When You Least Expect It (17 page)

Mom frowned at me. “Why are you grimacing like that? Don’t. It makes you look like you’re one broken nail away from a nervous breakdown.”

I would have killed my mother right then and there, except that I had a feeling that would probably make an even worse impression on Lainey.

“What does fish oil do?” Lainey asked.

“It’s supposed to improve your memory. And it’s good for your skin,” Mom said.

“Really? How?”

“It’s chock-full of omega-3 fatty acids. Wonderful stuff, you can’t have too much of it. It keeps your skin clear, your cholesterol down, your brain working,” Mom enthused.

“Maybe I’ll try it,” Lainey said. “Being pregnant is making me break out. See?” She pointed to a tiny, barely noticeable red bump on her chin. “Isn’t that gross?”

“Fish oil will definitely help,” Mom said, examining the pimple.

“I think you should check with Dr. Jones before you start taking anything,” I cautioned.

“I’m sure it’s fine. It’s just fish oil,” Mom said.

“Even so,” I said.

When I was thirteen, my mom tried—unsuccessfully—to convince me to smoke pot to relieve menstrual cramps, so she was not someone I wanted giving medical advice to our birth mother. In fact, I was now having a terrifying vision of Mom talking Lainey into taking massive doses of fish oil and the baby being born with gills and covered in scales. I made a mental note to Google
fish oil birth defects
and decided to change the subject.

“The show I’m doing is going to feature portraits of women in different stages of pregnancy,” I said.

“I’m going to be in it,” Lainey said.

I smiled at her. “That’s right.”

My mother gave me a penetrating look. I wondered if she, like Jeremy, was going to lecture me on how masochistic it was for an infertile photographer to take maternity portraits. But instead, she said, “That’s an excellent idea.”

“It is?” I said, surprised.

“Of course! It’s a celebration of love and life and the ultimate female experience!” My mother placed a hand across her breast, as though she were about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. “It’s very powerful.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said, glancing sideways at Lainey. She was attempting to peel another apple.

“I’m going to write a series of poems to go along with your photographs,” Mom announced importantly. “All in free verse, each celebrating a different aspect of pregnancy. We’ll hang them on the walls next to the portraits, thereby creating both a visual and textual experience! What do you think?”

I knew what I thought: I hated the idea. The last thing I wanted was for people to be distracted from my photography by trying to make sense out of a series of poems with titles like “The Spermatozoon Strikes” and “My Journey Out: Meditations on a Birth in Process.”

“You write poetry?” Lainey asked, unexpectedly perking up.

“I do,” Mom said, coyly patting her gray curls.

“Cool,” Lainey said. “Are they in, like, books?”

Mom sniffed. “Modern-day publishing houses are corporate, profit-driven behemoths. They don’t support art, only crappy commercial pap.”

Unfortunately, Jeremy chose this moment to enter the kitchen, unseen by my mother and Lainey, who were both sitting with their backs to him. At the phrase
crappy commercial pap
, he arched his eyebrows at me.

Sorry
, I mouthed. Jeremy shrugged, and silently backed out of the kitchen before Mom saw him.

“These days, I only read the classics. And even then, I check them out of the library. I have some of my poems here,” Mom said, pulling a spiral notebook out of the battered cotton tote she used as a handbag. “Would you like to read one?”

“Sure,” Lainey said, reaching for the notebook.

“My friend David from poetry club is going to teach me how to set up a website, so I can self-publish my own poetry, as well as the works of other poets.”

“Cool,” Lainey said again, flipping open the notebook and leaning forward over it.

“I have to get going. Have fun, you two,” I said.

I tried not to let it bother me that neither one of them looked up when I left.

Bam-bam-bam
.

Lainey woke suddenly.
What the hell is that?
she wondered. She sat up and blinked blearily at the alarm clock: 10:53. Lainey yawned and rubbed her eyes, and then flopped back down on the bed, determined to go back to sleep.

Bam-bam-bam
. It was coming from the front door of the guesthouse.

“I’m coming,” Lainey said irritably. She slid out of bed and stalked to the front door, which she yanked open. “What do you want?”

She’d expected to find India standing there, making yet another annoying attempt to become Lainey’s best friend. But it wasn’t India. Instead, a small dark-haired girl was standing there. The girl, who was staring up at her with a frank curiosity, was wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with a glittery skull, a lime green tulle skirt, and purple-and-pink-striped stockings. Otis was behind her, sitting on his haunches, panting loudly.

“If you’re trick-or-treating, you’re a couple of months late,” Lainey told the girl.

“I’m Rose,” the girl said.

“Okay, Rose. Do you want to tell me why you’re knocking on my door at the crack of dawn?”

“It’s not the crack of dawn. It’s almost lunchtime. Why aren’t you wearing pants?” Rose asked.

Lainey looked down at herself. She was wearing panties and an extra-large T-shirt she’d stolen from Trav. It was screen printed with
CAN YOU COME BACK IN A FEW BEERS
?

“Can I come in?” Rose asked. “Jeremy used to let my brothers and me play Little Red Riding Hood in here.” Without waiting for Lainey’s permission, she stepped around her and walked into the cottage. “It looks really different now. It’s a lot messier than it used to be when it was Jeremy’s office.”

Lainey glanced around. The place was a mess. Piles of discarded clothes were heaped on the floor and leather chair, empty soda cans littered the coffee table, and piles of magazines—
People, Us, In Touch Weekly
—were stacked on the counter. Rose pushed aside a bra and a maternity shirt to clear herself a space on the sofa.

“Hold on,” Lainey said. She grabbed a pair of sweat shorts off the leather chair and pulled them on. “Who are you again?”

“I’m Rose Carrera. I’m eight. Are you really pregnant?”

“Yeah. How do you know India and Jeremy?”

“They’re my godparents. Are you going to give them your baby?”

“That’s the plan. So, what, are you over here visiting them or something?” Lainey asked.

Rose nodded. “My mom is having her highlights done, and my dad and brothers went to my older brother’s soccer game. I didn’t feel like going, so India said I could hang out here,” she said.

“And where’s India now? Does she know you’re out here?” Lainey sat down in the leather chair.

“No. She went to the store. She left Jeremy in charge, but he’s
on the computer. I thought you might want to play with me,” Rose said, with the air of a queen bestowing a great favor on a peasant.

“Oh, you did, did you?” Lainey crossed her arms, and attempted to stare Rose down. The younger girl didn’t seem at all fazed.

Rose nodded. “We could play Little Red Riding Hood. One of us has to get into bed and pretend to be the wolf. And then Little Red Riding Hood comes in and says, ‘Oh, what big ears you have.’”

“I know the story,” Lainey said. “I don’t think so, kid.” She yawned, and her stomach let out a loud gurgle.

“Are you hungry?” Rose asked.

“I’m always hungry. It’s the baby. He’s a pig.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to call a baby a pig,” Rose said disapprovingly. “And how do you know he’s a boy?”

“I don’t,” Lainey said.

“Rose? Where are you?” It was Jeremy, calling for the little girl outside. Lainey got up and opened the door to the guesthouse.

“She’s back here,” Lainey called to him.

Jeremy crossed the backyard, and hesitated at the front door.

“Rose, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Hi,” Rose said. “Did you think I was lost?”

“Nah. I’d never get rid of you so easily,” Jeremy teased her.

Rose stuck her tongue out at him. Jeremy mimicked her.

“Big meanie,” Rose said.

“Little twerp,” Jeremy said. He glanced at Lainey. “Did she wake you up?”

Lainey shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Lainey’s hungry. She said the baby is a pig,” Rose said.

“Tattletale!” Lainey said.

Rose smiled sweetly. “But India said we didn’t have any food in the house.”

“Did she? Well, it just so happens that I know where India hides all of the good stuff,” Jeremy said. “Follow me, ladies.”

When India arrived home twenty minutes later, Jeremy, Lainey, and Rose were sitting at the kitchen table, eating corn chips dipped in salsa and M&M’s.

“This is healthier than it looks,” Jeremy said. “The chips have fiber—I checked—and the salsa counts as a serving of vegetables.”

“And the M&M’s?” India asked, putting two bags of groceries up on the counter.

“They provide tasty goodness,” Jeremy explained. He stood and began helping India unload the groceries.

“I see you’ve met Rose,” India said, smiling at Lainey.

Lainey nodded and stuffed a chip in her mouth.

“After lunch, Lainey and I are going to play Little Red Riding Hood in the guesthouse. I’m going to be the wolf,” Rose announced.

“We are? I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Lainey said.

Jeremy grinned. “You might as well give in now. When it comes to Rose, resistance is futile.”

Lainey shrugged. “Okay, fine. But I want to be the wolf.”

Rose considered this. “Deal.”

“Now that we’ve worked that all out, who wants a sandwich?” India asked.

That evening, Lainey stood on a stool in the living room of Flaca’s apartment while Flaca pinned a topaz blue satin bridesmaid dress on her.

“I look like a blue tent,” Lainey said.

“I’m trying to figure out how much room to allow for your stomach to grow,” Flaca said. She stood back, frowning as she considered this. “I should have had my mom come over to pin this. She’s the one who will be doing the alterations. Do you think your boobs are going to get any bigger?”

“Who knows?” Lainey said, shrugging.

“Don’t shrug! You’ll make the pins fall out.”

Lainey stilled. “My boobs are getting huge, aren’t they? They’re almost as big as yours.”

“You always said you wanted a boob job,” Flaca said.

“First of all, I don’t get to keep them. And second, pregnant boobs are heavy. They hang low like cow udders. Moo.”

“You’re really not that big yet. How far along are you?”

“Only twenty weeks,” Lainey said mournfully. “Which means twenty long weeks of swelling to go.” She arched her back. “I need to sit down. My feet hurt.”

“Hold on,” Flaca said. She unzipped the dress and carefully lifted it off over Lainey’s head. “There. You can sit down now.”

Lainey pulled on her maternity shorts and T-shirt while Flaca folded the dress and set it aside.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Just water,” Lainey said.

Flaca went into her kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a soda. Lainey looked at the soda longingly.

“Do you want one?” Flaca asked, popping the can open.

“Yes, but I’m not supposed to drink soda,” Lainey said. “India would probably have a heart attack if she saw me.”

“So what is she like, anyway?”

“She’s okay, I guess. She tries too hard to be friends with me, which gets old. Did I tell you she wants to take my picture?”

“No. Why?”

“She’s a photographer, and I guess she’s having a bunch of pregnant women model for her. When they’re done, she’s going to have a show of the photographs at her studio. She asked me to be in it,” Lainey explained.

“That’s kind of weird, don’t you think? Photographs of pregnant chicks?”

“I don’t know. The way India described it, I thought it sounded kind of cool.”

“Are you going to do it?” Flaca asked.

“I guess so. I mean, why not, right?”

Flaca nodded. “I guess it could be fun. When is she taking your picture?”

“Tomorrow sometime.”

Lainey leaned back on Flaca’s sofa, tucking a cranberry red throw pillow behind her head. She yawned luxuriously.

“Tired?” Flaca asked sympathetically.

“At least I’m not throwing up anymore, which is a nice change after the three-month puke-athon. Doesn’t it suck that we’re the ones who have to go through this? Men have it so easy.”

“Speaking of men,” Flaca said, glancing sideways at Lainey, “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this or not, but I saw Trav at the bar the other night.”

“Do you really think Trav qualifies as a man?” Lainey asked.

“No, you’re right. He’s really more like one of those monkeys. You know, the ones with the big heads and long arms? What are they called? Not apes.”

“Baboons!” Lainey said gleefully. “Oh, my God, you’re right! He does look like a baboon!”

“Only dumber,” Flaca said.

“Obviously,” Lainey agreed. “He really is an idiot. I don’t know how I stayed with him as long as I did.”

Flaca hesitated. “When I saw him, he was with some girl.”

Lainey’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“I don’t know her. She was really muscular, though. You know, like one of those bodybuilder chicks.”

Lainey laughed bitterly. “Why am I not surprised? She’s probably some skank he picked up at the gym.”

“So you’re not mad?” Flaca asked. She let out a deep breath. “Good. I thought you’d be pissed off. I almost didn’t tell you.”

“I
am
pissed. I’m pissed that asshole is out partying with some slut, while I can’t even stay awake past nine o’clock. It’s not fair. I hate him.”

“I do, too,” Flaca said. She held out her soda, and she and Lainey clinked their drinks together.

“I just want this pregnancy to be over, so I can get on with my life. I’m so sick of it,” Lainey said.

“Do you know what you’re having yet? A boy or a girl?”

“No. India decided she wanted to be surprised, so we didn’t find out.” Lainey rolled her eyes. “Lame.”