The Choices We Make (9 page)

18

KATE

Things had been tense with David ever since the other night, and I was getting antsy with the cold civility in our house. I wasn't angry anymore—that had faded after a day or so along with my self-righteousness. It was a lot to ask of him, to accept my proposal outright. I knew that going in, but I had really believed he would see it from my perspective.

I wished I could talk to my mom about it, and I'd tried to at her grave site. But no matter how comforting people say it is to have a place to visit the people you've lost, the reality is you're talking to a slab of granite that can't talk back.

Tonight was board game night, this time at Ben and Hannah's, and we had just left the girls with a sitter. At fifteen dollars an hour. Just one more reason to miss my mom—not only did we not have to pay her, we always came home to folded laundry, a clean kitchen, and girls who had learned something new from their doting and creative grandmother. Like how to plant an indoor mini–herb garden, or how to crack eggs using only one hand and a butter knife, or how to turn baking soda, vinegar, red food coloring and a plastic soda bottle covered in papier-mâché into an erupting volcano.

The cab dropped us off in front of Hannah and Ben's place, a row house that was typical in Noe Valley. It had been restored inside and out to both keep the architectural details—like the gingerbread lining the roof and the spindles on the porch—and to add some luxuries, like heated floors in the bathroom and kitchen, and a glassed-in sunporch off the back. The house belonged to Ben's parents, and Hannah and Ben rented from them, which was why they were actually able to afford the pretty Victorian in a neighborhood where homes ran well over a million and a half dollars.

We stood on the front step and I rang the doorbell, the chime echoing through the house. David shifted beside me, and I tried to ignore the dull headache behind my eyes and the tingling in my fingertips, forcing a smile as Ben opened the door, scents of spice and something dark and sweet welcoming us in. The sounds of a mixer filled the front hallway, nearly masking the music—Buena Vista Social Club—that Hannah loved and always played when she cooked.

Hannah was in the kitchen, as per usual, her apron covered in dark splotches and the electric beater in her hand. She held a spatula in the other hand and was diving it into the bowl, scraping the sides. I kissed her cheek and peered into the deep red mixing bowl.

“Whatcha making?”

“Mexican chocolate bread pudding,” she said. “Left out the raisins though, just for you.”

“You really do love me,” I said. I despised raisins—their wrinkly flesh sticking in your teeth for hours. I dipped my finger in the bowl, then popped it in my mouth. “So good,” I murmured.

“You know there are raw eggs in there,” Hannah said, smirking when I grimaced and slapped a hand to my mouth. “You'll be fine, princess. Ben, can you get Katie a drink?”

Hannah laughed when I snatched the fresh margarita from Ben; the green, slushy drink was filled to the very top of the glass and nearly splashed out. I took a quick sip, getting a hit of the rock salt that mingled on my tongue with the sweet and sour of the drink. “Thank you,” I said, taking another sip. I hoped drinking wasn't a bad idea tonight, with a migraine threatening—then I decided I didn't care and took an even bigger sip.

“Maybe I should just give you the pitcher?” Ben asked, laughing. David cast me a quick glance, and I knew what he was thinking—that I should slow down if I didn't want to end up in a dark room with a bucket beside me all day tomorrow—but he wisely said nothing.

“Ha-ha,” I said. “This will be fine, thank you.”

Ben and David started chatting about work and baseball, which was my cue to tune out and focus on Hannah. Sitting on a bar chair in the kitchen, I sipped my ice-cold margarita and observed her. She looked better than the last time I saw her, though perhaps a bit thin—her cheeks hollow and her apron knotted tightly around her waist.

“You look skinny,” I said. “What's up with that?”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She laughed, pouring the chocolate egg mixture onto the cubes of bread, which were piled in a baking dish that looked well loved, a caramel-colored film lining the edges of the white ceramic dish.

“Depends I guess if you want to be called skinny.”

“Please, I am not
skinny
.” Hannah turned on the oven timer and topped up her margarita. “But I'm for sure going to tell my mom you said that. She'll be thrilled.” She smiled wryly at me and pushed the bowl of guacamole toward me. “Eat.”

I nibbled a tortilla chip heavy with guacamole. Hannah's guacamole was amazing thanks to a secret ingredient she refused to ever give up. “How is Ellen doing?”

“Oh, you know. Busy playing bridge, and cruising, but not too busy to mail me articles about how reducing stress can up your chances of getting pregnant.”

“She means well, sweetie.”

Hannah sighed. “I know. And I shouldn't even complain because at least I have her around to drive me crazy.” She looked at me sadly and reached out to rub my hand. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. You complain away. I love your Ellen stories.”

“You'll love this one, then.”

“What? Tell me.” I scooped up more guacamole with a chip and leaned on the countertop.

“Yesterday she sent Claire and Peter a giant ‘Congratulations, you're expecting!' bouquet to their office and Claire hasn't told anyone at work yet. Peter was relieved because he wanted to tell everyone right away, but Claire lost her shit.”

My mouth hung open, the chip not having made its way in yet.

“Oh, right. Didn't I mention Claire was pregnant? Surprise!” Hannah rolled her eyes and dipped a nacho chip into the guacamole.

“Oh. Fuck,” I said.

“Exactly my reaction. Not even planned. A big ‘oops,' and she's not thrilled about it, either. You know Claire. Motherhood is at the bottom of the list, right under scrub the—” Hannah looked up and stopped talking abruptly.

I turned to see Ben and David coming into the kitchen. “I'm going to show David the office,” Ben said.

David cleared his throat and put his beer on the island counter without looking my way, and I hoped Ben and Hannah hadn't noticed the uncomfortable tension between us.

“Office?” I asked after they'd gone upstairs.

“Well, looks like we don't need a nursery, so...” Hannah pressed her lips tightly together.

“Oh, Hann, no tears, okay?” I put a napkin into her hand, which she crumpled into her fist rather than wiped at her eyes.

“I don't want to cry,” Hannah said. “All I do is cry. And it isn't just that. I also obsessively Google baby-making tips. And stare at strangers' belly bumps at the grocery store, hating them for it. And fill my stupid online shopping cart with Pottery Barn Kids shit I'm never going to need. I'm one giant infertile cliché.”

“No, you are not. You're beautiful and brilliant and everything you cook tastes like perfection and you have great legs. No, seriously, I wish I had your legs. Mine are short and full of varicose veins.” Hannah laughed through her tears, and I handed her another napkin that this time she used to dry her face.

“You know what I did the other day?” she asked. “I went into Pea in the Pod and told them I was three months pregnant but wanted to get a head start on clothes, and could I try on one of those belly pillows, you know the ones that make you look really pregnant?”

I nodded, remembering trying one on when I was first pregnant with Ava.

“So I strapped it on and tried on maternity clothes for about half an hour, crying the whole time, which I blamed on the hormones when the salesgirl asked if I was okay. How lame is that?”

“That is not lame,” I said, rubbing her forearms.

“Maybe not that part, but then you know what I did?” Hannah leaned in close and lowered her voice. “I bought three outfits. Four hundred dollars!” At first I thought she was crying again, but then I realized she was laughing. She looked up at me, her eyes still damp with tears but with a huge grin on her face. “They're in the back of the guest room closet, under the sheets and towels.”

“Keep them,” I said, draining my margarita. I thanked Hannah as she filled my glass up again from the nearly empty pitcher. “That way if you decide to eat all the food you make at work instead of spitting it out, you'll have clothes that fit.”

Hannah smacked my arm, and my drink sloshed over the glass. “Hannah!” I laughed and jumped back to avoid getting soaked by the errant margarita.

“Okay, enough of this.” I slid off my bar stool and walked over to the fridge, opening it to peer inside. “Where are your eggs?”

“Eggs? Why?”

“Ah, here we go,” I said, pulling out a carton from the back of the fridge. “Let's go.” I shut the fridge door and grabbed her hand.

She laughed. “Where are we going?”

I didn't answer, instead tugging her along until we stood in her backyard, facing the fence that separated her yard from that of her neighbors. I placed the opened carton carefully at our feet and handed her an egg.

“Throw it.”

Hannah took the egg from me but continued to stare at me, her mouth open with confusion.

Gesturing toward the fence, I then picked up my own egg. “Throw it at the fence. Like this.” I pulled back my arm and then released the egg in a nice, high arc. It hit the wooden fence with a satisfying smack, the yolk dripping down the fence and the shells dropping to the ground below.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hannah asked, now staring at the fence and the mess of egg on it.

“Nothing that a little water won't wash off, and my mom always made me keep our eggshells for her garden, so really you're helping your flowers, right?” I picked up another egg, feeling its cold, smooth surface in my hand. “Look, you said you're tired of crying, right? Well, maybe it's time to get mad. Just get mad. Throw an egg as hard as you can. Be destructive with something. We have eleven...” I held up the egg in my hand. “Sorry, ten ways for you to do some damage that won't really hurt anything. Trust me—you will feel better.”

I pulled my arm back again. “This one is for Claire, for getting pregnant first. That little bitch.” I winked at Hannah, and she smirked; then I launched the egg at the fence, where it splattered in a mess of bright yellow. “Oh, that feels so good. I'm telling you. Give it a try.”

Hannah squared her shoulders toward the fence and pulled her arm back, like I had, her mouth pursed in concentration as she aimed. “This one is for my crappy eggs.” She released the egg and it hit very close to mine. She shouted and laughed, and I raised my eyebrows.

“Damn, that was almost poetic. But see? Better, right?”

“Better,” she said, grinning at me before bending down to get another egg.

* * *

After we'd finished throwing the dozen eggs at the fence and hosed the mess away, we lay on the grass and stared up at the dark sky, which was overcast and starless. Hannah turned her head toward me. “So when are you going to tell me what's going on with you and David?”

“Is it that obvious?” I sighed and kept my eyes on the black sky. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, knew better than to talk about this when the tequila and migraine were muddling my thoughts, but between Hannah's tears, my fix-it tendencies... “I have this idea and it's going to sound crazy. But hear me out.”

“Is it crazy like ‘I'm going to jump out of an airplane,' or crazy like ‘let's run away for a week to Maui'?” Hannah asked, turning on her side to watch me. “And is it this crazy idea that has David all sullen?”

“No, no and yes.”

“So, no airplane, no Maui, which is disappointing, I'll have you know, and yes to David's bad mood. Which makes me both curious and worried. Tell me.”

I kept my voice as even as I could, and turned toward Hannah. “I want to have a baby for you and Ben.”

“What?”

“I want to carry a baby for you.”

“That's what I thought you said, but—”

I sat up. “I can have babies. I've had two of them. My eggs are good. I love you. You
need
to be a mother. I can give that to you, Hannah. I can.”

Hannah sat up slowly, keeping her hands firmly planted on the ground as if she needed to hold herself up. “I guess that explains the David thing.” Her voice was quiet, tense.

I shrugged and bit the inside of my cheek, pausing for a moment. “I'm working on David,” I finally said, to which Hannah sighed deeply.

“Katie, I—” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her now-bent knees. I waited, impatient for her to finish her thought. “We can't do this.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, because David is not okay with it. Which I totally understand. And for another? I love that you've even considered this, but do you really get what you're offering?”

I was irritated. First David and now Hannah. Why couldn't they see that this was a legitimate option, and a great one at that? “Of course I know what I'm offering. My egg, my uterus, Ben's sperm, nine months, your baby. Got it.”

Hannah took my hand in hers and squeezed. “I love you. But you and David are too important to us to muddy the waters like this. You are my best friend. And I need you to stay my best friend, okay?”

“But why can't I be your best friend and your baby mama?” She laughed at that. “I can do it. I promise nothing has to change.”

“
Everything
will change,” Hannah said, shaking her head slowly. “How can you not see that?”

“You deserve to be a mother, Hannah.”

“Maybe so, but it's not your problem to fix.”

Hannah's phone beeped, and she looked at me as though she wasn't sure what to say next. “The pudding... I've got to take it out of the oven.”