When Girlfriends Step Up (12 page)

It took me a few seconds to try to see the situation from Janet’s point of view, but I couldn’t. I was a new mother and I could see the merit in breaking such news to your loved ones as soon as you could. Who cared if Janet was on her way to work?

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, Janet.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You make doctor’s appointments before work rather than on Saturdays or after hours, or during lunch break, like a serious career woman would do.” She opened and slammed various desk drawers. “What, are you going to waste more of my morning, too, by telling me you’re knocked up?”

How does she know?
 

I felt my face go pale and all I could do was stare at her, speechless.

“What?” she asked, nearly shouting. “I’m just joking. God, don’t take me so seriously.”

Phew. Close one.

“Anyway, enough of my morning has been taken up by crazy baby talk. Time to get to work. Like a
real
modern woman. I’m going to be taking charge on those edits for the mock-up we did together.”

Was that a question or a statement? Knowing Janet…

“All right?” she demanded.

I didn’t want to deal with Hurricane Janet a second longer, so I quietly told her that was fine by me, even though it wasn’t. I’d worked just as hard, if not harder, on those mock-ups. Why was she the one who had all the say on the edits? And why were there edits that needed to be made in the first place? I thought we did a smash-up job and nailed every point our boss wanted us to hit.
 

Forget about it. Let Janet deal with it.

When Janet left for the editing department I stole another look at my sweet angel’s photos. “You’re not going to be a punk brat, are you, honey? No you’re not. You’re going to be so loved and you’ll have lots of friends and you’ll be sweet…” I looked over at Janet’s now empty desk and snarled. “Not like some people your mom must unfortunately tolerate.”

***

I was exhausted after the past few days of work. Janet’s bitch mode was up a good seven notches. Bobby hadn’t been making any gestures lately that I could at least misconstrue as flirty to give me something fun to dream about and blow out of proportion. Sophie was still pestering me about figuring out the Brandon thing, though I wanted to put his abortion advice and our phone call out of my mind. On top of it all, I was overwhelmed with moving everything I owned from my apartment and over into Lara’s in a couple of days. Boxes littered every room of my apartment. Half the time I couldn’t find the things I had already packed, and the things I thought I had packed were actually misplaced. Oh, and did I mention I was pregnant and had started having cravings for dried blueberries and kettle popcorn? A very tasty combination, I might add.

Just when I thought I’d found some equanimity with nothing but a cool glass of lemonade and a blank piece of paper awaiting its first drop of paint, Sophie called. My first guess (and I’d only need one) was that she’d want to talk about how I
had
to talk to Brandon. Emergency. Code Blue.

Sure enough, nearly the first thing out of Sophie’s mouth was, “We’re figuring the Brandon thing out tonight.”

“Sophie, I don’t want to.”

“We’re beyond what you want and don’t want to do, Robin. It’s about doing what needs to be done. Brandon’s going to give you what you want, or else.”

“He
is
giving me what I want.” I took a long pull on my iced drink, then came the quick brain freeze.

“You’re sounding absurd. This isn’t what you want. You want him to do what’s right. He owes you.”

I shook away the brief albeit painful freeze. “Sophie, this
is
what I want. I want him to stay out of my life if he’s going to view his baby as something that needs to be ‘gotten rid of.’ And he doesn’t seem to have any problems staying out.”

She groaned. “Forget it. I’m coming over there right now and you’re coming with me.”

“What?” I nearly choked on my next sip. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to see Brandon. We’re settling this once and for all.” Before I could object, or so much as whimper a response or a simple sound, Sophie was off the line, and on her way over.

With not a minute to spare Sophie arrived and demanded we drive to Brandon’s immediately. I angrily grabbed my new Vera Bradley handbag from the dining table and followed Sophie out to her awaiting Prius. She hadn’t even turned off the engine; her parking job wasn’t much to speak of, either.

“Sophie, this is ridiculous!”

“Not another word. Get in the car,” she demanded. Clad in yoga gear, she jogged to her car door and leapt over the parking block like a determined gazelle. “I’m sick of what he’s doing to you. We’re going to his place right now and we’re finishing this. Once and for all!”

There was no stopping her. I certainly couldn’t. It would have been interesting to see Jackie or Lara in this situation. They’d protest once, maybe twice, and put Sophie in her place. I wasn’t going to do that; it was much too frightening and forward a move. No, no. Besides, I didn’t want to make Sophie feel like I didn’t appreciate her help. She was, after all, only doing what she felt was best, and I was grateful for that. Her approach of dragging me out of the house and forcing me to stand Brandon down, face-to-face, wasn’t exactly the method I preferred, but it was Sophie’s way or the highway once we crossed Lake Union and were entering the high end part of the Queen Anne district. Bill Gates and other billionaires lived in the area and had pretentious mansions overlooking the rest of Seattle society. I suddenly felt insignificantly small…very out of place. I gently tried to protest Sophie’s actions, but there was no turning back as we descended down the sloping hills into Lower Queen Anne, some short blocks from Brandon’s modest brownstone apartment.

“Sophie, I can’t do this,” I cried, gripping her right arm. “Please, let’s go back home. I don’t want to do this.”

“Too late,” she said. “You could have just not come.”

“Yeah, right. Like that was an option. You barreled into my place demanding we go, or else. Like I had a choice.”

We were only a street or two away and my stomach was in knots. I wanted to retch. What would happen? Would there be yelling? Punches? Cursing? Slammed doors? How about unanswered doors? The precariousness was too much to handle.

“I’m not getting out of the car,” I told her. “I don’t want to see him.” She tried to persuade me to join her while she planned to have it out with him, face-on, but I stood firm.

Then we arrived. There it was. The familiar apartment. The front room light was on. The street was silent save for the crickets’ chirping. There wasn’t a single pedestrian or neighbor in sight.
 

Great. No witnesses.

I looked over at Sophie, her neck veins looking as if they were starting to throb. “You sure you want to do this?” I asked.

“You sure you don’t?” Her eyes were wide; game-on. I nodded my certainty, and without a hiccough she got out of the car. “Your photos.” She held her hand out, her eyes begging for them.

“Oh, Sophie…” I groaned. “Not the drama.”

“Please, Robin.”
 

I reluctantly conceded. The situation was already high on drama. Why not add some fuel to the fire?

I watched intently (and in terror) as Sophie stormed up the steps of her old apartment, the fluttering reel of my baby’s photos in her hand. Breath held, window narrowly cracked so I could spy on what was sure to become an all out war, I tensely watched and waited.
 

Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home. Please don’t be—

A small movement of the front door, but no figure on the other side. Was it my imagination or was the front door actually opening? Sophie still stood stoically at the top step, both hands, made into fists, planted firmly on her hips. Then the door pried open slowly, slowly, still slowly, and then—there he was. Brandon. The door now wide open, Brandon standing there, a shocked expression covering his face, and Sophie still standing as stoically as ever.

I heard some muffled voices but couldn’t make out a single word.
 

Damn crickets.

I thought of cracking the window some more, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. If I was lucky, Brandon would never know I was in the car.

Well, there goes that plan. Sophie was suddenly pointing at me, abruptly shaking her finger in my direction. Brandon looked over and our eyes locked. I couldn’t help but quickly turn away.
 

Become invisible. You’re not here. This is not happening.

I could finally make out their words. Sophie was screaming at Brandon that he needed to grow up and do what was right by me. Brandon, whose voice wasn’t quite as shrill or loud, seemed to be making his case. I stole a swift glance, mad curiosity getting the best of me. Brandon had his hands jammed deep into his jean pockets and was rocking back and forth on his bare heels, calmly speaking inaudible words to Sophie. But Sophie wouldn’t hear it. She started flailing her hands about, a few curse words cropping up here and there, still shouting at him that all of this was his fault. He started shaking his head over and over and over, then he ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair, head cocked to one side, mouth slightly open. Sophie shoved my baby’s photos at him and his mouth fell agape.

“Take a look!” I heard her yell. “This is
your
baby!”

He had the pictures gripped in his fingers. He brought the reel up closer, furrowing his brow and shaking his head in what I knew to be denial. The pictures were handed back to Sophie.

A sudden urge to defend my unborn baby sprang forth, and I bolted out of the car. I didn’t like the fact that Sophie was showing him my baby’s photos, but what had I expected when she asked for them? With this mysterious newfound aplomb, my hands shaking and heart rate quickening with each step I took closer to Brandon, I forced myself to be brave and defend my baby.

Stand up for yourself, Robin. Stand up for your baby.
You can do it. Be brave.

“Robin,” Brandon said, sending my thought pattern askew.

My steps had started out briskly. I was overpowered by a sense of urgency and courage. Then, when Brandon called my name, I came to realize how displaced I felt by standing up and taking charge of the situation. What was I doing? I slowed my pace. Was I out of my mind? I became timid, asking myself why the hell I’d gotten out of the car. It seemed like a bold move at the time—but this wasn’t my style. What was I going to do now?

So stupid, Robin. Stupid. Stupid. What now?

Sophie came over to me and linked her arm in mine. She asked if I was all right and told me she’d take care of things, as if reading my mind, or perhaps my body language. I was going to crack at any moment. Run back to the car, tearing up, telling myself how foolish I was trying to stand down Brandon. Trying to stand up for myself and my baby. Doing this over the phone was one thing; attempting it in-person was social suicide for me. I just couldn’t do it.

But then, when I looked up at Brandon—his hands once again deeply sunk into his pockets, rocking on his bare heels, a smirk growing on his face—I summoned that boost of courage once more and told myself I could do this. If not for me, then for my unborn baby.

So I said, “Listen.”
 

Be as courageous as you were when you talked to him on the phone, Robin.

“I don’t want you to have anything to do with my baby,” I said. “It is my decision to have and raise this child and I want to do so without you. Sophie, here,” I looked at her and gave a very small but knowing smile, “is only doing what she thinks is best. She’s a bigger person than you’ll ever be. And…and…and so am I.” My hands were trembling, knees practically knocking; I persevered. “I’m never going to get rid of this baby. I never considered it. You wanting me to abort it tells me all I need to know about you, Brandon. I don’t want someone like you in my baby’s life.”
 

Sophie squeezed me close to her, giving me that extra vote of confidence I needed right then.
 

I continued. “She only thought I—
we
only thought you could have some decency and help out with some of the expenses at least.” I swallowed deeply, the frog in my throat abating. “I know I could take this to court and have you forced into paying child support. But to be quite frank with you, this is supposed to be an exciting and new time in my life. I don’t want to spend any of it in court, dealing with custody or support battles or any of that shit. I want to leave now and get on with my life. And I don’t want you to be a part of it.” I looked long and hard at him, his smirk gone, leaving him with nothing but an expressionless face.

Wow! Courage from nowhere…kind of nice.

I took my baby’s photos from Sophie and turned back towards the car, my hands and knees noticeably shaking and my heart pounding so loud and so hard and so fast I could feel it pulsate deep in my ears. I was nearly back at the car when Brandon spoke.

“I’ll send you what cash I can. When I can.” His response took me by surprise. I pivoted on my tottering legs. “I’m not a total dick,” he added, looking hard at Sophie. “And I promise I’ll stay out of your life, Robin. If that’s what you want.”

“If you don’t want to love and care for this baby, then yes, I want you to stay out of our lives.”

“Consider it done.”

I muttered a “thank you” for whatever reason, and as I was about to get into the car he said, “I’m sorry about this. You know, I never imagined something like this would happen.”

“My baby isn’t anything to be sorry about. But if you’re apologizing for—”

“I’m sorry things turned out like this for everyone,” he said. “And I’m sorry you’re going at this alone. I just don’t—”

“I know, I know. You don’t want this,” I said, the deafening pounding of my heartbeat in my ears starting to recede. I took in a shaky breath, then exhaled, closing my eyes briefly. “I’m okay with that now,” I said. “Come on, Sophie. I’m tired. Oh, and Brandon.” I looked at him one last time. “I’m not alone. Never was.” I looked to Sophie and said, “Let’s go home now.”