Authors: Dina Silver
One Pink Line (20 page)
“Okay,” I said, but I had absolutely no intention of letting him see me this way. I loved Ethan, and I always would, and having to face him looking the way I did would have been too much for me to handle. Especially since he was in a relationship with someone else. I pictured his face, looking at my belly, and instantly relating it to me having sex with someone else. All the while making this Robin chick look like even more of a prize. Maybe that wouldn’t have been the case, but I couldn’t take the chance, and I didn’t have the self-confidence to look him in the eyes after he looked at my stomach. And I had no intention of making Robin and her flat stomach more desirable than she already was.
I was numb when I hung up the phone. My mind went back to that day when Ethan had all but begged me to stay loyal to him and committed to our relationship. Where would we be now had I not been so self-involved?
grace
“C
hloe!” I yelled as she closed her locker. “I’m going to L.A.!”
Nana Lynne had sent me an airline ticket for my seventeenth birthday. She’d been promising to have me out west for years, and finally came through during my junior year of high school.
“That’s awesome!” Chloe raised her palm for a high five. “When?”
I leaned back against the wall of lockers and tossed my backpack on the ground. “Probably over spring break, in April,” I said and unwrapped my breakfast, a strawberry frosted Pop Tart.
“I’m so excited for you! Are you nervous?”
“I am a little nervous, but really excited. I’ve been dying to go to California.”
“Will you see your dad?” she asked.
I broke the Pop Tart in half and handed it to her. “I doubt it,” I said, but she and I both knew that I wished I would.
I was very insecure where my father was concerned, and although I longed to meet him, I rarely mustered the courage to ask about him. As long as he wanted nothing to do with me, I felt it wasn’t my place to force the issue. And no one ever encouraged me to do so, least of all my mother. But even though I was going to Los Angeles under the guise of visiting my aunts and my Nana Lynne, I had hoped to meet my father, Kevin Hansen.
My bag was packed a week before I was set to leave on April 16
th
. Mom had taken me to Target for a new bikini, matching flip-flops and a sundress. She talked with my aunt Sharon towards the end of March, and they arranged for her to pick me up at the airport. Four days before my flight, I received an email from her.
Hi, Grace,
We’ve had some drama around here this week. My mom slipped on her kitchen floor last Monday, and broke her hip. She’s been in the hospital for a few days, and just found out that she’s going to need surgery on Saturday. I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like we’re going to have to reschedule your trip. We were really looking forward to having you here.
-Sharon
I was devastated. I instantly forwarded the email to Chloe, and she texted me back within seconds. NOOOOOOOO!
I replied with a lone sad face icon, and threw my phone on the floor next to my carry-on bag.
Chloe was the only person who had any idea what I was feeling. We’d talk for hours about our elusive father figures, and about how we coped with the guilt surrounding our desire to be with them. She couldn’t discuss her longing to see him with her mother because her mother hated him and forbid Chloe from mentioning his name. And I wasn’t comfortable talking about Kevin with my parents, because I didn’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings. But when my mother found out about Lynne’s surgery and my cancelled trip, I truly believe she understood the depth of my disappointment.
No person who has a decent relationship with both their parents could quite comprehend the disconnect that people like Chloe and myself lived with. We’d imagine what our real fathers might be like, but grasping those images was like trying to hold water in a strainer. The task is frustrating, and ultimately the strainer winds up empty.
Sydney
E
than came and went without seeing me, and I was sorry that I missed an opportunity to be with him, but felt good about my decision. He told me he’d be home for the holidays as well, but if I hadn’t let him see me at six months, I certainly wasn’t going to let him see me at nine months.
One person I was looking forward to seeing was Taylor. She was surprised, yet supportive when I told her the news about the baby, and we’d planned to get together when she was in town for Christmas. Taylor had moved to Manhattan, and worked for a huge event planning company. She was a public relations assistant, and helped arrange press junkets and book signings for celebrities. She was always traveling and sending me photos of her looking gorgeous standing next to someone fabulous. I still have the photo of her and John Grisham standing in front of the Empire State Building. We both had a huge crush on him.
It was a far cry from working for Midge, but I was thrilled for Taylor. She was planning on being in town for five days, so she and Kendra planned a baby shower for me during that time, three days before Christmas. I didn’t register anywhere, so I got lots of random pink outfits and animals, and since none of my friends had (or were even thinking about having) kids, the only gifts that served any real purpose were from my mom and Taylor’s mom, Mrs. Gold. My mom bought me an oval shaped bucket that she said was a bathtub, and filled it with baby shampoo, washcloths, and a grooming kit. Mrs. Gold outdid everyone and handed me a page from a catalog with a picture of a crib and changing table from Lazar’s in Lincolnwood, worth hundreds of dollars, and priceless to a single mother who would have no paycheck for three months.
My mom asked if I wanted gifts for myself or for the baby that Christmas (indicating I could not have both), and I quickly responded that I would rather have baby gifts than any more tent-like, black maternity tops for me. She promised that once I was back in shape, she would take me shopping for new clothes. I’m still waiting.
New Year’s Eve, my parents took pity on me, cancelled their dinner reservations at the club, and invited me to sleep over. And as much as I hated moving off of my couch unless absolutely necessary, I was relieved to have something to do. I’m sure everyone thought if I had to spend the holiday alone with my two-ton tummy, I was sure to cry my eyes out over a bucket of Baskin Robbins mint chocolate chip. So my dad bought some non-alcoholic sparkling cider, and the three of us stayed up and watched the ball drop in Times Square. Sleep was nearly impossible for me at that time, due to the fact that I could never find a comfortable position and just when I did, I would have to get up and pee. Besides that, it was a really nice evening, and my relationship with my mother began to turn a corner.
She would call and ask if I needed anything. She drove downtown to my apartment every once in a while and would clean up the apartment for me while I was at work. And every now and then she’d even leave fresh groceries in the fridge, and homemade cookies on the counter.
Two weeks after the first of the year, around January 15
th
, I asked Midge if I could begin my maternity leave.
“Sydney, it looks as though you have yet to give birth,” she said in her perpetually annoyed tone. Her distaste for me had grown with my stomach.
“Correct you are, Midge, but my due day is coming up, and it’s getting increasingly harder to get here every day and then manage my responsibilities on zero to three hours of sleep a night.” She loathed excuses, but I just didn’t care that day.
As soon as I indicated that my work was suffering, she gave me permission and waved me off. Keri and Trevor took me to lunch and gave me a little present from both of them…something pink; I can’t remember exactly what it was.
I spent the next two days napping during the daylight hours, and watching TV at night. After Kendra finished work on January 18
th
, she dragged me off the couch and took me to Walgreens to buy diapers and wipes, and other necessities I had neglected to get up until that point.
“Scented, unscented, aloe or chlorine-free?” she asked me, and we exchanged clueless looks.
“Aloe sounds nice,” I said.
“I agree,” and she shoved five packs of Aloe-scented wipes into the cart. “I’m meeting my friend Jane for a drink at seven, so I have to move this along,” she told me. “Sorry, don’t mean to rush you. Do you have anything to eat at home, or do you want to pick up a sandwich on our way back?”
Just as she asked me, I felt an unusual amount of moisture in my underwear. I set my tote bag down on the linoleum floor and I spread my legs, looking down at my crotch.
“What are you doing?” she whispered embarrassingly and scanned the aisle for other patrons.
I stood upright and touched between my legs, my stretch pants were wet. “It felt like some pee leaked out.”
“Eww,” she quivered.
“It feels like more is coming, I think I should call my doctor,” I said and walked towards her like I’d just gotten off the back of a horse.
“Do you think your water broke? There’s no puddle.”
“I don’t know, but it feels really wet and it soaked through my underwear.”
“Oh, lord,” she said with a tinge of fear. “Need a wipe?”
D
espite the fact that I’d sprung a leak, I was feeling strong and still functioning as a semi-normal, asymmetrical person by the time Kendra and I arrived at the hospital. My doctor wasn’t expected to be there until the baby was eating solid foods, but the on-call nurses were more than welcoming and ready for my arrival. A woman named Peyton, who I followed into an examination room, instructed me to undress and put on the green sheet she was holding, along with a diaper-like contraption to help with the constant flow of liquid that began in Walgreens. Kendra placed my overnight bag on the floor and sat down on the vinyl guest chair in the corner of the room. As soon as I had donned the green sheet, Peyton came back in the room and hooked me up to no less than three monitors…in no less than ten seconds.
“We’re just going to keep an eye on things for a few minutes before getting you upstairs to labor and delivery,” she informed us.
“So, I’m staying?”
She smiled at me. “Yes, we’re admitting you.”
Kendra smiled back at her. “She’s in denial, and would like an extra week if that could be arranged,” Kendra joked.
