Lainey was stunned. She knew her body had changed, but this was how people saw her now? I’m still young! she wanted to shout. Young enough to walk around in a bikini, and hang out in clubs, and get hit on by every straight guy in Miami! And it was beyond annoying how they all kept talking about her as though she wasn’t there. Lainey fisted the hand not clutching the photographs, until the nails cut into her palm.
“You could be right,” Turtle Man said. “On the other hand, it could be inspiring. And parents’ groups might just love it.”
“Parents’ groups would love a young unmarried mother?” Blonde Woman asked skeptically.
“One that’s lived with the consequences of her actions and who selflessly put her baby up for adoption? Absolutely they’d love it. They might even endorse the show,” Turtle Man said.
“I don’t think we need the Moral Majority’s approval,” Blonde Woman said.
Turtle Man gave her a cold look. “You’d rather they condemned us?”
“Yes! That’s great press! Just think of all of those teen girls out there, dying to see what’s happening on our show that’s causing their parents’ heads to spin around!”
“Maybe if it were 2002 again. Kids today are jaded. They’ve already seen the envelope pushed to the edge,” Goatee Boy argued. “A show that parents would actually approve of might just be fresh enough to get some media attention. I can see Entertainment Weekly and Seventeen doing stories on her.” He thrust his chin in Lainey’s direction.
“Then why don’t we just do a show about Mormon schoolgirls saying their prayers every night?” Blonde Woman snapped. “I’ll tell you why: It’s boring. No one wants wholesome television. And if they do, well, that’s what Little House on the Prairie reruns are for.”
“Enough, you two.” Turtle Man ended the argument by raising one finger in the air. Goatee Boy and Blonde Woman both fell silent. “What’s your name?”
“Lainey Walker,” Lainey said. She handed Goatee Boy the questionnaire she’d already filled out, along with the envelope containing her photographs.
Turtle Man glanced over her paperwork. “You haven’t done any television before?”
Lainey shook her head. “No.”
“What’s your availability? We’re planning to start filming in August, and it’s a four-month commitment. You’d have to agree to live on set, be filmed twenty-four/seven, and have limited contact with friends and family. Would you be willing to do that?”
“Absolutely,” Lainey said, nodding eagerly.
“You know the basic concept of the show? The idea is for each of the seven girls to work with matchmakers and psychologists and image consultants in order to find her Mr. Right. In fact, that’s the name of the show: Looking for Mr. Right. So we want to make sure our cast is actually single. We don’t want to have a situation where a cast member is having her dates filmed, only to find out she’s got a boyfriend or husband back home.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband,” Lainey said.
“What about the father?” Turtle Man asked.
“He’s out of the picture,” Lainey said. Blonde Woman smirked, obviously not believing this. Lainey glared at her. “No, really. I haven’t seen him in months.”
“All right. Thank you for coming in,” Turtle Man said.
“That’s all?” Lainey asked. “You don’t want to ask me any more questions?”
“Not at this time,” Turtle Man said. “If we’re interested, you’ll hear from us in a few weeks. If you don’t hear back, it means you didn’t make the cut.”
Lainey nodded, understanding that she was being dismissed. Who knew if she’d ever have an opportunity like this again? A sense of urgency swelled inside of her, and she took a step forward.
“Just so you know, I really want to be on this show. I’ll do whatever it takes,” Lainey said, wishing she had the words to make a more compelling case, to make them see just how perfect she would be.
But Turtle Man just nodded at her, and then Blonde Woman murmured something in his ear, diverting his attention away from Lainey. Goatee Boy busied himself flipping through the pile of questionnaires on the table in front of him. Realizing she’d been dismissed, Lainey turned and left.
By the time India pulled up in front of the hotel, Lainey was exhausted. Her body was always burdensome under the weight of the baby these days, but now her limbs felt especially heavy and stiff. It took all of her energy to climb into the car.
“We’ll be back in plenty of time for the wedding,” India said brightly. “How did it go?” Then she saw Lainey’s expression, and her face creased with concern. “Oh, no. What happened?”
Lainey just shook her head. India put the car into gear and headed for home without saying another word. Lainey stared out the car window, watching the passing urban landscape without seeing it. In her mind’s eye, she was back at the audition, while the three producers sneered at her and dismissed her. Lainey waited for rage to flood her. But instead, she just felt an unbearable sadness. It pushed down on her, filling her throat and lungs, smothering her under its weight. Her eyes began to sting, and before she could find a way to stop them, tears started to trickle down her cheeks.
India had been so busy focusing on merging into the highway traffic, she didn’t immediately notice Lainey’s distress.
“Why won’t this jerk let me over?” India muttered, glaring up at her rearview mirror. “Look at this guy! He’s totally boxing me out!” She glanced in Lainey’s direction, clearly hoping for some solidarity on road jackassery. “Oh, my God, are you crying?”
Lainey didn’t—couldn’t—respond. Instead, when she opened her mouth, another sob ripped through, and suddenly she was crying uncontrollably, her body shuddering, her arms wrapped around herself.
“What’s wrong?” India asked. She reached over to pat Lainey’s leg. “Here, let me pull over.”
India yanked the steering wheel to the right, making a quick exit off the highway. It took another few minutes—during which time Lainey continued to sob—before India was able to pull in to the parking lot of a McDonald’s. She put the car in park and then turned to Lainey.
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” India begged. “Do you feel sick?”
Lainey shook her head, and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Here,” India said, retrieving a crumpled tissue from her bag. “It’s clean, I promise.”
Lainey blew her nose and then pressed her fingers against her closed eyes, attempting to stem the tears. Amazingly, it worked. Her breathing gradually slowed down. Her hands dropped into her lap with a dull thud. A moment later, she felt the warm pressure of India’s hand holding hers. Lainey surprised herself by not grabbing her hand away.
“They hated me,” Lainey finally said, her voice ragged.
She expected India to launch into the fakey-nice routine—I’m sure they didn’t, who would hate you?—but instead, India simply said, “Why?”
“Because they thought I was a whore,” Lainey said. She sniffled into the tissue.
“They called you a whore?” India asked, her voice suddenly sharp.
Lainey shrugged and shook her head. “Not exactly.”
“What did they say to make you think that?”
“They—well, one of them, and she was a total bitch, by the way—didn’t like that I was pregnant. It seemed to gross her out.” Tears began to leak out of Lainey’s eyes. “And can you blame her? Look at me! I’m huge! I’m disgusting!”
“You’re not disgusting. You’re pregnant,” India said calmly. “This is what you’re supposed to look like.”
“I can’t believe this is happening to me! I can’t believe I blew what could have been my big break by doing something so stupid! Why did I have to get pregnant and ruin my life?”
India was quiet for such a long time that Lainey turned to look at her for the first time. India was resting her chin on her hand, the elbow propped against the steering wheel, staring out the window. Although the c
ar was pointed toward the fast-food restaurant, facing the drive-thru, India didn’t appear to see the crumpled dollar bills being handed to cashiers and warm paper sacks and shakes being handed back in return.
“Life is weird, isn’t it?” India finally said. “You see this pregnancy as the worst thing that could have happened to you, while I see it as my big chance to fill the hole in my life.”
“I wish I could just give it to you. Not just the baby, but the big belly, the stretch marks, the swollen ankles. All of it,” Lainey said with such vehemence that India couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’d take it if I could. But, for whatever reason, that’s not the way it happened.” India sighed and pushed a handful of her wild curly hair back from her face. “You said that one of the producers didn’t like you. Were there others? What did they say?”
“One of them—the guy who seemed like he was in charge—seemed to think they could work the whole pregnancy and adoption thing into the show. Like, make me out to be some sort of pitiful girl who’s lost her way and was getting over her broken heart,” Lainey said, rolling her eyes.
“What an asshole!” India exploded. Then she thought about it and started to laugh.
“What?” Lainey demanded.
“Just the idea that anyone would think of you as pitiful,” India said, giggling. “You’re maybe the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”
Lainey began to laugh, too. “And like Travis could break my heart. Please. He has more zits than brain cells.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t go well. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it will all work out in the end. Everything happens for a reason,” India said.
Lainey stared at her. “Do you really believe that?”
“No,” India admitted. “But my mother always says that.”
Lainey sniffled into the tissue. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your mom is sort of nuts,” she said, and they both started to giggle again.
“I suppose we should get home,” India said. But Lainey was eyeing the drive-thru window.
“Any chance we could stop for a burger first?” she asked hopefully. “I’m starving. And I’ll need my strength for my upcoming maid-of-honor duties.”
———
Lainey, feeling like a blue satin whale, sat alone at a round table at the reception. Dinner was being served buffet-style, and even though Lainey was starving, she couldn’t bear the idea of standing in line right now. After standing all evening, first through the ceremony and then for the endless photographs, her feet were aching. She kicked off her heels under the table, which helped. High heels and pregnancy did not go together.
“Hi, baby girl,” Candace said, sitting in the chair next to Lainey. Her words were slurred at the edges. “I brought you a plate.”
“Thanks,” Lainey said without enthusiasm, although she accepted the plate. She’d been avoiding her mother all evening. She hadn’t seen Candace since the night her mother had refused to evict Al’s rotund friend from the couch, although they’d talked several more times on the phone. Despite Flaca’s warnings about not enabling her mother’s alcoholism, Lainey had taken to calling her mother every few days, just to check on her and make sure that her drinking wasn’t getting out of control. So far, she had seemed okay. But tonight, Candace had clearly taken full advantage of the open bar. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin was a florid red. Lainey just hoped that her mother wouldn’t do anything to embarrass herself, or offend the Reyes family.
“Is that your camera?” Candace asked, nodding to the Nikon on the table in front of Lainey.
Lainey nodded. “I’m going to make an album for Flaca as a wedding present.”
“Doesn’t she have a professional photographer?” Candace asked.
Lainey had accompanied India on enough wedding gigs to know that this wedding photographer wasn’t doing a very good job. The pictures were all posed awkwardly, and in all of the outside shots, he had his subjects standing so they were squinting into the setting sun.
“It’s just something I want to do for her,” Lainey said, shrugging.
“This is delicious,” Candace said, pointing to her plate with her fork. “What am I eating?”
“Mrs. Reyes’s specialty: Cuban roasted pork with onions,” Lainey said, taking a bite. It was the food of her childhood. Flaca’s mother had made roast pork every Sunday, and Lainey had always had a standing invitation to join the family for meals.
“Marisa made all of this food?” Candace asked, clearly impressed.
Lainey nodded. “Mostly, although Flaca’s aunts and sisters helped. Did you try the rice and beans?” The more starches her mother ate, the better, Lainey thought. It might soak up some of the alcohol.
“No, but I’m definitely going back for more.” Candace looked her daughter over, her eyes lingering on Lainey’s rounded stomach. “You’re carrying all out in front. That means it’s a boy.”
Lainey shrugged. “I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a boy,” Candace said confidently. “With boys, you carry out in front. With girls, you put on weight all over. When I was pregnant with you, every last bit of me was swollen up. Even my fingers.”
Lainey thought this sounded like bullshit, but didn’t bother saying so.
“Can’t you ask the doctor to tell you what you’re having?” Candace went on.
“India didn’t want to know the baby’s sex.”
“Who’s India?”
“I told you. She’s the adoptive mother,” Lainey said.
“Why does she get to decide? You don’t need her permission to find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“She’s going to be the baby’s mother, so it’s her decision,” Lainey said.
Candace clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“Have you heard from Trav?” she asked.
“Don’t start, Mom,” Lainey said wearily.
“What? It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t,” Lainey said.
“I’m going to get some more of this pork dish,” Candace said. She stood, swaying slightly. “Do you want anything else?”
“No, thanks,” Lainey said. These days, no matter how hungry she was when she started eating, Lainey felt stuffed after just a few bites. Then she’d be starving again a half hour later. She supposed it was the baby. The bigger it got, the less room there was in there for food.
The band had started to play again, and people were slowly making their way to the dance floor. Flaca and Luis—who had already danced their first dance to Selena’s “I Could Fall in Love” before dinner—were back out in the middle of the dancers, bopping away to a cover of “Last Dance.” Flaca looked lovely. At her mother’s insistence, she wore a long-sleeve wedding dress to cover her tattoos. The top of the gown clung to Flaca’s curves before belling out in an A-line skirt. She was glowing with happiness, laughing with Luis as he showed off his dance moves.
Lainey watched them, laughing herself as Luis struck a ridiculous disco pose. As happy as she was for her friend, it was hard to look at Flaca and Luis together, their happiness shining as brightly as the sun, without feeling a twinge of jealousy.
Will I ever have that? Lainey wondered. It didn’t seem likely.
The baby, perhaps sensing the music, began to somersault around, and Lainey rested her hands on her abdomen.
“Don’t you go starting up. And we are not dancing. I’m so enormous, I’d take up the whole dance floor,” she told the baby. “But if you calm down, I promise I’ll get you a piece of cake.”
The baby stilled and then gave a little wiggle, as though it understood exactly what Lainey had said.
Lainey laughed and patted her stomach. “That’s more like it,” she said.
Twelve
JEREMY
I heard car doors slam, followed by the high-pitched giggle of girly laughter. I spun around in my desk chair, currently parked behind the dining
room table, and peered out the window. Kelly and his latest girlfriend had emerged from his hulking SUV and were headed up to the front door of his house. She was a ponytailed and short-skirted blonde I hadn’t seen before, certainly not the same girl who had been hanging on Kelly when he’d talked me into going to the Dirty Martini a few weeks ago. It hadn’t been a fun night. The bar was full of energetic twenty-year-olds; I’d felt decrepit in comparison.
Maybe Kelly had it all figured out, I thought. He lived on his own—his daughter was only there one or two nights a week—in a house unencumbered by marital strife. He had an apparently limitless supply of twenty-four-year-old girls to keep him company. He spent his weekends tooling around on his boat. Sure, Kelly was a shallow prick, but he seemed like a happy shallow prick.
I still didn’t know what had gotten into me the night I told India I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go through with the adoption. It wasn’t even true. I’d just felt momentarily overwhelmed by the financial sinkhole we were in, and before I knew it, the words just sort of came out. India and I hadn’t talked about it since. In fact, we’d barely talked about the adoption at all. India hadn’t asked me once to accompany her and Lainey to their now biweekly doctor’s visits, or brought up the topic of baby names again. She also hadn’t mentioned the weekend away. When I asked her about it, she was evasive, saying that she was overbooked at work, and besides, we really couldn’t afford it anyway.
India instead spent that weekend painting the second bedroom, which was going to be the baby’s nursery, a soft green with a gender-neutral circus theme. I offered to help put together the crib and dressing table, both of which had arrived in flat boxes. We were both quietly polite to each other as we worked, but it was hard to ignore the distance between us that had never been there before.
I also couldn’t help noticing that as the space between India and me spread, she and Lainey had grown closer together. It wasn’t just that they spent a lot of time together, now that Lainey was going to the studio nearly every day, but also that there was an intimacy between the two of them that hadn’t been there before. Over dinner, Lainey and India would talk about a photo shoot they’d done or India’s upcoming show, while I just sat there, unable to contribute to the conversation. Then there were the pamphlets India had gotten for Lainey from the local community college. I’d wandered in on enough conversations to know that India was trying to persuade Lainey to take some photography classes, maybe even pursue an associate’s degree. I couldn’t help but wonder where she’d be living while she attended these community college courses. Was India planning on letting Lainey remain here, living in the guesthouse, even after the baby was born?
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