The Nine Month Plan

by Wendy Markham

He looks up to see Nina gazing thoughtfully at him, chin in hand.

  “No! Why would you think I’ve changed my mind?”

  “Because you look sort of . . . not as enthusiastic as you were the other day.”

  “If anything, Nina, I’m more enthusiastic. I even bought the baby his first teddy bear, remember? Which reminds me . . . it’s for your stuffed animal collection, in case Dom asks you.”

  “Oh. Clever cover,” she says dryly, with an exaggerated wink.

  “How have you been feeling?”

  “Still yucky. And exhausted. And when I’m not throwing up, I’m eating everything in sight.”

  “That’s normal, right?”

  “I guess.” She shrugs. “Listen, you want to hang out tomorrow night? I’m doing the early shift at the restaurant again so that I can catch Ralphie’s soccer game at six, and then I’m off the rest of the night. My grandmother’s going to be here, but she goes to bed at, like, seven-­thirty. So I’m free.”

  “Tomorrow night? Yeah, I—­oh, wait. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a date,” he says, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

  “A date?”

  “Yeah. With Susannah.”

  “You’re going on a second date with her?”

  “Didn’t Rosalee tell you?”

  “No. But that’s great.” Nina smiles brightly at him.

  It’s a fake smile. He can see right through her. What he doesn’t get is . . .

  “Why don’t you want me to go out with Susannah?”

  “Who says I don’t want you to go out with Susannah? I’m the one who brought you together in the first place, remember?”

  “Yeah, but that was before you were . . .”

  “Pregnant with your child?” She throws up her hands. “Joey, this baby and your love life are two separate things. One has nothing to do with the other. Go out on your date with Susannah. Maybe you’ll fall in love with her and marry her and she can be the baby’s mother.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I mean, you never know. She was nice. Pretty, too, just like you thought.” He waits for Nina to ask him for more details.

  Instead, she stands up, yawning. Loudly.

  And stretching. Widely. So widely that the hand holding the teddy bear bumps the framed photo of Ralphie on the wall beside the stairs.

  “Careful.” Joe jumps up to steady the rocking frame before it falls off the hook.

  “Thanks. I have to go back to bed. I’m beat.” Cradling the teddy bear in her arms, Nina heads back up the stairs. “You can let yourself out, right?”

  “Sure.” He hesitates, watching her. “Nina? I can always cancel the date. You know that, right?”

  “Why would you do that?” She keeps right on climbing.

  “Because you have the night off.”

  “Yeah, but you and I can hang out anytime. Go with Susannah. After all, you have to get busy finding this kid a mother.”

  “Shh. Dom’ll hear you,” he cautions.

  “Not with the TV blasting. ’Night, Joey.” Nina disappears down the upstairs hallway.

  A second later, he hears her bedroom door close.

  Not close, exactly. More like . . .

  Slam.

  As though she’s ticked off.

  About his date with Susannah?

  Maybe she’s jealous. Just as he was jealous of the burly guy.

  But he isn’t quite sure how to handle her jealousy, if that’s what it is. Just as he isn’t quite sure how to handle his own.

  One thing’s for certain.

  It’s not exactly going to be easy for Nina to date anyone in the months ahead.

  Armed with that comforting thought, Joe picks up his luggage and trudges wearily home through piles of brittle fallen leaves.

  “WHAT’S A YOUNG beauty like you doing here on a Friday night, anyway?”

  “You’re sweet, Mr. Cebriones,” Nina says, handing him the box containing his pizza. “I told my sister I’d cover her shift since I didn’t have any plans tonight. Her fiancé was off, so . . .”

  “So you thought they should spend some time together. I hope Rosalee appreciates you,” Mr. Cebriones tells Nina. “I hope they all do, your brothers, too, the way you look out for them all the time.”

  “Oh, they do,” Nina says, remembering how she had to beg Rosalee to give up her night shift.

  “I don’t mind working, Nina, really. You deserve a Friday night off, too,” Ro had said.

  She’s been so exhausted lately that it really was tempting to take it. She has a pile of library books to catch up on, including an enticing one about traveling in Provence, and it’s due back on Monday.

  But she knew that if she went straight home tonight after the soccer game, instead of reading—­or sleeping—­she’d have to deal with her grandmother. The sharp-­eyed old lady doesn’t miss much. What if she somehow senses what’s going on with Nina? Tomorrow is soon enough to face that possibility.

  Even worse than a confrontation with Grandma, if Nina were home tonight, she might find herself thinking about Joey. More specifically, about Joey out on his date with Susannah.

  It’s not as though the thought of them hasn’t crossed her mind in the last few hours, as she waited on customers, bused tables, and took turns on the register with her cousin Cara.

  But at least she’s been busy enough here to be distracted, instead of moping around at home.

  And mope she has, these last few days. Maybe it’s hormonal. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Why else would she find herself crying for no reason?

  And why else would she find herself lusting after Joey, for God’s sake? When she’s not waking from an erotic dream about him, she’s fantasizing about him—­about the two of them, together, naked and passionate.

  Yup, it has to be hormones.

  “You need to find yourself a nice man like your sister did,” Mr. Cebriones advises, his brown eyes tinged with concern behind his glasses. “You’re not too old to settle down and have babies. Mary was in her forties when she had our youngest two.”

  “I’m not in my forties yet,” Nina protests.

  “I know, I know, you can’t be more than what? Twenty-­nine?”

  “For that, Mr. Cebriones, I’ll throw in a free minestrone,” Nina says. “Let’s just say thirty is a pleasant memory, and forty is looming.”

  “Well, I’m just saying . . .” Mr. Cebriones shakes his balding head. “You deserve love. Everybody deserves love.”

  “Oh, I have love, Mr. Cebriones.” Nina smiles reassuringly as she hands him a bag holding a paper container filled with minestrone.

  “Not family love. Although you deserve that, too. I’m talking about romantic love. You deserve to fall in love, Nina.”

  “Who says I haven’t?” She winks at him. “And anyway—­”

  The bell above the door jangles as it opens. A gust of cool night air blows in from the street, and with it, Joe Materi.

  Nina’s jaw drops.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Wall Street wizard,” Mr. Cebriones says.

  “Hi, Mr. C. Hey, Nina.”

  “What’s up, Joey?” she murmurs, wondering what he’s doing here. It isn’t even ten o’clock yet—­too early for him to have dropped off his date.

  Balancing his soup on the pizza box, Mr. Cebriones heads toward the door. “I’ll let you two chat. Have a good night.”

  The door jangles again, and he’s gone.

  “Where’s Cara?” Joe asks. She notices that he’s wearing a suit and tie beneath his dark overcoat, and he’s carrying his briefcase. “Isn’t she working with you tonight?”

  “She’s in the kitchen. Where’s Susannah?”

  “I don’t know. Probably home.”

  “Why aren’t th
e two of you at that comedy club? Wasn’t that supposed to be tonight?” Nina leans on the counter and props her chin on her hand, partly to look casual, partly to take the pressure off her aching back. It’s been a long day.

  “It was supposed to be tonight,” Joe says, “but I canceled.”

  “Why? Did you have to work late?”

  “Yeah, but I canceled this morning. And not because of work.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of you.”

  “What?” She gapes at him. “You canceled your date because of me? What are you talking about, Joey?”

  “I knew you were upset and—­”

  “I was not upset!”

  “Okay, maybe you weren’t—­” Not that he looks as though he buys that—­“But you didn’t seem happy about me going out with her, now that you’re pregnant.”

  “That has nothing to do with anything,” Nina lies.

  “Of course it does, Nina. How can I expect you to carry my baby for the next nine months—­”

  “Seven months, Joey.”

  “Okay, seven months. How can I expect you to carry my baby for the next seven months while I’m out dating other women and having a good time?”

  “Don’t let me stop you from having a good time,” Nina says darkly. “By all means, you should go out and—­”

  “Nina, cut it out.”

  “What?”

  “The attitude. Stop being so b—­” He breaks off, clears his throat, and amends, “Cranky. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Okay?”

  She considers that.

  The last thing she wants is for Joey to feel sorry for her. Sorry for poor pregnant, lonely, dateless, going-­on-­forty-­in-­a-­few-­years Nina.

  Then again, if the opposite of his feeling sorry for her is his dating the beguiling Susannah . . .

  Hell, she’ll take the pity.

  “Okay,” she says. “You want some minestrone? It’s good tonight. Not so much cabbage this time. I know you don’t like it with a lot of cabbage.”

  “That sounds good. It’s freezing out there.” He looks around. “It’s quiet, Nina. Take a break and sit with me.”

  She hesitates.

  There’s no good reason not to. He’s right. The few customers seated at the tables on the far side of the room have been taken care of, and Cara’s in the back washing the pans.

  But sitting across from Joey might bring on those unsettling thoughts again. Not necessarily thoughts . . .

  More like urges.

  She looks at him.

  Why does he have to look so damned good in his boring old suit?

  Then again, lately she finds him just as appealing in his faded old sweatshirt, sneakers, and baseball cap.

  Hormones.

  It has to be the hormones.

  “Was Susannah mad when you canceled?”

  “I don’t know.” He avoids her gaze.

  “She was, wasn’t she?”

  “Maybe a little hurt.”

  “Didn’t you come up with a good lie?”

  “Not a lie,” he says, “but I just . . . I tried to explain.”

  “You didn’t tell her about me, did you?” Nina asks, horrified. “You didn’t say I was pregnant? Because if it gets back to Rosalee before I—­”

  “No, I didn’t tell her that. We said we aren’t going to tell anybody until you’re showing, right?”

  “Right. So what did you tell her? Did you make up something good?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  He still looks like he’s hedging.

  “What did you say, Joey?” she demands.

  “I told her that I’ve gotten involved with somebody else.”

  “Oh. So you did lie.”

  “Yeah. I lied.” He’s concentrating on looking up at the menu on the wall above the register.

  He must know the menu by heart, Nina thinks, since it hasn’t changed in the past ten years. But he’s reading it as though he’s expecting to stumble across some exotic new dish.

  “Hey, Nin,” he says, “I’ll take some soup and a slice. And you should eat, too.”

  “I ate earlier.”

  “Eat again. You need all the vitamins and energy you can get. Have some soup. It’s good for you.”

  Nina smiles, putting a slice of sausage pizza into the brick wall oven. “Are you going to be my keeper until May, Joey?”

  “Sure am.” He takes a bottle of Snapple out of the cooler beside the counter. “It’s the least I can do for you, Nina.”

  “What? Telling me what to do?” She lifts the stainless-­steel lid on the soup and scoops some into a paper cup.

  “No,” Joey says, “taking care of you.”

  She looks up, as caught off guard by his gentle tone as she is by the tender expression in his dark eyes.

  Oh, darn. There go those jittery butterflies again, fluttering in her stomach.

  Doing her best to quell the surge of attraction, she hands him the cup. “Eat your soup, Joey.”

  “Now who’s telling whom what to do?”

  “I am. And you’re used to it. Sit.”

  “Are you going to sit with me?”

  “Sure.”

  But I’m not going to let myself think about you and those broad shoulders of yours, and the way it feels when you kiss me.

  Nope.

  I’m just going to eat my soup and pretend everything is just the same as it always was.

  And okay, I might just let myself be a little pleased about the Susannah thing.

  “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

  Uh-­oh.

  “Like what?” Nina asks innocently.

  “Like this.” He pastes on a bright, toothy grin.

  “Oh, come on. I didn’t look that cheesy . . . did I?”

  “Yup, cheesy as hell. You know . . . like you just won the lottery or something.”

  “I’m just hungry, I guess. And I’m psyched to have some soup. Really psyched.” She sniffs the vapor rising from the steaming cup in her hand and flashes him an enthusiastic smile.

  Joey shakes his head. “You’re a little strange when you’re pregnant, Nina.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re a little strange all the time, Joey.” She follows him to a table. “You’d better hope the baby isn’t strange, too.”

  “If it’s anything like you . . .”

  “Or you . . .”

  They laugh.

  “It’s going to be a great kid, Nina,” Joe says, pulling out a chair for her at the corner table.

  She smiles wistfully, picturing a baby who looks just like Joey.

  If only . . .

  If only . . .

  No. Stop it, Nina. You have your plan, and Joey has his.

  “You’re right,” she says, hoping he can’t read her mind. “It is going to be a great kid.”

  “ARE YOU SURE you don’t want me to carry that?” Joe asks Nina as they walk home along Ditmars Boulevard on Sunday morning after mass and a stop at the drugstore.

  “For the fiftieth time, I’m sure. It weighs all of two ounces, Joey.”

  “It weighs more than that.” He shakes his head, shifting his own heavy plastic shopping bag to the other hand. “I told you to get the Sweet Tarts, Neens.”

  “I don’t like Sweet Tarts. They taste like chewable vitamins.”

  “So? They’re not for you. They’re to give out on Halloween.”

  “That’s what you think,” she says with a grin.

  “And anyway, Sweet Tarts are lighter than all those bags of candy bars you bought.”

  “They’re teeny little bite-­sized candy bars, Joey. And trick-­or-­treaters want chocolate. Don’t you remember anything about being a kid?”

  “Sure I do.”

&
nbsp; They stop at the corner to wait for the light to change. Church bells are pealing in the distance, and Joe can hear the scraping sounds of somebody raking the leaves against concrete nearby.

  “Yeah, well, don’t you remember how Minnie’s mother gave out little boxes of raisins that one year and somebody egged their house? Trust me, Joey, that was no accident.”

  “That depends on who you ask, because Mr. Caviros says Paulie was an accident.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  He shrugs. “The rhythm method isn’t that reliable, Nina, so it’s not surprising that—­”

  “Not about Paulie being an accident. I mean, Paulie egged the Scaturros’ house? He told you?”

  “No, but the next day I was over there in the morning because we didn’t have school—­”

  “Right, no school on All Saints’ Day. Wasn’t that the best?”

  “Yeah, and anyway, his mother was going to make a frittata for breakfast and she was going nuts looking for the two cartons of eggs she’d bought the day before.” The light turns and they cross the street. “And I saw the guilty look on Paulie’s face, so I put two and two together.”

  “Wow. Minnie always thought it was Toni Balbino. She was always jealous of Minnie because she had a crush on you.”

  “Toni? She was a sweet girl.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sweet like a lemon. Guys are blind from such a young age.” Nina shakes her head, then looks up at the sky. “Look, Joey, don’t you love it?”

  He follows her gaze. It’s one of those perfect late October days when the sun is shining warmly and the sky is dark blue, without a cloud in sight.

  “Don’t you wish we were in Central Park with all that foliage on a day like this?” Nina asks.

  “Central Park? I don’t know about that . . . I wouldn’t mind being in Jersey, at the Meadowlands.”

  “Are you still sulking because you couldn’t get your hands on those tickets to the Giants game?”

  “Yup. Ned promised them to me.”

  Maybe it’s better that he didn’t get the tickets after all. Then he’d have to figure out who to take. Danny’s away this weekend, and Paulie doesn’t like the Giants. Nina doesn’t like football, period.

  And now that he’s no longer dating . . .

  The decision to cancel the other night with Susannah didn’t come easily. He does find her attractive, and sweet, and intelligent. The kind of woman with whom he might want to pursue a long-­term relationship . . . or more.