Recipe for a Happy Life: A Novel (30 page)

And there it is on the screen. My baby. I hear a loud, fast swooshing noise, which the doctor explains is the heartbeat. Then, he shows me the baby’s head, body, and limbs, which are beginning to form.

“We have got a perfectly healthy baby here,” he says, looking at the screen. Nate gets up from his chair across the hall and walks toward me. He stops once he’s halfway across the hallway, and I motion for him to come closer, to take a look at the sonogram.

I look up and see my mother with tears in her eyes. My grandmother reaches for her hand, slowly, gingerly, and my mother grabs it and gives it a squeeze. Moments later, she grabs her for a hug.

Before I know it, my eyes are tearing as well.

“Everything is perfectly okay,” the doctor explains. “What you were likely experiencing is called round ligament pain, and it’s very common. I know it’s early into your pregnancy, but already your body is expanding and changing to accommodate the growing baby. The sharp pains you were feeling were actually your ligaments making way for your growing uterus.”

“So a sharp pain is okay?”

“Yes,” the doctor says. “In fact, you’ll often feel it when you exert yourself, like if you take a vigorous walk, or go dancing. But you might also feel it if you turn over in bed, or reach down for something. It’s nothing to worry about at all. Next time you feel it, just sit down and relax until it passes.”

“So everything’s okay?” I ask. I know the doctor has told me that everything’s all right a few times already, but I can’t hear it enough.

“It’s actually a good sign. It means that things are all moving in the right direction.”

“Everything’s moving in the right direction,” I repeat. I look at Nate and see him staring down at me. Everything’s moving in the right direction.

I couldn’t agree more.

Fifty

“Excuse me, Hannah?” a nurse says, walking over to me just as the doctor is finishing up with us in the emergency room.

“Yes?” I say. I’m still beaming from ear to ear from the fact that everything’s okay with the baby. And everything’s falling into place in my world. My mother and grandmother are on their way to a reconciliation, I’m starting to see how Adan might have a place in my life, and I’ve got Nate standing right here by my side.

“The baby’s father is here?” the nurse says. She does that twenty-something thing where she says it like it’s a question, and I don’t know how to respond.

“Let me give the two of you some space,” Nate says, and walks back across the hallway, to sit back down on the chair to wait for me.

I turn toward the nurse and see Jaime trailing behind her.

“Babe,” he says, and reaches down and gives me a hug as I’m still in the hospital bed.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, and immediately regret it. I’m treating this as if it’s a cocktail party—why am I thanking him for coming? He’s the father! I’m incredibly aware of the fact that Nate is sitting across from us.

“What’s he doing here?” Jaime says as he catches a glimpse of Nate out of the corner of his eye.

“He brought me to the hospital,” I say.

“Oh,” Jaime says. And then to Nate: “Well, thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Nate says.

“So,” Jaime says to me. “Are you okay? What happened?”

I begin to tell Jaime what happened—how I was feeling sharp pains and I feared that something was wrong with the baby—but I can tell he’s not really listening. Not listening in the way that someone who was worried about me would be. I can’t help but picture the expression that was on his face when he walked into the hospital. There was something on his face that really shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t sadness, or nervousness, or concern.

It was relief.

As I finish up the story, explaining how everything is okay now, I realize that Jaime was actually glad that there might have been something wrong with the baby. He was glad to have an out.

“Well,” he says, “then, that’s all great.”

“You know you don’t have to do this,” I say. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay out here with me or that you have to try to make things work just because I’m pregnant.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he says, and he brushes something nonexistent off his nose. “That’s not why I’m out here.”

“I know that your mother is really religious and—”

“This isn’t about my mother,” Jaime says, cutting me off.

“I just mean … you don’t have to be here for your family. I know how religious they are.”

“This isn’t about my family,” Jaime says. “They don’t even know I’m out here.”

“Your family doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No,” Jaime says back quietly. “I’m here because I decided to be.”

I know he’s claiming this as a moral victory, that he’s proud of doing something outside of the prying eyes of his mother, but that doesn’t mean he’s separated himself from her. It means he was afraid to tell her.

“Your mother doesn’t know I’m pregnant?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “I thought that would make you happy. I know you can’t stand her.”

“It’s not a question of whether or not I like your mother,” I say. “Were you ashamed to tell them what happened?”

“It’s no one’s business,” Jaime says, his voice barely a whisper. I know he’s trying to make sure that Nate can’t hear what he’s saying, but at the rate we’re going, I’m just going to repeat the whole conversation to Nate later, so it’s really a moot point. “What we do, what we’re doing, is no one’s business but our own.”

“I think you need to tell your mother,” I say.

“Now that Gray is back in town, you’re suddenly an expert on mothers?”

“I think you don’t really want me to have this baby,” I say. I think, but don’t say: and you’re hoping that I’ll lose the baby or decide to terminate the pregnancy before you have to tell your mother. “You don’t, do you?”

“So what if I don’t?” Jaime says. “You made your decision and you don’t really care what I think anyway.”

“Well, I’m giving you an out here. I made my decision, and now you can make yours. You can walk away if you want. It’s okay. I won’t think less of you. No one will.”

Jaime stands and looks at me for a long time. Finally, the doctor comes over to tell me that my grandmother has taken care of all my paperwork, so I can leave. Jaime’s driven one of the Mattress King’s cars to the hospital, so he decides to drive home on his own, telling me I should be with my mother and grandmother for the ride. But I know what he’s really saying. I know he just wants a few minutes to himself. I know he needs it. I can see it on his face.

He walks away from me, and I watch him as he gets smaller and smaller, walking down the long corridor. I watch him walk away from me, and this time I know it is for good.

Fifty-one

“We heard you were in the hospital last night, so I came by to bring you these,” Hunter says as he hands me a giant basket of flowers. There’s a card tucked inside that says “Get Well Soon, Love and Hugs, Skylar and Hunter.” It’s written in the kind of loopy script that all girls in their early teens use. “Skylar picked them out. She loves hydrangeas and lilies.”

“I love them, too,” I say, and smile at Hunter. We grab iced teas and walk out toward the pool.

“So, you must be really happy that nothing’s wrong with the baby,” Hunter says. “Your grandmother told my dad that you were scared you were going to lose him. Or her. You know, the baby, whatever it is.”

“I was,” I say. “I was really scared. And now I’m just scared because I’m actually having a baby.” I laugh nervously and Hunter raises an eyebrow at me.

“Are you scared because that guy left? Because Skylar and I didn’t like him.”

“I didn’t really like him either,” I say. “Well, toward the end, anyway. But now I think I’m just scared that I’m having a baby and I’m alone.”

It occurs to me that I’m doing to Hunter the exact thing that I resented my mother for my entire life: speaking to him as if he’s my age, not his. I’m saying things that are inappropriate for his age. I’m about to try to change the subject, but Hunter persists.

“You’re not alone,” he says. “You’ve got Sugar now. And Skylar and I really like Sugar. So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Well, I don’t really have him. Yes, we’re going to try and make a go of things, but there’s no knowing where that will lead. Anyway, we really shouldn’t be talking about this at all. You’re fourteen.”

“Your mother says I have an old soul.”

“My mother has no idea how to talk to children.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a child,” Hunter says. “I’m fourteen.”

“Exactly,” I say. “You’re fourteen.”

“Exactly.” I may be a New York City attorney, but I am losing an argument with a fourteen-year-old. But I guess if he’s a fourteen-year-old with a very old soul, I shouldn’t beat myself up too much.

“Look, Hunter. I may not be alone, but I am this child’s parent. And I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“A million different things,” I say, and look out at the ocean. The waves are rough today, and there’s a red flag up, telling swimmers that it’s not safe to go into the water.

“Tell me one,” Hunter says.

I look at Hunter and remember that first night we met. How charmed I was by Hunter Kensington the fourth. How did a fourteen-year-old turn out to be one of my best friends in the Hamptons?

“I’m scared that I’ll do a bad job,” I say.

“You won’t,” Hunter says. “And Skylar and I will babysit for you whenever you want. She has two little sisters, so she’s practically a baby nurse. She knows everything there is to know about babies.”

“I’m scared that I’ll mess up this human being’s life irrevocably. I mean, that I’ll screw it up in a way that can’t be undone.”

“I know what irrevocably means,” he says.

“Of course you do.”

“Go on.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask.

“Something that no one else knows?”

“Something that no one else knows,” I confirm. “Something that I probably shouldn’t say out loud.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t say it out loud.”

“You’re right,” I say, and take a sip of my iced tea.

“No, just say it,” Hunter says, shaking his head, almost as if he’s trying to screw up the courage to hear whatever awful dirty secret I’ve got to tell. “Whatever it is, you can say it to me.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll tell you. When I was little I used to wish that my grandmother was my mother. When my mother was on shoots, I’d spend time with my grandmother and we always had the best time together. We’d go to amazing places, and she’d tell me these wonderful stories. She just led this totally unbelievable life, you know?”

“So did your mom,” Hunter says. “I looked her up online. Did you know she won a Pulitzer?”

“Yes, Hunter. I knew that.”

“Well, are you upset that you haven’t lived the kind of life your mom and your grandmother lived?”

“No,” I say, slowly, dragging out the
o
. I think, but don’t say: Well, not until now, I wasn’t.

“I always thought I had my grandmother as a role model, that she was the perfect model of how to live your life and be happy. But I’m learning all these things about her this summer, and now, I just don’t know.”

“Like how that French dude is really your grandfather?”

“How do you know that?” I ask. It comes out as more of an accusation that I mean it to.

“Gray told me,” he says.

“What else did Gray tell you?”

“Are you done telling me what you’re scared of? Because it really doesn’t sound like you have anything to be scared of at all. You actually sound like you’re in great shape.”

I take a big swig of iced tea and then I begin: “I’m afraid my kid will hate me. That I’ll do the wrong thing. I’ll try to do the right thing, but I won’t succeed. I’m afraid I’ll be a bad mom.”

“Well, that’s just silly,” Hunter says. “You’re going to be a great mom. I can tell.”

“And exactly how can you tell?” I ask. This should be good.

“Because you’re worried about it in the first place. When I interviewed Dr. Simon for this medical drama I’m working on—don’t tell anyone about it, it’s on the down low—he said that the doctors you have to worry about are the ones who never question what they do. That the worst doctors are the ones who think that everything they do is above reproach. That means they think they can’t be touched.”

“I know what above reproach means.”

“Of course you do,” Hunter says, giving me a tiny grin. “Well, anyway, Dr. Simon said that the best doctors are the ones who occasionally pause and wonder if they’re doing the right thing. Which ultimately makes them stronger, not just as doctors, but as people. So, you’re just like those good doctors. You’re questioning everything, which means that you are totally ready to be a mom. And you’re going to be really great at it.”

“Thanks, Hunter,” I say. “That really means a lot. Especially coming from you.”

“I know.”

Fifty-two

“I can’t believe you’re coming back.”

“You don’t want me back at the firm?” I ask Priya, feigning distress.

“Funny,” she says. “You know I can’t wait for you to come back; this place is so boring without you. I just didn’t think you’d come back.”

“It’s time to get back to real life,” I say, and as I say it, I wonder which one is actually my real life: the one I had before in the city, the one I ran away from, or my life out here?

“And you think you’ll have a better life working at a New York City law firm?”

“Well,” I answer, “I’ve got maternity leave coming up before you know it, so taking care of a baby will be a welcome break.”

“Yes,” Priya says. “I’ve heard that having a newborn is really relaxing.”

We giggle and it dawns on me how many changes I’ve got coming up in my life. Before I came out here for the summer, I was completely stuck. No job. No relationship. No contact with my own mother. My life was stagnating and I didn’t even realize it.

Now I’m living a completely different life. After years of barely speaking, my mother and I now actually talk, instead of just throwing veiled insults at each other. I think I’m beginning to understand her, and that she’s beginning to understand me. And I really like having her in my life. I look forward to hearing her opinion on things, even though I know I’m not always going to agree with what she’s got to say. This time with her has been precious. Now that I actually know who she is, I’ll be able to tell my future child all about her.