When You Least Expect It

by Whitney Gaskell

  “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.

  Eight

  LAINEY

  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.”

  “I’ve never understood that. Who cares about being surprised? Wouldn’t you rather know if you should be buying pink or blue baby stuff?” Flaca asked.

  “Well, supposedly India’s not buying anything. At least, that’s what she tells Jeremy.” Lainey smirked. “But I know she’s lying.”

  “What? How?”

  “I found a shopping bag full of baby stuff in the back of her closet, behind the Christmas decorations.”

  “What were you doing in her closet?”

  “I was bored,” Lainey said. “I had nothing else to do, and I’d already looked through the rest of the house. Besides, people always hide the best stuff in their closets.”

  “You’re evil, girl.”

  “I know, but I’m okay with that,” Lainey said, grinning.

  Flaca suddenly looked up sharply. “You’ve never gone through my closet, have you?”

  Lainey’s smile grew wider.

  “Oh, my God! You have! You bitch!” Flaca whacked Lainey over the head with a throw pillow. “Just so you know, that stuff is all Luis’s. He likes to get his freak on, you know?”

  “The black faux-leather teddy is Luis’s? He is pretty freaky.” Lainey laughed and dodged another blow.

  “Okay, so the teddy is mine. But Luis bought it for me.” A red flush crept over Flaca’s face and neck. “But the movies are all his. I swear.”

  “Yeah, right. Face it, he’s not the only freaky one.”

  Flaca took another wild swing with the pillow.

  Lainey shrieked and ducked. “Hey! Stop hitting the pregnant girl!”

  “Where do you want me?” Lainey asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. India was flitting around her studio, adjusting a camera on a tripod, setting up an enormous octagonal-shaped light box, straightening out the black backdrop. The room they were in was large and windowless, and filled with camera equipment and props.

  “Just a minute,” India said, again fiddling with the camera. She glanced up. “Are you tired? You can go sit in the reception area, if you want, while I get set up here.”

  “No, I’m okay.” The truth was, Lainey was fascinated by how focused and serious India was. It was so different from the ingratiating, hovering India she normally saw at home.

  India dragged a white chaise in front of the backdrop. “Go ahead and sit down,” she said.

  “Like this?” Lainey asked, reclining back on the chaise and fluffing her hair up with both hands.

  “I’ll pose you in a minute. Let me just get a light reading,” India said. She checked the light level and then spent a few busy minutes getting the light boxes positioned correctly, before turning back to Lainey. “Okay. Now. Turn your shoulders here. And your head this way,” India said, maneuvering Lainey into position with a light touch of the hand. “There. Hold that.”

  It felt awkward holding herself in such an artificial position. India returned to her position behind the camera and began snapping pictures. She’d give Lainey instructions—“Raise your chin a bit. No, not quite that much. There! Perfect! Hold it!”—and then, after snapping a few quick shots, would return to pose her again, occasionally having Lainey stand so India could push the chaise into a different position. Lainey posed with her head resting on her arms, lying back with one hand draped near the baby bump, leaning back against the chaise. It didn’t seem very glamorous. Every time Lainey tried to strike a sexy pose—bending forward to show cleavage, or opening her mouth seductively—India would stop her.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t be wearing something dressier?” Lainey asked. At India’s direction, she was wearing her maternity jeans and a white tank top.

  “No. This is perfect. I want you to look casual,” India said with such authority Lainey didn’t question her further.

  The photo session was relatively short; after thirty minutes India announced that she had enough.

  “You did a great job,” India said. “You’re a natural.”

  And although Lainey thought India might just be buttering her up again, she couldn’t help feeling a flush of pleasure at the compliment. No one had ever before told her she’d been a natural at anything.

  “Do you take all of your pictures here?” Lainey asked.

  “It depends. I do all of the formal portraits here, but I actually prefer working in natural light,” India said. “I do a lot of shoots at the beach, or at the nature preserve.”

  “Why? Is natural light better?”

  “I think so. It’s actually what I’m known for. I prefer the effect, although it can be less predictable. That’s why some photographers prefer working with artificial lights.” India gestured to the light boxes. “The results are more consistent. But these lights are really just meant to replicate natural light, so I figure why not use the real thing.”

  Lainey remembered the photos hanging on the Halloways’ walls. Candid shots In
dia had taken of Jeremy wading in the surf, Georgia sitting in a garden, wearing a big hat and laughing up at the camera, Otis asleep on his back with all four paws sticking straight up. They looked like pictures out of a magazine.

  “So why did you take my picture inside?”

  India opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped and frowned. “You know, I’m not sure. Most of the maternity portraits I’ve seen are posed. Actually, much more so than I just did with you—they often have lots of dreamy special effects, smudged edges, the subject dressed in a flowing white dress. Really not my style at all. I guess I assumed that most women would want their maternity portraits to be, well, not formal, but definitely stylized.” The frown deepened, and India started muttering to herself. “But you’re right, maybe it’s silly to do that just because it’s what other photographers do. I should just shoot the show in my style. Forcefully bring my perspective to this project. Hell! Why didn’t I think of that before? I should know better!” India exclaimed, growing more animated by the moment. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. She suddenly stopped and smiled at Lainey—a smile of such real pleasure, Lainey was taken aback.

  “Thank you,” India said warmly. She grabbed Lainey’s hand and squeezed it.

  “What for?” Lainey asked, staring down at their linked hands. The familiarity made her uneasy. She pulled her hand back, out of India’s grasp.

  India didn’t seem to notice the rebuff. “You made me realize exactly what I’ve been doing wrong. Come on. Let’s go to the beach,” India said, grabbing her camera bag. “I’m going to kick it old school, and use my Leica.”

  “What … now?” Lainey asked.

  “Yes, now! The light will be perfect.”

  “But I’m hungry. It’s almost dinnertime. I could kill or die for some ice cream.”

  India looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll stop and buy you an ice-cream cone on the way, if you promise not to drip it on your shirt.”

  “Can I have chocolate?” Lainey asked hopefully.

  But India shook her head. “Vanilla,” she said strictly. “You’re wearing a white shirt. Chocolate would be flirting with disaster.”