage from the hoses. They say our place might be a little damp for a few weeks. This is Groucho.”

Jack frowns. Who is Groucho? The large dog barks and Ringer laughs.

“He’s really smart. I thought it would be fun to have a dog.”

Megan is looking from the house to the firemen then back at Ringer and the dog. “Cheers,” she says. “Seems as if someone is living with an eejit, boyo.”

Ringer grins at Jack. “You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was Irish.”

Childbirth Then and Now. In Europe in the late 1880s, superstition played a role in assisting difficult labor. The ringing of church bells was thought to hasten labor.

Laurie hates pregnancy clothes. “They’re better than the crap our mothers had,” Grace says. “My mother wore long Laura Ashley tiny floral print dresses. And acid-washed overalls.” Grace shudders. Laurie and Grace are spending Sunday morning at the Studio City farmer’s market. It’s crowded and hot today, and the air smells like popcorn.

“But everything now squishes you in,” Laurie says. “And it’s designed for eating-impaired celebrities who love going out wearing skin-tight outfits—look at me, admire my pregnant belly. Yes, my navel would be an outie now, thanks for noticing.”

Grace laughs. She pushes Emilie’s stroller, filled with fresh tomatoes and lettuce and flowers. Emilie walks beside Grace and occasionally tugs at her hand.

“Stroller,” Emilie says.

“Stroller is for Mommy’s things,” Grace tells her.

“I can pick you up.” Laurie reaches for Emilie.

“No, you’re too pregnant. Come on, Em.” Emilie jumps into her mother’s arms and Grace slides Emilie to her hip.

A
perfect
fit
, Laurie thinks, imagines herself carrying Buddy like that, balancing his weight against hers.

“So when did you get boobs?” Grace says.

“It’s crazy—after life as an A cup, now I’m buying sexy bras, bras with
underwire
. They won’t shrink back after breast-feeding, will they?”

Grace shrugs. “Who knows? Embrace your bodacious boobage while you can.”

Food Facts. If you’re feeling hungry for something sweet and cold, opt for a 100 percent juice bar, sherbet, sorbet, or frozen yogurt instead of ice cream. If you’re feeling hungry for something sweet and warm, consider low-fat, unprocessed versions of candied yams.

Laurie is regretting coming home from the farmers’ market and eating a slice of chocolate cake, a fistful of honey roasted peanuts, and a Milky Way bar.

Seriously.
Candied
yams?

***

“We need to sign up for a Lamaze class. It’s almost time. Third trimester, ticktock,” Laurie tells Alan. He is reading the
L.A. Times
sports section at breakfast.

“My work schedule’s a little crazy,” he says. “They’ve fast-tracked the Choc-O label. We need to have the design presentation six weeks earlier than we planned. The company is Belgian and they get anxious. Plus we’re working with the beverage team, and you know what they’re like. It’s a minefield.”

Laurie has a vague memory of Choc-O—it’s some kind of chocolate-flavored water. Sounds terrible, but supposedly it’s “huge” in Europe. “Just give me an idea,” she says. “Grace knows somebody in Encino who’s supposed to be fabulous. Once a week for six weeks.”

“Do we sit in a circle and talk about our feelings?”

“After we make s’mores, sing ‘Kumbaya,’ and pass around a magical acorn and tell our deepest, darkest secrets.”

Alan grins. “I’ll check with Wendy about my schedule.” He looks down at the paper. “And I might have to go out of town.”

“I hope it’s soon instead of closer to when the baby’s coming.”

“Yeah, it would be soon. I don’t know where yet. Chicago. Or Albuquerque.”

“I’ll call the Lamaze lady and tell her we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Alan says.

Childbirth Then and Now. In colonial America, the pain of labor was thought to be relieved by leaving an ax by the bed with the blade up to “cut the pain,” opening the windows, or setting the horses free from the stable.

Alan
is
scared
to
death
, she tells herself. A lot of men act this way when their wives are pregnant. Every baby book says the same thing: “Don’t forget, they’re pregnant too.” Grace told Laurie when she was pregnant she caught her husband, Hal, crying one night watching
The
Sound
of
Music
on TV. “All those children,” he sobbed.

Alan stays up late and comes to bed after Laurie’s asleep. Some mornings he’s up and gone before she’s out of bed. But he’ll have made her breakfast and left a note beside her plate (“Hope the two of you slept well last night. XOXO”).

The Lamaze class will help. He can meet some other fathers; they can sit together and commiserate. “Wow, my wife’s never been so moody before,” they’ll say to each other. “What the hell is life going to be like when the baby comes? Suppose I never get to watch football again?”

Should she tell Jack about Lamaze? No, she wants to take it easy with him. The last time they talked he sounded overwhelmed, complained about finishing his classes in order to graduate, and he’s had some trouble with his living situation too—a zoning violation at his fraternity so a bunch of guys had to move out and he’s been staying with friends. “I’m like a hobo,” he told Laurie.

So she won’t mention Lamaze. But she will insist to Alan it’s time he meets Jack. Seeing Jack face to face will force Alan to accept the inevitable. He can only spend so much time working on the Choc-O project and hiding out in his office playing CityVille.

***

The Lamaze teacher is Kathy and she sounds sweet and practical, not at all Kumbaya crunchy. “My husband’s busy at work,” Laurie explains and Kathy tells her not to worry, suggests a Lamaze website for Laurie to check out and is pleased when Laurie says she’s been doing yoga.

Laurie makes an appointment to meet Kathy at her studio to discuss expectations and goals. “Labor doesn’t scare me,” Laurie says. “But learning more about relaxation and breathing would be a good thing. I’m a little stressed these days.”

***

She and Alan haven’t had sex in weeks. She was the one who didn’t want to have sex in the first trimester when she constantly felt like throwing up. But now in the third trimester, she’s back and good to go. Only Alan is the one who doesn’t seem engaged. “It’ll hurt the baby,” he says.

“Not true,” Laurie tells him. “Dr. Liu says we can have sex as much as we want. Every hour on the hour, those were his exact words.”

“His exact words?”

“Pretty close. Close enough.”

Alan smiles. “Maybe tonight.”

“It’s a date.” She kisses him.

But when Laurie goes to bed, Alan is still working on his computer. “I’ll be in there in a minute, honey,” he calls to her. She waits for him, but when he doesn’t appear, she falls asleep.

At breakfast she mentions the missed sex date opportunity.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Really?” She realizes she sounds grumpy. Oh, well. She hesitates. And decides to dive in. “You know, I’m thinking it’s time we invited Jack to dinner.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Alan says.

“Why?”

“Does he need to know where we live?”

Laurie frowns. “How else is he going to case the house and eventually rob us?”

“He makes me uncomfortable.”

“How can he make you uncomfortable when you won’t meet him? He’s not replacing you.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“That’s what you’re thinking.”

Alan is silent. “I know he’s not replacing me,” he finally says. “It’s knowing he’s
there
. The baby was ours before. Nobody else’s. And now—it sounds crazy to try and explain it.” He kisses Laurie—on the lips and then on the end of her nose. “I’ve got to get to work. I love you.”

When Alan is gone, Laurie sits in the yellow room in her new rocking chair, a gift from her mother. It’s a glider and makes a
whoosh whoosh
sound when she moves back and forth.

Buddy begins to kick.
I
hope
you’re a soccer player. Male or female. David Beckham. A kick-ass girl like Hope Solo. Strong and fast and fearless. That’s what I want. And for your father to love you as much as I do.

Father. Fathers.

Buddy has two.

***

The bladder is usually a convex organ, but is rendered concave from external pressure during pregnancy. Thus, its retention capacity is greatly reduced.

Translation: Laurie has to pee all the time.

She is clearing out the yellow room. Alan has promised to put the crib together over the weekend. Laurie has packed up most of the office things in bankers boxes to put in the guest room/office for now. Laurie looks at the alphabet trim. She remembers how excited they were when they put it up. Happy and optimistic, preparing for the arrival of Troppo. It seems like yesterday. But it was a year and a half ago. And since then—everything has changed.

“It’ll all be fine, Buddy,” she says to her stomach. “I hope you like this room.” She looks up at the Python P. “And I hope you like snakes.”

Her mother calls and says she’s coming for the shower Grace is planning. She can’t wait—she’s already bought way too many baby clothes and the cutest shoes. Does Laurie know they make baby Uggs? And of course she’ll be there after the baby is born, but she doesn’t want to get in the way, unless Laurie would like her to come now because she could do that too.

“I found an old christening gown. You’re going to christen the baby, aren’t you?” her mother says.

“Of course.” Laurie’s anger at God has faded and she’s been to church a few times. She hasn’t totally forgiven God for the miscarriages and the mixed-up sperm, but she’s working on it.

“I’d like to tell you the christening gown has been in our family for generations, but the truth is I found it at a garage sale,” her mother tells her. “Two dollars. It’s darling.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Laurie hesitates. She could tell her mother about the baby. About Jack. Alan has told Laurie he’s never saying anything to his parents even though Laurie points out they’ll find out eventually.

“Laurie? What’s wrong?”

That damn mother instinct. How does her mother know something is wrong?

“Oh—it’s kind of a big deal. Sort of funny. Sort of not.” And she realizes she’d love her mother’s advice. “Remember when Alan and I were going to this fertility doctor…”

***

Laurie’s mother understands their disappointment, but tells Laurie she needs to concentrate on the baby. “That’s the most important thing,” she says. “And I have another suggestion.”

“I don’t need a therapist.”

“What about Alan? How’s he handling it?”

“Okay.”

“Really okay or fake okay?”

Laurie sighs. “Somewhere in the middle.”

“It’s a big thing for a male ego to wrap his head around. For
both
of you to wrap your heads around. The two of you should talk to somebody. Therapy’s not a sign of weakness—”

“I know, I know. I promise, if things get bad—which they won’t—we’ll go see somebody.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’re my mother; you’re supposed to trust me,” Laurie says.

“That means I know you better than anybody else. That means don’t even
try
to lie to your mother. Take care of yourself, be patient with Alan, and email me more pictures. You look good with boobs.”

***

Being pregnant is like being in a club. Encountering other pregnant women, they nod at each other, compare notes. They speak the same language—how many weeks are you, who’s your doctor, Lamaze or Bradley, do you know what you’re having?

“Have you babyproofed your house?” a pretty pregnant woman asks Laurie in line at Starbucks one morning. “I know a great service where they come to your house and point out the dangers. Curtain cords strangle babies to death all the time. Toilet locks—do you know how many babies drown in toilets every year? A baby can drown in
one
inch
of
water
,” the woman says. She has crazy eyes.

Before Laurie can answer, the woman continues. “Cats suck the breath out of babies. People think that’s a myth, but it’s true. We should get together sometime. Like have coffee—except not caffeinated because that’s bad for the baby. Messes up their genes, lowers their IQ score by at least ten points. My name’s Melissa.”

“I’m Sheila,” says Laurie. “Give me your number and I’ll call you.”

***

When Alan comes home from work, he finds Laurie in the yellow room.

“I can’t decide if we should paint again. What do you think?” she asks him.

He looks at the alphabet trim as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “I think it’s okay.”

“Should we pull up the carpet?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t carpet better when he’s crawling around? And learning to walk?”

They look down at the floor, both imagining a baby crawling there.

“The carpet’s a little shabby,” Laurie says.

“Think what it’ll look like after a baby lives in it for a couple years.”

Alan smiles. She can see the effort he’s making—but at least it’s a smile.

“Maybe new curtains,” Laurie says. “No blinds. They’re total baby killers.”

“What?”

***

Alan has wine with dinner and they don’t talk about the baby. Laurie tells Alan how the neighbor across the street has sold his house to a developer known for building houses too big for the lot and a group of neighbors are trying to organize something to stop the gigantic house.

“That’s a sycamore in the front yard,” Alan says. “They’re protected by the state, I think. So developers can’t cut it down without some kind of variance. You and Grace should look into it. You could do a piece on McMansions for Hidden Valley.”

“Great idea,” Laurie says. “I’ll call Grace after dinner. She’s mad at me because I haven’t signed up Buddy for preschool yet.”

“What? Buddy’s not born yet.”

“If you wait until he’s born, it’s too late. Emilie is still on the waiting list for Grace’s top choice and she’s only two. We don’t want Buddy to be left behind.”

Alan thinks that over. “Buddy going to school. I can’t imagine that.”

“Can’t you see him all dressed up? Carrying a little lunch box? We’ll take tons of pictures of his first day,” Laurie says.

Alan sips his wine and to Laurie’s surprise says, “Why don’t you invite Jack over for dinner sometime?”

It’s a turning point, Laurie tells herself. He’s finally coming around. Alan will realize Jack isn’t a threat; he can be a mentor to Jack, help him figure out his career, offer suggestions about graduate schools. They’ll end up friends.