Expecting: A Novel (21 page)

He would like to show up for the final Lamaze class. He’s seen the reminder notice on his BlackBerry.
I
could
go
, he thinks.
That
would
make
Laurie
happy. There’s probably some sort of review and I could get caught up. Make fun of Victoria/Gallant
. He leaves work early—maybe after Lamaze he and Laurie can get something to eat. Have a mini-date.

He misses her. It’s not just living in the crappy brown apartment; it’s not having her around. The other morning, he woke up, and as he was walking into the kitchen, he called out her name. At first he thought he was losing his mind. And he supposes he is in a way, living apart from his pregnant wife. He’s met a few people in the Oakwood complex—a woman named Janet who’s come to L.A. with her two children to “try and make it in the biz.” She’s left her husband back home in St. Paul (“He’ll come out when the kids hit,” she told him) and her full-time job is driving the kids to dance and voice lessons, proofing their new headshots, trips to the orthodontist (“Heather’s got a wicked overbite”), casting calls, and trying to get meetings at the top talent agencies.

“What about school?” Alan asked her.

“Homeschooling is the only way to go. And once Heather or Oliver land a show, the studio will hire an on-set tutor.”

Alan watches Heather and Oliver at the pool. They are eight-year-old twins, slight like their mother with wide grins, and Janet is being truthful about Heather’s overbite. Poor Heather is eat-an-apple-through-a-picket-fence material.

Janet invited Alan for dinner one night. (“No funny business. I’m a
very
married woman.”) Her apartment is a mirror image of his own, but Janet has brightened things up by putting posters on the wall of Lindsay Lohan and Justin Bieber. “I want to inspire them, show them what to shoot for.” Heather and Oliver are polite; they take their plates to the sink when they’re done, they ask Alan (“Mr. Gaines”) if he’d like more water, another napkin, leftovers. After dinner, they head to their bedroom to do homework.

Alan has told Janet he’s living here while he works on a project for his job—he was driving his wife
insane
at the house.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Janet says. “My husband thinks life in L.A. is crazy. And Hollywood—he calls it ‘nonsense.’ He won’t say nonsense when the checks start coming in. Somebody’s got to be aggressive about their careers. They only have so much time—it’s brutal out there.”

Alan agrees. Sort of. Subjecting children to agents and casting calls, that seems pretty brutal too.

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to have kids,” Janet is saying as she pours Alan another glass of wine. “I’d done some acting, local stuff in St. Paul. A little modeling. And getting pregnant—did I want to do that to my body and then have the responsibility of children? I mean, that’s a big step.”

Alan agrees.

“Your whole life changes. It’s not about
you
anymore. And that’s fine. I don’t want to sound selfish because I don’t consider myself a selfish person. I’m practical. You’ll see. It’s obvious you don’t have children yet. Or you wouldn’t be staying here, would you?”

Alan considers telling her about Buddy and Jack and why he’s staying in the apartment and how even though his life is screwed up these days, his life will
never
be as screwed up as the lives of Heather and Oliver. At dinner, he watches them practice lines for a breakfast cereal commercial. Both children are trying out, but only one child will be chosen.

“It tastes like bubble gum, the most yummy kind!” Heather says with a ghastly fake smile, her retainer smacking against the roof of her mouth.

“Take out your retainer. You sound like you have a speech impediment,” her mother tells her.

“It tastes like bubble gum, the most yummy kind!” says Oliver. His reading doesn’t sound as false, but the way he pronounces “yummy” is too chirpy and enthusiastic.

“Well, that was better than Heather’s. But you’ve got to step it up. Do you know how good the kids you’re going to be competing with are? One of you has got to get this and I know it’ll be hard on the other one. But if neither of you get it, do you think I want to drive back here with a car full of losers?”

Heather clicks the retainer in her mouth.

Janet turns to Oliver. “The way you said yummy, it sounded like a gay person would say it. Say it more
manly
.”

Alan would love to stay, but he’s got work. Janet knows what that’s like. “Come back anytime. Hopefully you’ll catch us on TV soon.”

Alan goes straight to his car and drives to Lamaze. “Us.” You need a license to drive a car but not to have children. He bets Janet didn’t have any trouble conceiving—no switched sperm for her. She’ll probably continue to give birth to siblings for Heather and Oliver, at least until she finds a child who can make her money.

Alan is tired and sad and wants to tell Laurie the Janet story. She’d love it, in a horrified sort of way. He checks his watch and realizes he’ll be late for Lamaze, but hopefully just the fact he’s showed up will make Laurie feel better. When he hears the sound of a helicopter overhead, he knows that’s bad news. And sure enough, traffic slows to a crawl and he realizes he’ll never make it in time.

As he pulls into the Lamaze class parking lot, he can see cars driving away. Damn. At least he had good intentions. He’s ready to head back to the apartment when he notices Laurie’s Audi. So he won’t get full credit, but partial credit will be better than nothing.

As he turns, his headlights sweep past Laurie’s car and he sees two profiles. Laurie’s and Jack’s. Their heads are thrown back and they’re laughing. Laughing hysterically. Laurie reaches over and grabs Jack’s shoulder.

It would be easier if Laurie and Jack were having some sort of fling, some escape—say, like his imaginary Albuquerque adventure with Nancy Futterman. What Laurie and Jack are sharing is deeper—more profound and disturbing. They’re sharing the love of their unborn child. And how does Alan fit in?

He doesn’t.

Back in his apartment, he looks in his refrigerator for something to drink. A beer would be great. But all he has is a half carton of milk and a Red Bull. He can’t even give himself a good pity party.

In the morning, he sees that Laurie has left a message on his cell. He should call her back. Maybe on his lunch break.

***

He and Charlie are supposed to be working on Choc-O, but Charlie calls in sick. Alan could work on Choc-O by himself, but he’s thinking about Jack. Laurie’s told him Jack is studying for finals. Religious studies—that sounds rough. Alan wonders if he could check out Jack’s classes online, see what they’re like. And he has another idea—if he has lunch in Westwood, he could stop by UCLA. He hasn’t been there in years. Who knows? What are the chances he could run into Jack?

The UCLA campus is beautiful, and he’s surprised at how young the students look. He sits outside Bunche Hall and eats a Subway sandwich. When he’s done, he picks at a bag of barbecue Ruffles. He’s about to give up when he sees Jack walking out of the building. A pretty girl with blond hair and a lot of eye makeup runs up to Jack, grabs him by the front of his T-shirt, and pulls him toward her. Jack almost loses his balance—the backpack on his shoulder slips down to his elbow and the girl laughs. Pulls him harder. He gives up, allows the backpack to fall to the ground and kisses the girl. She puts his arms around his neck and, still laughing, twirls him around until they fall on the grass. The kiss goes on a long time and Alan tries to remember the last time he kissed Laurie like that, in public, not caring if anybody saw them or not. When the kiss ends, they are still on the ground and the girl throws her legs over Jack’s. They sit there, grinning at each other. They’re not talking; they don’t have to.

The pain in Alan’s chest is so intense for a moment he thinks he’s having a heart attack. He wants to kiss Laurie like that. He wants to go back to the beginning, fall in love with her again. See their relationship as infinite. He wants his family. The two of them—no, the
three
of them.

***

He’s driving back to his office. Charlie has emailed to let him know he’s feeling better and they can motor on Choc-O tomorrow. Alan is thinking about Buddy—Buddy who hasn’t heard Alan’s voice in a while because he’s listening to Jack. Will he be confused when he’s born, not recognize Alan? Will Alan look at Buddy’s life as some kind of constant competition with Jack? Who will give Buddy the best birthday present? “I taught him how to tie his shoes,” Alan will tell Jack. “Oh yeah?” Jack will say. “I taught him how to send his first text message.”

Maybe after Jack graduates, he’ll get a job out of state. Or in a different country. Alan could suggest that to Jack. “I’ve heard the Peace Corps is incredible. Have you thought about looking into that? They have some excellent programs in the Ukraine. And it’s only a two-year commitment. You’ll be back home in no time.”

Why couldn’t Jack have stayed number 296? A piece of paper. A specimen in a vial. That’s when the big problem started. When Jack became flesh and blood.

The first time he notices Alan is when he’s eating lunch at Falafel King. Alan is standing across the street wearing a baseball cap, and as Jack turns to make sure it’s him, Alan pulls down the brim of his cap so it covers his eyes, which only makes him look more conspicuous. Maybe he’ll come over and say hello. But when Jack’s getting an iced tea refill, he looks across the street again and Alan is gone.

Jack has seen Alan drive by Laurie’s house at night. Sometimes Alan turns off his car lights, which Jack thinks is strange because how many normal people who don’t want to attract attention to themselves go driving around neighborhoods in Sherman Oaks with their headlights off?

On a trip to a car wash (Jack thought it would be a nice surprise for Laurie if he cleaned her Audi), Alan’s car was parked across the street. Jack almost waved, but realized Alan imagines he is being discreet.

***

Jack and Megan are having coffee at Kerckhoff and she asks him if he knows a middle-aged preppyish blond man, because she’s seen him around campus a few times and he seems to be interested in Jack. “Do you have a stalker?” she says. Jack debates telling Megan about Alan, but it might be worse for Alan if Megan knows because she’d confront him. “Yo,
yo
? Are you stalking my boyfriend?”

And Laurie doesn’t need anything else to worry about—she’s got so much going on with work and baby-related things, like brunches or showers, and Laurie’s mother was going to come to one but fell while running to get on her treadmill and cracked her knee, so she’ll be on crutches for at least four weeks. “Don’t you
dare
have that baby before I get there,” she told Laurie.

Laurie assures Jack she has everything under control. But because she says that so many times, Jack suspects she is feeling less in control as each day passes and her due date gets closer.

“Did you know in China sometimes they breast-feed their children until they’re six?” she says at dinner one night.

“Huh.” Jack hasn’t figured out how he feels about watching Laurie breast-feed. He definitely doesn’t want to see her breasts. Ever.

Does he want to be in the delivery room when the baby is born? Laurie tells Jack it’s his decision. He remembers the sex-ed movies they showed in middle school—women screaming as giant baby heads squeezed their way out of vaginas. It was upsetting back then. What would it be like watching in person?

“I have two birth coaches,” Laurie says. “And I’m not sure either one of them wants to be with me when the baby is born.” She’s joking, but Jack suspects she’s afraid she won’t have anybody with her when she has the baby.

“If you want me there, sure, I’ll be there,” he says. “I might pass out though.”

“That’s okay. You’re in a hospital. Is there a better place to pass out?”

It still makes him nervous. He asks Megan her advice, and naturally, Megan volunteers to be Laurie’s birth coach. “I’d be amazing,” Megan says to Jack. “I’d hold her hand, help her with her breathing. I love the idea I could share part of Laurie’s birth experience; we would empower each other. Don’t you think?”

Jack nods. But he knows Laurie will be more comfortable with him, even though she likes Megan. The first time he brought Megan over to Laurie’s house, Megan fussed over Laurie. Made her sit down, fixed herbal tea. Would Laurie like Megan to whip her up some fresh bread? How about a foot massage? Jack had never seen that side of Megan before, the supernurturing caregiver. “Would you like me to wash your hair?” Megan asked Laurie.

“I’m having a baby. I’m not an invalid,” Laurie said. “But a foot massage might be nice sometime.”

So everything is good. Except for studying for finals and worrying about what it will be like in a delivery room. Why is he acting like such a wimp? What is he afraid of? Babies get born all the time. He can handle it. He’s never fainted in his life. What makes him think he’d faint now?

***

“I think I’m nesting,” Laurie says as she washes another load of towels and sheets, folds them carefully, and puts them back in the linen closet.

“Were they dirty?”

“I don’t think so. See? I’m forgetting things. Does that mean I’ll forget the baby after he’s born? Am I going to be one of those mothers on the news who leave their baby in the car while they shop in the mall for five hours and when they come out there’s a crowd and they’re broken the windows, but it’s too late—” She looks worried.

“You won’t be like that. You’re way too…” Jack tries to think of the right word without offending her. She’s complained about Alan being anal and compulsive. But that’s how
she’s
been acting lately. He decides on, “You’re going to be great.”

Laurie nods, exhales. “Did you know the average length of a newborn’s umbilical cord is two feet?”

“Huh,” Jack says.

She doesn’t talk about missing Alan, but Jack knows she does. They speak on the phone, but the calls are short. “I’m fine,” she says to Alan. “You’re fine?” As far as Jack knows, Alan will be there when the baby is born. “But you never know,” Laurie says to Jack. “It’s always a good idea to have a backup plan.”

Jack’s immediate plan is to move back in with Megan once finals are done, so when his parents come down for graduation, they’ll see his place and he’ll have his own room. (Florence has gotten back with her boyfriend Lance
again
, but she’s going to keep paying rent because she has the feeling it might not work out. You think?) His parents will meet Megan and he’s sure (hopefully) they’ll like her, and she’ll like them (probably) and they’ll go to graduation and since Laurie’s baby is due the week after graduation, his parents will be back up north and never know anything about it.

Is the baby going to look like Jack? Sometimes he thinks that would be cool. A baby version of himself. And then he freaks out—will the baby look enough like him so people would
know
? Like his parents? Suppose his parents come to visit L.A. and they see him with Laurie and the baby? And his mother says, “That’s funny. Laurie’s baby looks
exactly
like you looked when you were a baby, Jack.”

Unless the baby looks like Laurie. Alan would probably—no,
absolutely
prefer that. Why wouldn’t he? Jack is anxious for Alan to move back home and he suggested it to Laurie, but she said neither of them were ready for it yet. But when? When the time is right, Laurie says and Jack says that’s kind of a bullshitty answer, and Laurie laughs and says that’s the best answer she can come up with right now.

***

Sometimes Jack wonders what would happen if Alan never comes home, if Laurie has the baby and Jack doesn’t move out. He’ll graduate but go to graduate school in Los Angeles. Laurie won’t need a nanny. Jack can be a kind of nanny. A manny. How hard could that be?

Probably really hard. When he looks through Laurie’s baby book, he’s shocked at how complicated it is to take care of a baby—feeding times and when to introduce solid food and what about colic and diaper rash. How do you ever know the right thing to do? He’s asked Megan, who tells him it’s no big deal. “Instinct kicks in. Nature. You know, that survival of the fittest shit.”

Megan drops by Laurie’s house every now and then with care packages for Jack and an occasional baby gift for Laurie. “Sorry, I didn’t wrap this,” Megan says to Laurie as she pulls a black KISS onesie out of a bag. “Is this insanely adorable or what?”

“I love it.” Laurie holds up the onesie and Jack imagines baby Buddy and Laurie at a KISS reunion concert singing along to “Rock and Roll All Nite.”

***

Laurie comes with Jack to see Megan in
The
Weir
and afterward tells Megan how good she was. “The play is great, amazing. And you were wonderful. It was sad, but beautiful… I thought they were going to throw me out of the theater I was crying so hard,” Laurie says. Megan, who knows about Laurie’s miscarriages, gives Laurie a hug.

“If you can’t make people cry, what’s the point?” Megan says to her.

***

Laurie is working on a Hidden Valley story she thinks Jack will like, so they drive to a cul-de-sac in a residential neighborhood in Encino where Laurie tells Jack the street is named for Edward Everett Horton, a famous character actor who built a large house here in the ’20s called Belleigh Acres. She spells it for him.

“Belly Acres, get it?” Laurie says, and Jack nods. Funny. But he doesn’t see anything resembling a big house.

“The house was gorgeous. F. Scott Fitzgerald stayed in the guesthouse for a while. But they tore everything down to build the freeway,” Laurie tells him. “Isn’t that sad? At least they named the street after him.”

Jack looks around at the condos and apartment buildings; he can hear and see the freeway traffic below them.

“I’ve driven by here a million times. I saw the street sign, but I never knew about the house,” Laurie says. “We found some black-and-white photos; they’ll be in the next Hidden Valley. You should check out Edward Everett Horton’s films or go to YouTube and find
Fractured
Fairy
Tales
; they’re hilarious. He’s the narrator. He has the most incredible voice.” She looks around again. “And now other people are going to know about this place. That’s pretty cool, to take something forgotten and bring it back.”

“Very cool,” Jack says. He has no idea what
Fractured
Fairy
Tales
are, but if Laurie says they’re good, he’ll check them out.

***

He is studying on the steps in front of Royce Hall waiting for Megan when he notices Alan standing nearby. Not spying on him from a distance this time. Jack wonders what to do. Pretend he doesn’t see him? Before he can decide, Alan walks over. “Nice campus,” Alan says as if this is his first visit to UCLA.

“Yeah.”

Alan clears his throat. “Laurie doesn’t know I’m here. Is she okay?”

“You talk to her. She would’ve told you if she wasn’t.”

“I thought because you see her all the time…I wanted to make sure.” Alan looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a few days and he must not be sleeping well either. Jack doesn’t remember bags under Alan’s eyes before. “I love her,” Alan says. “I know it doesn’t seem like it—she’s having a baby and I move out. The Facebook thing—that was my fault. But Laurie’s reaction… you wouldn’t understand how crazy women get.”

Jack could tell Alan about Normandie, how he ran into her a week ago on campus and she introduced him to her new boyfriend, Jeb. Jeb is short with a thick neck and freckles. “Jeb’s a wrestler,” Normandie says, “and he’s teaching me all kinds of moves. Want us to show you the double-leg takedown?” She grins at Jeb and he grins back. “Or the cement mixer?” Normandie leans close to Jack and whispers, “You let a good one get away, Jack. Never forget that.”

“My loss,” he says to her, trying to imagine what the cement mixer looks like.

***

“It’s not as if I’m jealous of you,” Alan tells Jack. “It’s more about the baby.”

“That makes sense,” Jack says.

“Sometimes I think it does. But sometimes…not so much.” Alan looks at the campus. “I grew up sharing everything—a bedroom, clothes, bikes, ice skates…my parents’ attention. Big family, five kids.
Five
. I was the youngest. And that was fine. It’s the way it was. Only now, I’m done with that. I want something of my own. Like a child. My child should be mine. Shouldn’t it?”

“But it is. Yours and Laurie’s.”

“Yours too.”

“No, I was just the—” Jack’s not sure what to say. Sperm or specimen or donor, none of those sound right. “Like when you make cookies, I was the butter.” Oh man,
what
did he just say?

Alan seems to weigh that. “But I wanted to be the butter. And the flour and the vanilla. I wanted to be all of it.”

They’re comparing the baby to
baking
? “But in the end, you still get the cookies,” Jack says.

“The cookies.” Alan nods, doesn’t say anything for a while. “Buddy’s going to grow up confused.”

“Everybody grows up confused,” Jack says. “I’m more worried about changing diapers.”

Alan shakes his head. “I don’t care about diapers.” He looks at Jack. “Are you going to be around? After?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does Laurie want you to be?”

“She says I should decide what’s best for me. And I don’t know what that is right now. I mean, I’m a kid. I’m not ready to be a father. Trust me, the last thing I want is to get in your way.”

“I’m glad you’re taking care of her,” Alan says.

“She misses you.”

“She told you that?”

“She doesn’t have to say anything. I can tell.”

Alan runs his hands over his stubby almost beard. “She’s never going to forgive me.”

“You could give her a chance.”

“I miss her so much.”

“So let her know. Look, I’m not any kind of expert in relationships—I sort of suck at them, but you and Laurie…it’s stupid the way you’re acting. When you both love each other and you’re having a baby, it’s kind of—duh, get over yourselves.”

Alan thinks that over and nods at Jack. “What happens after you graduate?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jack says.

Alan smiles. “Have you ever thought about joining the Peace Corps?”