by Carter, TK
“Ugh, whatever. You first.” She leaned back in her chair. I stood up and walked to the window so I could wipe my hands on my pants. Her comment about my cell phone had my skin crawling.
I stared at the lawn care workers who resembled ants on a mission. Two were standing on lawnmowers and zipped back and forth in two different sections but their synchronized motions seemed planned and purposeful. Three guys with wheelbarrows toted mulch from a truck to the flowerbeds that they’d cleaned out in preparation for fall. I wondered how many thousands of dollars this complex spent on landscaping instead of researching birth control pills that, oh, I don’t know, won’t allow unsuspecting women to get pregnant.
I sighed and walked toward Dani. She handed me a tissue with a dab of antibacterial hand sanitizer. “Here. Clean your phone so you’ll calm down.”
“Oh thank God.” I focused on smearing the sanitizer all over the screen and case and asked, “Did you talk to your boss, yet?”
Dani shrugged. “I mentioned that I needed to take some time off for personal reasons.”
“How’d that go over? Great, now the tissue is leaving little white particles all over this thing.” I wiped the phone on my pants and swiped at the remnants on my pants. “Great.”
Dani chuckled and set her magazine on the table before shifting in her chair to look at me. “I’ll have to quit my job. They won’t let me off for six months then give me maternity leave after the baby is born.”
I glanced at her. “What do you think about that?”
She shrugged and looked at the same poster I’d memorized thirty minutes ago. “I think I’ve got no choice. I’m going to turn in my notice this afternoon.”
“Really? That’s so great! We can go . . .”
The door to the waiting room opened as a nurse called my name. I locked eyes with Dani. “Ready?”
Her eyes misted as she nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
My legs felt like I’d deadlifted four-hundred pounds a minute earlier as I stood. “Moment of truth. Let’s go see the private guest.”
“The baby,” Dani whispered.
The room was dimly lit with a bed and ultrasound machine nearby. The most awkward thing about the beds was how far apart the stirrups are while you’re sitting half-naked waiting for the doctor to come in. If you let your legs dangle, you feel like a kindergartener waiting for the principal to scold you; if you put your feet in the stirrups, you look overly eager for the procedure. I split the difference and paced in my gown while trying not to moon Dani in the process.
“Geez, you’re making me nervous with all this pacing.”
“Have you ever noticed how much time people expect Americans to sit? Everywhere you go there are chairs, benches, beds, seats, and everything in between. It’s no wonder obesity is so rampant. People sit too much.”
“Are you channeling Michelle today? You sound a lot like her right now. I’ve never seen you so irritable.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” I mumbled.
“Why?”
“Maybe you should ask your child. I puked a good part of the evening then had stupid dreams and woke up drenched in my own sweat bad enough to change my sheets.”
“I’ve heard that’s normal.”
“And, I fart . . . a lot. Like explosive, house-shaking farts.”
Dani curled over her legs and covered her mouth to stifle the laughter pouring out of her. Every time she tried to speak, she burst out laughing again.
“I guess I shouldn’t tell you about my boobs itching.”
The doctor walked in and looked at Dani still chuckling and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Looks like I’m late to the party. Hi, I’m Dr. Moreau. I assume you’re Alissa since you’re the one dressed for the ball.”
“Clever,” I said as I shook his hand. “This is my friend, Dani.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, well hello, Dani.”
Dani blushed. “No, it’s not like that. I’m just here for moral support.”
The doctor smiled but didn’t appear to be convinced. “Pleasure to meet you. Okay, Alissa, let’s take a look and see how far along you are. Climb on up on the table.”
Dani stood. “I’m going to come up here by your head. I don’t need to see all that.”
“You’ll get enough of that in the delivery room.” I shivered and pushed the images of childbirth out of my mind.
Dr. Moreau said, “Now, this is an internal exam; you’re aware of that, right?” He picked up an instrument at least a foot long with a ball on the end of it.
I looked wide-eyed at Dani and mumbled, “Impressive.”
She covered her mouth and laughed into her hand.
“Okay, here we go,” he said as he inserted the instrument into my vagina. For some strange reason, the humor in the bizarre scene set before me attacked, and I started laughing. The more I saw my legs up in the air, the gown of modesty to protect me from my own junk draped across my knees yet my crotch was wide open in front of a man sticking a lube-slicked instrument in me.
“Are you going to buy me dinner after this?” I said. Dani howled, and my stomach bounced up and down on the table with my own laughter. “After seeing that thing, I’m really disappointed in my last boyfriend.”
Dani had to sit down to prevent herself from falling. She gasped for air as I wiped the tears rolling out of my eyes. I tilted my head up to get a visual of the doctor who was trying to maintain his professional composure while appreciating the humor in the situation. He cleared his throat and shook his head while focusing on the monitor that was coming to life with white and black swirling images.
“Is this a Rorschach test? I’ll play; I see my mother.”
Dani sprang toward the bed and leaned closer. “Is that it?” she pointed to the screen.
“That,” he said, “is the baby, yes. Good job.” Dani’s face registered complete awe as she stared at the grey image. “See that little flutter right here?” he asked. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
I stared at the screen and watched the black hole move, and there, off to the side, was the tiniest little fluttering mass. “Oh, I see it!”
Dani giggled. “Lis, that’s the baby!” She wiped the tears off her face and asked the doctor, “Can you tell how far along she is?”
“Looks like about five weeks and a few days.”
Five weeks . . . five weeks ago I was in a relationship ignoring the warning signs of a man who was growing more disinterested in me. The blip on the screen was my mother’s grandchild. I thought to myself, God, let this baby be a boy. Let him have a fighting chance.
The doctor took several screen shots and measurements. I looked at the little peanut-shaped mass and tried to make out the image of a baby. “Okay, it looks like your due date is around May eighth. We’ll be able to get a better idea when you’re further along, but let’s go with that date for now.”
I looked at Dani’s face and grinned. “May eighth it is! That sounds so far away.”
“It’ll go quicker than you think.” He removed the instrument and stood. “I’ll step out so you can get dressed.”
I sat up and mumbled, “Don’t step out on my account. You’ve already seen the jewels.”
Dani tapped my leg and smiled at the doctor. “She didn’t sleep well last night. She’s a little cranky.”
The doctor smiled and left the room as Dani walked to the chair and brought me my clothes. She shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me.”
I grabbed my clothes and scooted off the bed as I untied my gown. “What? I thought it was funny. I didn’t see a ring on his finger. Maybe he’s single.”
Dani chuckled. “Oh yes, that’s exactly what you need—a man whose profession involves seeing other women’s nether regions daily.”
“I’ve never understood that—guys who go into the hooch business. Seems like it would be a killjoy.”
Dani shook her head and whispered, “Hooch business . . . did you see that little teeny tiny hear
tbeat?”
I smiled. “Yes, I saw it. It was very sweet, very tiny. So where to next? Do you have to go to work after this?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. What are you going to do?”
I pulled my jacket over my shirt and slipped on my shoes. “I don’t know. Everyone I know is still working. Chance is in St. Louis. I could crash the big ball tonight.” I grinned and shook my shoulders.
“Never mix friendship and business—that’s our rule, remember?”
I huffed. “You’re no fun. Maybe I can convince Katie to take off at noon and go shopping.”
“Good luck there,” she mumbled.
“I haven’t seen or heard much out of her, have you?”
“Not really, but that’s not uncommon. You know how she is—she’ll pop up sometime. Ready?”
“Yep. Wanna grab something to eat before you go to the office?”
Dani chuckled. “What’s with you? You act like you are scared to death to be alone or something.”
I scoffed. “I am not! I’ve been thinking about having the living room painted again, so maybe I’ll run by there and see what they say.”
“Paint fumes might not bode well for the nausea,” she said as she got in the car.
“Everything makes me puke right now. I don’t see how paint fumes could make it any worse.”
Dani turned in her seat. “Lis, are you absolutely sure about this?”
I glanced at her and bit my lip to stop my quivering chin. My words were thick as they left my mouth. “I can’t be like Mom, Dani. Or my sisters.”
She put her hand on mine. “But maybe you won’t be! Maybe you’ll be the best mother in your family.”
I chuckled and wiped the tears rolling down my face. “It wouldn’t take much to best the women in my family. I . . . I can’t take that chance, Dani, and I really don’t want to. I feel like the worst person on earth. Your face—the way you looked at the monitor when we were seeing the private guest for the first time—that’s how it should be. That’s how I should be, but I can’t find it in me. My therapist will have a hay day with this next session, I can tell ya that. Sure, I could provide for this baby and hire the best nanny, send it to the best schools, and give it the life that no one in my family has ever had, but I’ve already raised three kids and look how they turned out. Nothing I did, no amount of advice, no effort I gave could break that family curse. Hell I even tried to bribe them! And now I’m the bad guy because I wanted them to have a fighting chance, and look at them.”
“Are they happy, though?” she whispered as she wiped her tears.
I shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe they are. I’m the bad guy, remember? The rich bitch, as they call me.”
“You’re going to have to work through that guilt and not let them shame you like this, Lis.”
“Well if you can figure out how to get rid of it, I’ll start seeing you instead of my therapist.”
Dani slipped on her seatbelt and stared out the window. I took my opportunity to get moving.
Chapter Eighteen
Grenade
Michelle
At the end of the day, my boss called me into her office. “Close the door, please.”
I felt my peanut butter and jelly sandwich twist in my stomach as my shaking hand reached to close the door. I took a deep breath and sat across from her. “Is something wrong?”
She looked at me. “I was about to ask you the same thing, Michelle. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re short-tempered and irritable with the kids these days, and that’s so unlike you. I have had a few complaints from the other employees, but thankfully none from parents yet.”
I put my head in my hands and willed my throat to reopen. “Ever feel like you’re going insane, Cheryl?”
She chuckled. “I run a daycare. Of course I feel like I’m going insane . . . every day.”
“Am I too young for a mid-life crisis?”
“I don’t think age ever factors into that. I think it’s something we all go through at some point.” She leaned across her desk. “But you have to leave it at the door, Michelle. We all have things going on at home, and when we come in here, we have to set ourselves aside and be healthy, nurturing providers for these kids.”
“Sounds like my house,” I said before I could think.
She stiffened. “This is a hard job, Michelle, especially for parents. But, your behavior here lately is unacceptable and if it doesn’t change, I’m going to ask you to seek employment elsewhere.” She slid a piece of paper across her desk.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a written reprimand to go with the verbal you’re getting right now. You’re putting me in a very difficult position, because some of the complaints I’ve had on you borderline on verbal abuse, and if I’m ever investigated, I have to show that I’ve taken appropriate steps.” She handed me a pen.
“Abuse? Are you serious, Cheryl?”
“Yeah, I know, it shocked me, too. But I’ve watched you this week, and unfortunately I find the complaints valid. I want you to try to find that woman that started working for me three years ago and bring her back. This . . . this angry, sullen woman sitting in front of me is very different than the woman I hired.”
I groaned and took the pen. “I have no choice but to sign it. Guilty as charged, Judge!” I scribbled out my name and slammed the pen on the desk.
“Michelle,” she glared at me and took the paper. “This isn’t personal, but you are giving me great ammunition to make it that way. I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but maybe you could benefit from medication . . .”
“I’m already on medication, Cheryl. I just have a shit-hole of a life and can’t do a damn thing about it.” I stood up and grabbed my purse. “Are we done here?” I heard the blood rushing through my ears and felt my pulse in my eyeballs. It reminded me of standing too close to the speakers at Brandon’s gigs and seeing the speakers thump with the beat. Tears brimmed my eyes, and I was about one tooth-grind away from breaking my own jaw to keep them from falling.
Cheryl leaned back in her chair and stared at me. “You’re suspended. One week——unpaid. Get your shit together and come back in here with your head on straight. And I highly encourage you to leave this office and not say one more word if you want to have a job to come back to in a week.”
I stared at her trying to decide if I gave enough of a shit to keep this job or not. I stared at her bad haircut and long-overdue need for a wardrobe update. I saw myself in her. “That won’t be necessary, Cheryl. I quit.”
I glared at my coworkers as I left the building in a blur of swirling colors representing the levels of responsibility I’d just flushed down the toilet. My beautiful purple Del Ray, the serene-but-hopeful blue Martin, my stuck-in-gaming-land yellow Gibson. Mix that with the black-hole Brandon, and I’d just made a mess of our paint-by-number life.
I couldn’t go home. Not now. I couldn’t face my family and tell them I’d just quit my job and had no idea how we’d have groceries or pay the house payment. Dammit, I should have collected my check from Cheryl while I was there. Now I’ll have to wait until payday. I reached in my purse for my cell phone then remembered I’d dropped it under the seat this morning. God, can nothing be easy for me? Does everything have to be such a fucking struggle? I take one step in the right direction and get hit by sixteen Mack trucks with no concepts of brakes or steering wheels. Just splat! Deal with it!
I just quit my job. I just got written up for borderline abusive behavior toward three year-olds and my co-workers. I could see the headlines, now: “Former Sunday School Teacher Jailed for Arguing with Toddler.” Brandon is going to have a fit. I hope he enjoyed his blissful “me time” day off—pecker head. Cheryl wanted me to take a week off and be good as new. That’s almost comical to think about—one week off will just rectify everything in corporate America. Stressed out? Take a day off. Tired of struggling? Take a week, but make sure you come back to work with a new shiny smile an
d great attitude, and oh, let’s just add to your problems by withholding a week of income that will remove the food from the only room where you have a place in life—the kitchen.
I think I know why Britney Spears shaved her head. Only she didn’t nearly get fired from the lowest-paying, thankless job like I did. I looked in the mirror and tried to envision myself bald. I think I could pull it off. It would save me a ton of money on hair dye to cover the grey that Brandon so eloquently pointed out the other day.
I pointed the car toward the store; if I had to go home and tell my family I’d failed them financially, then at least I could do it while I handed out the goods they needed before the money ran out. I stared at the rows of cars in front of me and how everyone in life is herded by colors and lines. If you’re lucky, green is your ruling color; yellow throws caution toward you, and red just stops you in your tracks. Lines on the highway, lines at the grocery store, lines on your face, lines for a signature stating you’ve become unsatisfied in life and your behavior shows it, and if you ever mix the two phenomenon and fall below the red line in your checkbook, you’re pretty much screwed.
I bought more than I should have at the store, but I really didn’t care. Maybe I’ll put the receipt on Brandon’s hamburger tonight. That would be a great conversation starter at dinner. “Hey, kids! Make that deodorant last, because Mommy’s officially unemployed! Eat up! Pass the ketchup.”
It was nearly six before I made it home and walked into mass chaos. Del Ray was in mid-rant when she wheeled around and yelled, “Mom, geez, where were you? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
My heart pounded in my chest. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe that no one picked me up from school and the door was locked, so we couldn’t get in the house after we all walked home?”
I glared at Brandon. “Where were you?”
He tossed the remote on the coffee table. “I had some errands to run! Where were you? We all tried to call you.”
Del Ray yelled at me, “You said we were going to the store after school today, but you never showed up!”