The Nine Month Plan

by Wendy Markham

  This isn’t about Joe, or Nina, or their being together in the past or apart in the future.

  This is about the power to create a miracle, right here, right now.

  When it was over, he collapsed against her, and she stroked his head, uncertain whether he was asleep or just physically and emotionally spent. But she wondered then, as she has for all these years, whether he had been imagining that she was Minnie that night. Was that why he had seemed so startled when she spoke?

  She yearned to be more to him than a one-­night stand-­in for his runaway bride, more than a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to lean on. . .

  When Joe moans and his body begins to shudder, Nina squeezes her eyes shut and prays.

  He collapses against her, panting, his cheek against her shoulder. She strokes his hair.

  “Nina . . .” He lifts his head. “You didn’t . . .”

  “It’s okay.”

  “But . . .”

  “You’re the only one who has to, Joe,” she says with a smile. “I can still get pregnant if I don’t.”

  “I know, but I wanted you to.”

  “Why?”

  He kisses her. Deeply.

  “Spend the night, Nina,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Okay? We can try again.”

  Suddenly, she doesn’t know whether he’s just talking about getting her pregnant.

  Nina wants nothing more than to spend the night with Joe, in his bed, in his arms. But . . .

  “I can think of a million reasons why I shouldn’t stay,” she tells him.

  “Really? Name one.”

  “Pop will worry.”

  “He’ll never even realize it. He sleeps like a log. If I turn off the window fan we’ll probably be able to hear him snoring from here.”

  “Okay, that’s true. But . . .”

  “But what, Nina?” He kisses her again. “Come on. Spend the night. Just tonight. After this, we’ll be back to being best buds. We’ll never have another chance to . . .”

  “Make a baby? Because that’s what this is about, remember, Joey?” She traces his jaw with her fingertip.

  “Yeah, of course I remember. I just didn’t expect it to be so . . . good. Between us.”

  Secretly pleased, she asks lightly, “What were you expecting?”

  “I thought it might be awkward,” he admits. “But it wasn’t. And it isn’t. Not even now.”

  “No. It isn’t. I thought the same thing, but you’re right. This isn’t awkward. I guess it’s because we know each other so well.”

  “Yeah, I thought we did. But there’s this side of you that I never really saw before now, Nina.”

  “Uh-­oh.” Her stomach does a mini-­flip. “What do you mean by that?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

  “It’s okay. I think I know what you mean.” She’s glimpsed a tender, intense side of Joe that she’s never seen before. It’s left her somehow simultaneously shaken and reassured.

  He strokes her hair. “Stay, Nina. Okay? Stay with me. It’s now or never.”

  She opens her mouth to tell him she can’t, and an enormous yawn slips out instead.

  “Maybe just for a while,” she agrees.

  Because he’s right. It’s now or never.

  Just for tonight, they can pretend that they’re more than friends. Just for tonight, they can hold each other, and kiss, and make love. Just for tonight, she can drift off to sleep in Joe’s arms, feeling as though she belongs there.

  He rolls onto his back, snuggling her against his chest.

  Nina yawns again, her eyelids fluttering closed.

  Her last thought, as she drifts off to sleep, is that somewhere deep inside her, a life might have just begun.

  JOE WAKES SLOWLY, blinking in the dim light that filters through the cracks around the edges of the window shades.

  Conscious of Nina’s warm weight cradled against him, he turns his head slightly, just enough to check the clock on the nightstand.

  It’s not quite five-­thirty.

  Good.

  They can sleep for a few more hours, at least.

  He closes his eyes again, listening to Nina’s even breathing, feeling her bare breasts rise and fall against his naked chest. Her head is snuggled against his shoulder, her fingers tucked around his waist, her legs entwined with his.

  This is what it would be like to wake up with Nina every morning of my life. . .

  Struck by the bizarre thought, Joe opens his eyes abruptly, instinctively fighting the urge to bolt upright.

  That, of course would wake Nina.

  And if she wakes up, she’ll leave.

  Joe doesn’t want her to leave.

  But just because he doesn’t want her to leave now doesn’t mean . . .

  Well, what the heck was that all about?

  Waking up with Nina every morning for the rest of his life?

  Why would he even think something like that? Spending his life with Nina isn’t an option. What on earth would have put an idea like that into his head?

  Well gee, maybe it’s that you’re trying to conceive a child together.

  Yes, but this is about the baby. It isn’t about them. It isn’t about taking their relationship a step further, from friendship to . . .

  Well, to anything else.

  So what if right here, right now, it’s entirely too easy to imagine falling in love with Nina?

  So what if for the first time in his life, Joe has awakened with a woman in his arms and gone out of his way to keep her here?

  His arm is tingling with pins and needles he could alleviate by moving it to another position—­such as out from under Nina—­but that might wake her, and then she’d leave.

  And when she leaves, this night will be officially over.

  He’ll never again be this close to Nina.

  Every morning he wakes without her will bring him closer to the moment she leaves for good.

  Even if she’s pregnant.

  But if she’s pregnant, he’ll always have a part of her with him. He’ll have their child. Maybe a little girl with Nina’s teasing brown eyes and capable hands, or a little boy with her quick grin and hearty appetite.

  A child.

  Nina’s child.

  Just yesterday, he had thought that was all he’d ever need.

  Now he wonders if it will be enough for him.

  Maybe seeing a miniature version of Nina every day will make him miss her more than he’d ever imagined would be possible.

  Maybe it will make him want the impossible.

  Joe exhales heavily.

  Fatherhood will have to be enough, he tells himself, his heavy eyelids drifting closed again, Nina still sleeping peacefully in his arms and everything right in his world—­if only just for now.

  Chapter Seven

  WALKING DOWN THE elevated subway steps in Astoria on a drizzly Tuesday night in September, briefcase in hand, Joe decides that he’s just had the worst day of his career.

  It began at a breakfast meeting with the notoriously unpleasant president of a foreign bank, who complained about the restaurant, the table, the coffee, the ser­vice, and the weather. He then sent back a perfectly acceptable order of french toast because it was garnished with a strawberry. Apparently, the bank president detests strawberries as wholeheartedly as Joe detests the bank president.

  Then Joe’s secretary called in sick for the third day in a row, and the temp agency sent over a scantily dressed aspiring actress who was afraid of breaking a nail on the computer keyboard.

  It took him twenty minutes to get a cab in the rain at lunchtime. The President of the United States was in town for a meeting at the UN, which meant traffic barricades galore. When Joe finally reached the midtown restaurant where he was meeting a client, t
hey had misplaced his reservation and it was a full hour before he could get a lousy table near the restrooms.

  This afternoon, after three stressful meetings, the incompetent temp accidentally spilled a cup of steaming coffee in his lap. He blew up at her, then quickly apologized, which didn’t stop her from leaving an hour early, in tears and threatening to sue. Then he found out that the corporate travel agency had inadvertently canceled his upcoming hotel reservations in Tokyo.

  To top it all off, he’s had a pounding headache all day. And he forgot his umbrella at the office.

  Now, as he steps out onto the street into the rain, all he wants is to take a ­couple of ibuprofen and collapse on the couch in front of the Yankee game with a ­couple of slices of pizza left over from the sausage pie Nina brought over after work last night.

  It was just like old times, hanging out with Nina, watching baseball, eating pizza, and drinking beer.

  That is, Joe drank beer. Nina drank water. She’s sworn off alcohol until she knows whether she’s pregnant.

  “Do you feel pregnant?” Joe can’t help asking her every time he sees her.

  To which Nina tends to reply, more and more testily, “How would I know? I’ve never been pregnant.”

  She certainly doesn’t look pregnant. But it’s only been two weeks. It’s not as though she’d be sprouting a round belly yet.

  And it’s not as though she’ll hold out on him when and if she discovers that she is pregnant. Or not.

  But Joe can’t seem to help asking. Often.

  Nor can he seem to help going over every detail of their night together. And not just in a technical way, evaluating the likelihood of whether or not they’d made a baby.

  No, more in an aroused, longing, romantic way.

  But every time he finds himself caught up in fantasies of making love to Nina, he stops those thoughts cold. Because Nina is . . .

  Well, she’s just plain Nina.

  His best friend.

  She was just plain Nina before that night and she was just plain Nina after that night, and she’ll be just plain Nina even if she’s carrying his baby for the next eight and a half months.

  Damn. Ducking his head as the rain drips down, Joe rubs his temples. His head is throbbing.

  The light turns and he splashes across Ditmars Boulevard, glancing at the drugstore on the corner. Is there any ibuprofen left in the medicine cabinet at home? Lord knows he needs it.

  Might as well stop and get some, just to be safe.

  Inside the store, a blast of cold air sends a chill through his wet clothes, raising goosebumps on his skin. Geez. You’d think they’d realize that it’s raining out and it’s time to turn off the air-­conditioning. Joe might even have to dig out an extra blanket for his bed tonight.

  He makes his way up and down the aisles, getting not just ibuprofen but a ten-­pack of his favorite brand of cinnamon gum, razor blades, cotton swabs, and the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. . .

  Hmm.

  What else does he need?

  Certainly nothing in this aisle, he realizes, finding himself in front of a display of sanitary napkins.

  He’s about to beat a hasty retreat when his gaze falls on a pregnancy test kit on the top shelf.

  Make that an early pregnancy test kit.

  The kind that, according to the small print on the back of the box, can accurately detect pregnancy hormones even before a missed period.

  Smiling for the first time all day, Joe carries the test kit to the counter with the rest of his purchases.

  “NOW WHAT?” NINA asks, coming out of Joe’s bathroom with the small white stick held gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Now we wait,” he says, taking it from her with the detached efficiency of a lab technician who couldn’t care less that she’s just peed all over the other end.

  He inserts the stick into the plastic holder that came with the kit, plops it on the kitchen table, and sets the stove timer for three minutes.

  “I can’t believe you dragged me out of bed for this,” Nina says around a yawn. She sinks into a kitchen chair, pulling her bare knees up to her chest and wishing she’d taken the time to get dressed. She’s wearing flannel boxers and a long-­sleeved T-­shirt.

  “I can’t believe you aren’t more anxious to find out whether you’re pregnant.” Joe takes two bottles of water from the fridge and offers her one.

  “My period isn’t even late yet.”

  “Which doesn’t matter because this test is accurate before it’s late. And anyway, it was due today, right? Which means—­”

  “Which means nothing, Joey. Not yet.” Nina twists the cap off her water and takes a gulp.

  “You didn’t get it today.”

  She glances at the plastic tomato-­shaped wall clock hanging above the table. “Today isn’t over for another hour and a half, Joey. And I’d planned to spend that hour and a half in bed, out cold, until you showed up and dragged me out into the rain in my pajamas.”

  “I told you we could’ve done the test at your place. I would’ve waited till Ralphie got out of the bathroom so you could do it in there.”

  “Ralphie rarely comes out of the bathroom these days,” Nina says wryly. “I swear, he takes three showers a night. And I think he’s trying to learn to shave. His cheeks are all knicked up. I told Dom to show him how but he says Ralphie doesn’t need to shave yet.”

  “He doesn’t. And he’s the only Italian male teenager I’ve ever seen without facial hair. I think I started shaving at twelve,” Joe says, returning to the fridge and rummaging through it.

  Nina grins. “Your mother used to say you were born with a five-­o’clock shadow.”

  “It was true.”

  “Well, maybe you can have a talk with Ralphie.”

  “About the birds and the bees?”

  “About shaving. I think he already knows about the birds and the bees.”

  “Well, if all he knows about it is what Sister Mary Agnes taught him in tenth-­grade health class, I might need to straighten out a few things. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  “Good. I tried to bring it up last weekend—­” When Nina drove her brother upstate to look at a ­couple of colleges—­“but all he wanted to do was listen to music the whole trip. The rental car had a CD player.”

  “I can tell by your expression that wasn’t a good thing. Want some pizza?”

  “No thanks.”

  “What? You’re not hungry? You’re always hungry.”

  “Not right now. All I want is to go back to bed.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious about whether you’re pregnant?”

  Of course she’s curious. So curious that she’s spent the past two weeks analyzing every little twinge below her neck.

  Half the time, she’s convinced that she’s pregnant.

  The other half, she’s convinced that she’s not.

  And if she’s not, she isn’t in any hurry to find out.

  If you’re not, you can always try again, she reminds herself.

  No, she can’t. She already told herself—­and Joe—­that this was it. Their one shot to create a baby.

  After this, it’ll be too late to try again. A baby due in summer won’t fit into the plan. And Nina’s had this plan for years. She’s sticking to it.

  A baby due after June isn’t meant to be.

  So if she’s not pregnant now, she isn’t meant to be. It’s as simple as that.

  Joe arranges three slices of leftover pizza on a cookie sheet and sticks it into the oven. He glances at the timer as he shuts the oven door.

  “One more minute,” he informs Nina as he sits across from her at the small table.

  She nods, sipping more water.

  Her stomach feels fluttery. Is that because there’s a baby in there? Or
because she’s afraid she’s about to find out that there isn’t?

  “You know, if this test comes out negative, we can give it one more try,” Joe says.

  “The test?”

  “No. Getting you pregnant. In a few weeks, when you’re—­”

  “No way. We already agreed, Joe. It was now or never. Remember?”

  “I remember.” He shrugs. “Thanks to a scalding cup of coffee in my lap today, it probably wouldn’t work anyway.”

  “What?”

  He tells her about the bumbling temp secretary. And about his awful day. He’s in the middle of a hilarious imitation of the foreign bank president’s disdain when the stove timer buzzes abruptly.

  “I guess that’s it,” Joe says. “Want to check the stick?”

  “You look.” Nina’s heart is pounding. “I can’t stand the suspense.”

  “Okay.”

  He takes a deep breath.

  Nina squeezes her eyes shut.

  Please, God. Please. Please . . .

  She hears Joe exhale.

  Heavily.

  “Negative.”

  Nina’s eyes pop open. Her heart is in a freefall.

  “Negative?” she echoes.

  Joe nods. “You’re not pregnant.”

  “Can I see?”

  He hands her the stick.

  He’s right.

  There’s no red line in the little window.

  There’s no baby in her womb.

  The sudden queasiness in her stomach is caused only by crushing disappointment, and nothing else.

  “I guess it wasn’t meant to be,” Nina says dully.

  “I guess not.”

  She looks at Joe.

  His head is hanging. He looks sad. Defeated.

  Nina wants to tell him that she’s changed her mind. That she’ll try again. And again. That they can try for as long as it takes. That she’ll stay next summer. Even longer, if she has to.

  She opens her mouth.

  But Joe is already speaking. “You know, it’s probably better this way, Nina,” he tells her.

  “What do you mean?”

  He looks up, into her eyes. “I wasn’t so sure you’d be capable.”

  Fury bubbles up inside of her. “What do you mean I’m not capable? I might not like pain, but who does? I’m perfectly capable of—­”