Meternity

by Meghann Foye

  Jules goes off to find the appetizer station, and suddenly I am left alone. I decide to go to the bathroom to check my bump one last time before I’m up in front of a hundred people. In the stall, I suddenly overhear someone’s voice talking on a cell phone. It’s Alix.

  “So that’s it, then,” she says with a bitter tone.

  “I’ll pick up Tyler tonight, and then you can get your things this weekend.” There’s another brief pause.

  “That’s—that’s not what we said. But fine. I’ll have my lawyer talk to yours tomorrow. You don’t have to make things this difficult. I told you—I want a clean break as long as Tyler gets to stay at the house in the city and go to his school.”

  It seems as though Alix’s finalizing the terms of a divorce. Is it really happening? Is she really going to be with Jeffry? It must be why she’s been a little calmer and nicer to me these past few weeks.

  I hear her punch off the phone and walk out. I come out of the stall, and do one last check in the mirror, comb my fingers through my hair, adjust my top so just the right amount of cleavage is showing and walk out.

  As I saunter out of the bathroom, I see Gavin’s tuxedoed back. Even with his back to me, I can still tell how dapper he’s looking tonight. I grab a martini from the bar to take to him, and as I reach him, I notice he’s talking to Alix.

  “Well hello, Liz. I didn’t realize you’d be bringing such a handsome date tonight.”

  Gavin smiles his signature toothy grin, the one I remember seeing at the bar the first night I met him. “Oh, I’m just arm candy, really. Hired out. Right, Liz,” he says, winking at me.

  “This is Gavin... Honeycut,” I say, handing him my drink. “Gavin, this is Alix Stephenson.”

  “Liz is so close to popping, it’s smart to have me around. I can take her to the hospital if need be,” says Gavin. I squint my eyes at him as if to say, “thanks for doing this,” as Alix looks around.

  “Liz, you should have brought the doctor to the offices before,” she says, clearly noticing Gavin’s attractiveness while glancing down at his ring finger.

  “She knew I’d be too much of a rascal around so many beautiful women. Couldn’t trust me,” Gavin replies.

  “I can see that,” says Alix, giving me a warm smile and walking off.

  “That’s Alix?” asks Gavin.

  “Married with kid. Though, I think she’s getting a divorce,” I tell him.

  “Best kind—no expectations,” he says under his breath, lingering in his gaze at her.

  “So, you’ll take me to the hospital?” I tease, breaking the tension.

  “Only if you let me name the baby... Ephraim Rutherford.”

  “Where’d you get that one?” I say, letting out a guffaw.

  Gavin looks hurt. “That’s my father’s name, you doozler.”

  “Oops!” I give him a guilty look and clasp my hand over my mouth. I feel a tap on my left shoulder.

  “Hello, Liz.”

  It’s Ryan. God.

  I cough as he catches me midbite, and as I’m choking on my mini shiitake mushroom quiche, Cynthia walks over.

  “So, Liz, you’ve never introduced me to your counterpart at Discovery. Or, your handsome date,” she says, smiling in Gavin’s direction.

  I swallow hard and try to make the best of this situation. Gavin just gives me a look as if to say, “don’t ask me.”

  Turning around, my bump now facing Ryan, I notice he is turning bright red. Still, he says nothing.

  “Cynthia, this is...” I swallow “...Dr. Honeycut, my ob-gyn.” Gavin smiles widely. I can’t even bear to look at Ryan. “And this is Ryan. Ryan Murphy. He’s the man responsible for bringing my story to life.”

  “Good to meet you, Cynthia,” says Ryan, shaking her hand.

  “Well, what do you think? Will you continue working with our Elizabeth here? She’ll be out for the next few months, but I’m sure once she’s back, you’ll have a lot to talk about.”

  My face turns red. No one says anything for what seems like a minute.

  “I’m sure we will. She’s been a pleasure to work with so far—a total pro,” he says. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure everything’s set with the video.” He seems to intentionally be avoiding my gaze as he walks off.

  “Well, you’re up first, Elizabeth. I’ll introduce you, then you’ll say your remarks, and we’ll play the video. Got it?”

  “Ready,” I peep, giving the biggest smile I can muster, though my stomach is turning. The lights dim, and Cynthia takes her place at the podium. The spotlight shines on her as images from the magazine are displayed on the big screen behind her.

  “In the past year, we’ve been privileged to work with many important partners on stories that have pushed the needle in the field of motherhood. It’s not only been a critical success and a commercial success, but it’s been personally rewarding to be able to ‘birth,’ so to speak, such moving, important stories of women who’ve overcome great odds to fulfill personal missions. I could go on about how grateful I am to have been able to help bring them to life in the magazine, but I would like you all now to hear from one of the people most responsible for one of these important stories—‘Fair-Trade Families’—Elizabeth Buckley.”

  The crowd titters as a light applause ripples. I somehow make my way onstage into the white heat. My fingers clench the cards, but I can feel the wetness from my hands soaking them through. The spotlight shines so brightly on my face, I can barely make out the faces. But there is one, Ryan’s, directly in front of me, looking expectantly. I stand at the podium and start to read from the cards Jules has prepared.

  “It’s my great honor to stand before you today to share the story of this special report on the latest safe surrogacy options.” I look at the next sentence, and I see that my sweat has obscured Jules’s penmanship. Ugh. I lose focus for a split second, and look around for help. Jules just looks at me, eyes wide. Then I see Ryan, and I think of his words that night at McGann’s, You’re just waiting for your training day to come. Training day’s here. I take a deep breath, beginning again.

  “I stand before you a changed woman,” I say, waving a hand at my bump. The audience laughs a little as they realize my intended meaning. “If you’d have asked me a little more than nine months ago if I’d be speaking to you all here today, like this, I can guarantee you I would have told you no chance.” The audience just hangs, waiting for what comes next. “But after working on bringing the stories of these amazing women, I’ve learned a lot. About motherhood. But more importantly about the special kind of strength women have—the enduring kind.”

  I pause for a second, looking around. I see Jules’s face to the right, urging me to continue. My nose begins to twitch, but I shake it off.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly what you want. But then there comes a point when you do. And when that day arrives, you go after it with all your heart. Women are amazing at this—you know—when they’re on a mission,” I say, stumbling.

  Ryan seems to be waiting for what I’m going to say next. I continue. “Nothing will stop their maternal instinct. You can’t change it. You can’t fight it. It’s there, no matter if the circumstances surrounding you aren’t ideal. Or you don’t have the right paperwork, or a body that will support it, or a partner to help you,” I say, looking down. “But when it’s your time, you know. Your priorities shift, and all of a sudden, what you thought was so important, well, it isn’t anymore. All you can see before you is the choice you know you have to fight for. And when you do, your heart becomes wider than you could ever realize.” My lip starts to quiver, and I feel like if I don’t leave, I will break down. “Thank you, very much, for the opportunity to tell this great story. Thank you to these women for sharing it. And thank you to Discovery Channel for helping us find it,” I say. As the crow
d erupts into deep applause, I look directly into Ryan’s perplexed eyes, and run quickly to the bathroom to compose myself.

  After about five minutes, Jules comes to find me, and hands me a tissue from her purse as I’m wiping away the mascara beneath my eyes. “Well, that wasn’t what I wrote,” she says, smiling.

  “Nope, I went off track,” I respond with a sarcastic laugh. “It was awful, right?”

  “Nope. It was better than anything I could have written,” she says, giving me a hug.

  We walk out of the bathroom, and as Jules heads into the room I see Ryan. He looks like he’s about to jet off without saying a word, but then turns and walks right up and corners me.

  “Buckley, can you just level with me? First you act as though you really like me, then you dump me on the street corner, then you never call me again. Then you tell me you want to go out with me, but it turns out you’re dating some douche bag—who’s your ob-gyn. Can you please just level with me? What is going on? Are you pregnant? Is that dude the father or something?”

  “Ryan, I’ve wanted to tell you the whole time,” I start, wanting to tell him the truth so badly it hurts. Even though I see my colleagues not far off, I start in with my story, but it doesn’t come out how I’m hoping.

  “You know how women at your work will go on maternity leave for months, dropping their workload onto your pile without a care...” This isn’t coming out right. Ryan just looks at me, waiting for what I have to say.

  “Well, I also wanted that, some time off. A break. To figure out what I really wanted. Then, late last spring, Alix and Jeffry wouldn’t let me take my vacation to Paris, which forced me...”

  “Forced you to what?”

  “No. Well, sort of, I mean. Somehow they assumed I was pregnant. And I didn’t deny it.”

  He just looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “So you’re pretending you’re pregnant? Why exactly?”

  “So that I can take three months off to travel and use the time to kick-start a freelance writing career—just like I told you.” I look around hoping no one else has heard. Luckily the speeches are continuing behind us.

  He stares at me, dumbfounded, trying to take it all in.

  “So basically you’re doing exactly what you despise the other women you work with for doing, but instead of actually having a baby—something worthwhile—you’re using your company’s money to go on vacation?”

  I stare at him, helpless.

  “Buckley, I’m sorry, but that’s too screwed up, even for me,” he says, starting to back away.

  My voice grows louder, drawing the attention of the crowd. But I don’t care. “Wait, I explained it all badly—I know it sounds wrong. I mean, you know how you were talking about your dream of directing your screenplay one day? That’s how I feel.”

  “So you lied?” he says, now trying to understand.

  I pause. “I never meant to... Well, yes, I did.” My head falls.

  “The sad thing is that I always thought you were different—better. I guess I always looked at you as that type of girl you don’t find in this city, someone real. I didn’t realize you’re even more screwed up than all the others.” He turns toward the door. At the same moment, Cynthia, Alix and Jeffry start heading toward us.

  “But I’m not. I’m telling you the truth. If you’ll just let me explain. Let’s go to McGann’s right now...” He cuts me off.

  “I wish you’d just been honest with me from the beginning, Liz. Best of luck to you and your pal, Dr. Honeycut.”

  Two seconds later, Gavin appears. “Wait!” I call after Ryan, running after him as he rushes off through the hallway toward the elevators. All of a sudden, a waiter comes out of the service entrance, and I smash into him. The entire platter of rosé champagne flutes comes crashing into me, sending a splash of champagne high into the air, then down all over my bump. “Noooo!” I cry out.

  “I’m so sorry, miss!” says the waiter, trying to clean up the mess and dry me off with his towel, but it’s too late. All the champagne has gotten inside my clothing, sending the bump slipping to the floor just as Cynthia, Alix and Jeffry arrive.

  I reach down to the floor, attempting to pick up the now-soggy bump, but I realize I’ve been caught red-handed—as everyone stares at me, trying to make sense of it all.

  “Uh, love, will you be needing me to take you to the hospital now?” attempts Gavin.

  “Huh?” says Jeffry. “You’re not—”

  “What?” says Alix. “I knew something strange was going on!”

  “Interesting,” says Cynthia, her gray eyes narrowing with an indiscernible look.

  It’s over. I’ve lost everything.

  Crestfallen and shaky, I sink over my knees in agony. Jules and Gavin attempt to help me up, but my legs are like jelly.

  Only Cynthia speaks now.

  “Pull yourself together, then see me in my office.”

  Oy. This definitely wasn’t in the birth plan.

  Labor

  Good luck and be well on this, the greatest journey of your life: your journey towards motherhood.

  —The Pregnancy Countdown Book

  Thirty

  “Come in,” says Cynthia. For the first time ever, I don’t attempt to read her.

  I shuffle in, close the door behind me and sit down, ready to lose my job, pack up my life in New York and move home to New Jersey.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, the words sounding hollow, even to me.

  Just then, to my complete shock, there’s Alix tapping on the door.

  Cynthia looks over and waves her in impatiently. “What is it?”

  “Before Liz starts in on the whole thing, I wanted to make sure I was here, too.”

  I just stare at her, dumbfounded. Really? Does she really have to be here during my final implosion to witness it all?

  “Why is that?” asks Cynthia icily.

  “Well, for one, it was my idea,” Alix replies firmly.

  I sit there in shock, not knowing what to say.

  “When Liz and I were brainstorming a while back about ways to reinvigorate the magazine and bring back a succession of articles that would really sell, I thought, why not have her go undercover, writing about what it’s really like to be pregnant in the workplace?”

  Cynthia is now intrigued, and I’m too shocked to say anything.

  “So we decided, uh, together, that Liz would fake a pregnancy. We wanted to make sure no one would know—not even you, Cynthia—to see how she would be treated. Does a pregnant worker get more, or less, rights as someone in the same place who’s single and without kids? The whole workplace flexibility/Lean In stuff is very trendy right now. It’s the last battleground for women.”

  Wait a second. This could actually work.

  “Yes, I, uh, wanted to show how women are getting unfair treatment in some ways and boosted in others,” I chime in. “And I had to be the one to do it, since I was the only person on staff with the seniority, but still single and without kids.” Then, I get a brainstorm, adding, “We could even do a survey of a thousand women to find out the current state of prenatal rights in the workplace.”

  Cynthia takes about five seconds to digest it all. The room is completely silent, and I’m scared to breathe. She looks at me, narrowing her gaze, and then at Alix. My lungs feel trapped in my chest.

  “Fabulous!” she erupts. “Excellent. Genius, even. Prenatal rights! Don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Experiential stories are perfect for viral traffic. This will boost metrics. Have you contacted web and PR yet?”

  Alix and I are speechless—she bought it!

  “Well, no, we wanted to see what you thought,” says Alix, brightening immediately.

  “I will right now!” I say, chiming in.

&nb
sp; We rush out, taking two seconds to let what just happened sink in. I walk to my cube slowly, and Alix follows me back. Then, I turn to her.

  “Wh—”

  “Shh,” she says. “Just listen. You think it’s so easy, Liz, being a mom? Well, imagine if your husband was never home, and you had a screaming sick kid to take care of trying to get diagnosed, all while trying to hold down a job and maintain this perfect image of Upper East Side wife and mother.”

  So that’s why Alix was always having to leave all the time. I’m a horrible person.

  “But why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I was embarrassed. Trevor and I have an iron-clad prenup...so I could lose the town house. Child support was negligible, but now it’s looking like Tyler may need specialists, maybe even a special school. I needed Jeffry to help me make a case. Whatever the outcome, life as a single mom is not going to be easy, especially on an editor’s salary. If I could take credit for the idea of the fake pregnancy, I’d be back in Cynthia’s favor. And I guess I thought, well, neither of us are so different, here. Being a working mom is not all it’s cracked up to be—you don’t realize how good you have it, Liz. You’re free to do whatever you want, whenever you want. I have responsibilities you could never imagine.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I respond.

  “Just do a good job on the article. It’ll help us both.”

  I sit in my cube in silence and think about what just happened. I’ve still got a job. But, really, I’m in no better shape than I was six months ago.

  Jules and Gavin both text me to see if I’m okay. I let them know I’ll call them in a bit. I consider texting Addison and Brie. Ford also texts, but with news I’m not expecting. Portland! is all it reads.

  Which one? I write back.

  Not sure yet, but I just gave notice! We’ll find out soon! :)