When Girlfriends Step Up (3 page)

The baby—my baby—hadn’t arrived yet, and Brandon was still clueless about the news, yet my life was already in the process of changing dramatically. It was changing physically, mentally, financially; in every possible way this baby of mine was going to change my life. I wasn’t ready, but did I have a choice? The moment I learned I was pregnant, I knew it meant I was going to be a mother. Period. My baby wasn’t going anywhere. Whether or not Brandon wanted to help, I was going to keep my baby, raise it, and love it unconditionally. The journey, though… God help me it was going to be a rough trip.

***

“Is there anything that you absolutely cannot stand eating?” Sophie asked that evening, skimming through the list of recommended take out eateries she’d pulled up on her iPhone. “Any foods you get sick over? Or how about cravings? Do you have those yet?”

I reached for my new book,
You’re Going to Be a Mother,
which I had picked up at one of my favorite local bookstores when I first had a hint that I might be pregnant. Once I missed my period for a second month in a row I didn’t run out and buy a home pregnancy test. Rather, I bought a book about what to expect if a baby really is on its way. It was much easier reading about the signs of pregnancy than actually seeing the big plus sign staring at me, via a pee-covered stick, over the bathroom sink.

“This book has everything in it,” I said, and tossed my baby bible her way. “Everything from cravings and morning sickness, to pregnancy and post-delivery hemorrhoids. It’s kind of disturbing sometimes. Did you know that morning sickness can come at any time, by the way? Why the heck do they call it morning sickness when you can get it any hour of the day?”

Sophie made a twisted face and started to flip through the pages. “You don’t waste time, girl,” she said. “This is an in-depth preggo guide. When did you get this? This morning when you got those tests?”

“A couple weeks ago. At Randy’s.”

“Oh my—Robin!” Her exclamation made me jump. “I saw you shopping there. Like a week-and-a-half ago.”

I hadn’t seen her; I was certain of that. Had I, I can only imagine what an awkward situation that would have been.
 

Hi, nice to run into you unexpectedly. Haven’t talked to you in nearly two months. And you probably hate me. So…uh…want to talk about how I screwed up our friendship by screwing your boyfriend?
 

Yeah, not so smooth.

“Well, anyhow,” Sophie said, holding up the book. “So this is what you picked up? God, Robin, I can’t believe you’ve had to go through all of this alone. Does Lara even know?”

I hadn’t told Lara that I thought I might be pregnant, because up until that morning, when the pile of positive preggo strips confirmed the little bundle, I was in denial. No use in spreading a rumor that might not be true.

After I rattled off the list of foods that had mysteriously started to make me gag recently (hardboiled eggs, fried chicken, French fries, fried onions, fried anything, tomato sauce, pineapple, and, oddly enough, cinnamon), Sophie quickly narrowed down our dining choices to Mexican or seafood.

“I don’t think I can do fish,” I said, recalling skimming over the book’s section of recommended foods to avoid during pregnancy. “Gee, I wonder what Japanese women do?” There was a thought. “I bet they eat fish anyway.”

“We’re not going to second-guess this book, missy,” Sophie protested, still looking through it. “This book says no fish, then no fish for you. It’s Mexican then. Pineapple-free. No fried food. No fear of tomato sauce, just don’t get any enchiladas. Oh wait! It says here that—here, I’ll read it.” She looked like a little girl on Christmas morning, delighted over the plethora of gifts stuffed under the tree. It was endearing to see how excited she was about this whole situation. I started to feel a little more upbeat about everything. There was still a gnawing pang in my gut that held every possible worry about being pregnant, single, and without much of a plan. But there was comfort, friendship, and a baby with whom I was actually starting to feel a connection. A bond and a growing love, however small. I smiled as Sophie started to read excitedly.

“It says, ‘Come the second trimester, your morning sickness will fade and you will once again be able to eat the foods that made you nauseous those first few months.’” She looked up at me, a huge grin on her face. “That’s great news!” Then she read on. “‘During that second trimester, not only will you be able to enjoy some of the foods you may have been missing out on, but you’ll discover newfound cravings. The quantities you will want of these cravings may surprise you, but have no fear—this is completely normal. It is also normal to put on a decent amount of weight at this point.’” She stopped reading and closed the book. My groaning said it all.
 

Great, soon I was going to become huge!

“We’ll just save that reading for another time,” she said. She returned her attention to her cell phone, in search of a dinner option that I could handle. “One step at a time, girlfriend. Right now we need to concentrate on getting us some dinner, because afterward we’ve got to put together a game plan.”

Brandon. How were we going to pull this one off?

***

“I think we should wait until after I go to the doctor,” I told Sophie, as I stretched out on the sofa, unbuttoning my jeans. The baby book said I wouldn’t start showing or really gaining weight for another few weeks. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that a bowl of pinto beans and a large helping of salsa loaded with onions and garlic could make a girl need to undo her pants and lie around, bloated and immobilized.

“That’s a stupid idea,” she said. She was back to reading through the baby book, seated nearby on the floor.

“I think it’s brilliant. Let’s see how long we can go before telling Brandon. Come on,” I kidded, giving her head a loving little shove. It felt so good to have Sophie back. Even through all of this madness, she was right there beside me, guarding my back—best friends despite all that had happened. Even despite the current situation.

“Robin, Brandon needs to know. Let’s get that out of the way. And speaking of a doctor’s appointment, we need to get that figured out, too.”

“How do you suggest we tell Brandon?” I asked. “Just call him up? Say, ‘Hey, Brandon. Not that I meant to ever talk to you again but, uh, I’m having your baby. Thought you should know.’?”

“I didn’t say it’d be easy,” she said. “And I don’t really know how to do this either, but that’s what we need to figure out. Look, I’ve still got his phone number. We know where he lives. It’s not like finding him is going to be a problem. We just need to figure out when…and how.”

“Yeah,” I said. “The
difficult
stuff. I don’t want to do this. Let’s forget about it all. I’m sure Brandon doesn’t want anything to do with me or the baby anyway. Why borrow trouble? And besides, I have a decent job. I can manage on my own. ”

That wasn’t a lie. I had a secure and well-paying job as a graphic designer with Forster & Banks, a small yet distinguished publishing company in town, in the lively and peculiar Seattle neighborhood of Fremont. I had churned out plenty of fine book covers and was actually up for a pay raise in the next month or two. I didn’t need some guy’s pity pocket change to help me take care of my baby.

“It’s the principle,” she said. “It’s his responsibility. Whether you want anything from him or not, we can figure that out later. For now we’ve got to let him know. Get this out of the way.”

So just like that we started to work on our plan for delivering the news to Brandon; and we even made a list of a few obstetricians I could make an appointment with the following morning. We worked right up until a must-see rerun of
Beverly Hills: 90210
came on. Sophie insisted we turn off the melodramatic soap and finish our plan, but I told her that I was the one with raging hormones in a delicate predicament. Pregnant chick: Score 1. Play on, Walsh family.

Chapter Two

“Thank you very much. Please call me back at your earliest convenience,” I said into my cell phone, reciting my phone number once again to a doctor’s voicemail, one of the three physicians Sophie and I had found online the night before.

I glanced at my watch. Ten after nine. “Dammit.” Normally I was never late to work, but I was eager to make an appointment with an obstetrician. The more that Sophie read from the book
You’re Going to Be a Mother,
the more nervous we became and the more set we were on making my first doctor’s appointment a priority.

I headed out to my Nissan Sentra without so much as giving myself a once-over before locking up. If I had corn flakes stuck to my front teeth, or toothpaste around the edges of my lips, or a few too many hairs out of place, I wouldn’t have known. With that possible pay raise coming my way in the very near future, I didn’t want to be any later than I already was for work. Besides, there was talk about a possible new project manager position opening up next spring for an up-and-coming chick lit author from the firm’s very own hometown of Seattle. I didn’t get the last PM position that I fiercely wanted; all the more reason I was revved up to nab this one.

I started to make a beeline for my office the moment I stepped through the front doors. “Hi, Bobby,” I said briskly with my eyes cast down at the floor, buzzing right on past him in the hall.

“Hey…” replied Bobby Holman, a fellow graphic designer, his voice trailing as I put swift distance between us.

“Morning,” I then said to my fellow officemate, Janet. As expected, and by the looks of her lipstick-stained coffee mug, Janet had arrived promptly, and then some. She had a hot, steaming, and
full
mug of black coffee. A full mug at nearly a quarter to ten meant she was already on her second helping. Which certainly meant she had been in the office awhile.
 

Dammit. Now she’s one up on me today. I’ll be furious if she gets that promotion instead of me…

Bobby’s voice broke my train of thought as I tucked my knock-off Dooney and Bourke bag into my bottom desk drawer.

“Huh, what?” I was as discombobulated as I had been since, well, yesterday.

“Everything all right?” he asked in a low voice. He approached my desk, not paying an ounce of attention to Janet, who was leaning back her swivel chair in an ever so obvious manner and tilting her head our way.

Eavesdropper.

“Huh?” Still out of it.

“Everything all right?” Bobby rested both palms on the edges of the front of my desk after setting down a piping mug of coffee for me. Coffee with a spoonful of cream and one cube of sugar—he knew precisely how I took my morning java. Charming? Or matter of habit after working together for nearly three years? No, couldn’t be. Charming, maybe? I stopped my pondering mind before it wandered down another path of random thought.

“Thanks,” I said. “I, uh…” I caught the scent of his cologne. I had been trying to figure out what brand it was for the longest time. Whenever I walked by the fragrance section of Nordstrom’s I’d sometimes think I smelled Bobby’s choice of cologne. But I could never quite peg it. Silly me. I guess I could have asked him. But wouldn’t that look a bit presumptuous? It’s not like I should have been interested in the brand of cologne he wore. It’s not like I needed a come-on with him or wanted to flirt. That’s a silly notion. I wasn’t into Bobby that way anyhow… Besides, he had a girlfriend, and it seemed serious. At least that’s what the picture of the two of them in Trafalgar Square, which had been sitting on his desk since he started working for Forster & Banks a few years ago, seemed to suggest. Take a girl to London, it must be serious. Must be real love.

“Robin?” Bobby said. “Is everything all right with you? Did you get into a fender bender or something?”

“Huh? Oh! I’m fine,” I said, finally gathering my bearings and making a mental note to stop all other mental notes. “Absolutely fine. No problems.”

“You’re certain? You look a bit pale.”

“Oh that…no. Do I?” I was tripping over my words. “No, I…uh…just had to deal with the doctor’s office this morning. That’s all. Running late because of…” I caught Janet’s stare, which she quickly cut short, going right back to whatever über productive thing she was working on. “…Because of…yeah, dealing with the doctor’s office.” I grabbed a click pen and starting clicking it for no particular reason, smiling up at Bobby. “That’s all.” I was about to flash him a toothy grin but decided against it. Corn flakes could have taken up residence. I reminded myself to run to the bathroom to check my appearance once Bobby left.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, giving two knocks on my desk before turning on his heels. “What Forster & Banks would do if Robin Sinclair weren’t working her magic I don’t know.” He gave me a playful wink before he left the office, leaving me alone with my horrible officemate.

“Good morning, Janet,” I said again, trying to sound as kosher as possible. I took a sip of my coffee. Bobby had prepared it perfectly.

“Morning,” she said, just as kosher.

Janet Horn and I never saw eye-to-eye. She came into the firm a few months after I had been hired on full-time following my stint as an intern my last semester at U Dub. She moved into my office space—the only available desk at the time—and came on board as if she had some royal prerogative. She had mentioned it to me on more than a few occasions that she was only at our small firm to get a shoo-in to the “bigger and better firms out there”—her words entirely.
 

Forster & Banks would just as soon be forgotten whenever Miss Janet got the call from some big shot over in New York, London, or where have you. Her brazen determination to climb the ranks and hold out for a golden offer elsewhere spilled into her everyday interactions with fellow “minions” like me and Bobby. Unless you were Forster & Banks’s
Board of Directors, you got the cold and determined shoulder from Janet Horn. But Janet did do one thing that I could respect: She worked her butt off. I think getting the hell out of Dodge was what helped keep her so driven. I say, let her go to New York or some big shot city. I’d be quite content with landing the PM job with the firm that’s been my happy home for the past three-and-a-half years. I had no plans to move away from Seattle, and certainly no plans of seeking employment elsewhere. With a baby on the way such thoughts were absurd.