At breakfast she mentions the missed sex date opportunity.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Really?” She realizes she sounds grumpy. Oh, well. She hesitates. And decides to dive in. “You know, I’m thinking it’s time we invited Jack to dinner.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Alan says.
“Why?”
“Does he need to know where we live?”
Laurie frowns. “How else is he going to case the house and eventually rob us?”
“He makes me uncomfortable.”
“How can he make you uncomfortable when you won’t meet him? He’s not replacing you.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“That’s what you’re thinking.”
Alan is silent. “I know he’s not replacing me,” he finally says. “It’s knowing he’s there. The baby was ours before. Nobody else’s. And now—it sounds crazy to try and explain it.” He kisses Laurie—on the lips and then on the end of her nose. “I’ve got to get to work. I love you.”
When Alan is gone, Laurie sits in the yellow room in her new rocking chair, a gift from her mother. It’s a glider and makes a whoosh whoosh sound when she moves back and forth.
Buddy begins to kick. I hope you’re a soccer player. Male or female. David Beckham. A kick-ass girl like Hope Solo. Strong and fast and fearless. That’s what I want. And for your father to love you as much as I do.
Father. Fathers.
Buddy has two.
***
The bladder is usually a convex organ, but is rendered concave from external pressure during pregnancy. Thus, its retention capacity is greatly reduced.
Translation: Laurie has to pee all the time.
She is clearing out the yellow room. Alan has promised to put the crib together over the weekend. Laurie has packed up most of the office things in bankers boxes to put in the guest room/office for now. Laurie looks at the alphabet trim. She remembers how excited they were when they put it up. Happy and optimistic, preparing for the arrival of Troppo. It seems like yesterday. But it was a year and a half ago. And since then—everything has changed.
“It’ll all be fine, Buddy,” she says to her stomach. “I hope you like this room.” She looks up at the Python P. “And I hope you like snakes.”
Her mother calls and says she’s coming for the shower Grace is planning. She can’t wait—she’s already bought way too many baby clothes and the cutest shoes. Does Laurie know they make baby Uggs? And of course she’ll be there after the baby is born, but she doesn’t want to get in the way, unless Laurie would like her to come now because she could do that too.
“I found an old christening gown. You’re going to christen the baby, aren’t you?” her mother says.
“Of course.” Laurie’s anger at God has faded and she’s been to church a few times. She hasn’t totally forgiven God for the miscarriages and the mixed-up sperm, but she’s working on it.
“I’d like to tell you the christening gown has been in our family for generations, but the truth is I found it at a garage sale,” her mother tells her. “Two dollars. It’s darling.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” Laurie hesitates. She could tell her mother about the baby. About Jack. Alan has told Laurie he’s never saying anything to his parents even though Laurie points out they’ll find out eventually.
“Laurie? What’s wrong?”
That damn mother instinct. How does her mother know something is wrong?
“Oh—it’s kind of a big deal. Sort of funny. Sort of not.” And she realizes she’d love her mother’s advice. “Remember when Alan and I were going to this fertility doctor…”
***
Laurie’s mother understands their disappointment, but tells Laurie she needs to concentrate on the baby. “That’s the most important thing,” she says. “And I have another suggestion.”
“I don’t need a therapist.”
“What about Alan? How’s he handling it?”
“Okay.”
“Really okay or fake okay?”
Laurie sighs. “Somewhere in the middle.”
“It’s a big thing for a male ego to wrap his head around. For both of you to wrap your heads around. The two of you should talk to somebody. Therapy’s not a sign of weakness—”
“I know, I know. I promise, if things get bad—which they won’t—we’ll go see somebody.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re my mother; you’re supposed to trust me,” Laurie says.
“That means I know you better than anybody else. That means don’t even try to lie to your mother. Take care of yourself, be patient with Alan, and email me more pictures. You look good with boobs.”
***
Being pregnant is like being in a club. Encountering other pregnant women, they nod at each other, compare notes. They speak the same language—how many weeks are you, who’s your doctor, Lamaze or Bradley, do you know what you’re having?
“Have you babyproofed your house?” a pretty pregnant woman asks Laurie in line at Starbucks one morning. “I know a great service where they come to your house and point out the dangers. Curtain cords strangle babies to death all the time. Toilet locks—do you know how many babies drown in toilets every year? A baby can drown in one inch of water,” the woman says. She has crazy eyes.
Before Laurie can answer, the woman continues. “Cats suck the breath out of babies. People think that’s a myth, but it’s true. We should get together sometime. Like have coffee—except not caffeinated because that’s bad for the baby. Messes up their genes, lowers their IQ score by at least ten points. My name’s Melissa.”
“I’m Sheila,” says Laurie. “Give me your number and I’ll call you.”
***
When Alan comes home from work, he finds Laurie in the yellow room.
“I can’t decide if we should paint again. What do you think?” she asks him.
He looks at the alphabet trim as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “I think it’s okay.”
“Should we pull up the carpet?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t carpet better when he’s crawling around? And learning to walk?”
They look down at the floor, both imagining a baby crawling there.
“The carpet’s a little shabby,” Laurie says.
“Think what it’ll look like after a baby lives in it for a couple years.”
Alan smiles. She can see the effort he’s making—but at least it’s a smile.
“Maybe new curtains,” Laurie says. “No blinds. They’re total baby killers.”
“What?”
***
Alan has wine with dinner and they don’t talk about the baby. Laurie tells Alan how the neighbor across the street has sold his house to a developer known for building houses too big for the lot and a group of neighbors are trying to organize something to stop the gigantic house.
“That’s a sycamore in the front yard,” Alan says. “They’re protected by the state, I think. So developers can’t cut it down without some kind of variance. You and Grace should look into it. You could do a piece on McMansions for Hidden Valley.”
“Great idea,” Laurie says. “I’ll call Grace after dinner. She’s mad at me because I haven’t signed up Buddy for preschool yet.”
“What? Buddy’s not born yet.”
“If you wait until he’s born, it’s too late. Emilie is still on the waiting list for Grace’s top choice and she’s only two. We don’t want Buddy to be left behind.”
Alan thinks that over. “Buddy going to school. I can’t imagine that.”
“Can’t you see him all dressed up? Carrying a little lunch box? We’ll take tons of pictures of his first day,” Laurie says.
Alan sips his wine and to Laurie’s surprise says, “Why don’t y
ou invite Jack over for dinner sometime?”
It’s a turning point, Laurie tells herself. He’s finally coming around. Alan will realize Jack isn’t a threat; he can be a mentor to Jack, help him figure out his career, offer suggestions about graduate schools. They’ll end up friends.
She’ll plan the dinner menu carefully. Chicken? Some kind of casserole? She can’t decide now. Some of her pregnancy books have suggested menu options. She’ll check them out later.
***
Childbirth in Other Cultures. By tradition, some new mothers in the Philippines are given a special meal after childbirth of boiled chicken, cold porridge, and a small amount of cooked placenta.
Delicious.
Alan
Who knew hot air ballooning was such a big deal in Albuquerque? The city has an international balloon museum and a balloon fiesta. Alan imagines himself walking with Nancy Futterman, looking up at multicolored, multishaped balloons, hearing the hiss of helium from vents, people chattering as they point to the sky.
Another Albuquerque tourist site suggests parachute jumps. Would Nancy go for that? Probably not. He hasn’t sprung the hot air balloon idea on her either. In fact, he hasn’t mentioned Albuquerque. They continue to chat on Facebook; Nancy talks about her children. Ava is the perfect child, sweet and good-natured. Trevor, on the other hand, is trouble. “He was born sneaky,” Nancy writes. “Maybe that’s a terrible thing to say about your own child. It must be something he inherited from Bob’s side of the family. Ha-ha.”
Ha-ha indeed. Let me tell you about the unknown side of my unborn child, Nancy. Not that I can let anyone else know. Like my family. Especially my mother, the Ancestry.com queen. She can trace our family back to England and Ireland for generations. And that’s just her side of the family, the Caffrey side. I can show you photocopies of birth announcements and obituaries. Ask me any question about a Caffrey or a Gaines, I’ll be able to answer.
But sperm donor number 296—what do we know about him? His parents were born in India. I guess my mother will be able to figure it out on Ancestry.com/India. Assuming they have Ancestry.com in India, which they probably do.
He doesn’t say any of this to Nancy. He tells her he’s sorry about Trevor. It’s probably a phase and he’ll grow out of it.
“Bob said the same thing. He says I worry too much. Like Bob would know. He’s never around—I’m the one who gets stuck with the hard shit. Bob doesn’t like to discipline the children, so guess who’s the heavy? Moi. It sucks being the Nazi all the time. Sometimes I think children take years off your life.”
“I bet,” Alan types back.
***
Suppose Nancy is afraid of heights? He checks out other Albuquerque attractions. A botanical garden? Nancy might like that, but Alan would be bored to tears. He finds the perfect spot. The Trinity Site. Wow, he never thought you’d be able to see the place where the first atomic bomb was tested. Not that there’s much left to see. Obviously.
Nancy has to like this, who wouldn’t? He keeps reading the online information. Oh, this might not appeal to her:
A one-hour visit to the inner fenced area at the Trinity Site will result in a whole-body exposure of one-half to one milliroentgen. Although radiation levels are low, some feel any extra exposure should be avoided. The decision is yours.
Nancy might wonder why Alan is offering her a choice between a hot air balloon ride and radiation poisoning. “Some kind of death wish for me, Alan?” She’ll laugh. Or maybe she won’t.
At ground zero, trinitite, the green, glassy substance found in the area, is still radioactive and must not be picked up.
They can stay in their room in the Hotel Andaluz; they never have to leave. No worries about falling out of a balloon or picking up radioactive trinitite.
He looks one last time for an attraction that Nancy would like.
The American International Rattlesnake Museum.
***
Talking to Nancy gives him something to look forward to. Talking to Laurie is tricky these days. He’s afraid he’ll say the wrong thing. He anticipates seeing her frown, hearing a nasty comment. He can’t do anything right. If he asks how she’s feeling, she snaps at him, “How do you think I’m doing? My back hurts.” He could volunteer to rub it, but he hesitates. She’ll only remind him that he didn’t rub her back last night. And as for making jokes—he thinks that would only make things worse.
He’s exaggerating. She’s not that bad. Yes, she’s short-tempered, but aren’t most pregnant women? He can’t blame her; she’s running around, either working with Grace or getting things ready for the baby. And that’s okay; everything seems almost normal—except the Jack part.
“Jack was so funny the other day,” she’ll say. And she’ll tell a story about how Jack and his family got locked out of their car after a 49ers game and Jack’s father held up a twenty-dollar bill in the parking lot at Candlestick and shouted, “First one to break into my car without smashing the glass gets this.” And a bunch of guys jumped forward and had his car open in under a minute. And Laurie will laugh and Alan will wonder why he’s jealous of a twenty-one-year-old college student. Yes, it’s great that Laurie is getting to know Jack, but every story she tells, every clever Jack anecdote—it makes Alan dislike Jack a little more. And it shouldn’t, he knows that, and when Laurie tells Alan she’d like Jack to come for dinner, the easiest thing in the world would be to say yes, of course Jack should come for dinner, I’ll grill something on the barbecue. But instead Alan shakes his head and says no.
Why can’t he meet Jack? Is it because Jack has his whole life ahead of him and Alan is settled into middle age and wants to be young again?
No, it’s not about age. Alan is jealous because Jack has a part of Laurie’s life that he doesn’t. It reminds him of the James Joyce story, “The Dead.” Laurie made him watch the movie on cable one night.
“That’s Gabriel,” Laurie points to the TV. “He’s insanely in love with his wife.”
In the film, Gabriel observes his wife listening to someone singing an Irish song. And the look on her face—she’s remembering something: a different time, a person? Later when Gabriel asks his wife what she was thinking about, she talks about her life before she married Gabriel, how she was in love with a boy named Michael Furey. He got sick but came to see her anyway and stood outside in the rain. A week later, he died.
Gabriel is stunned. His wife loved another man before him? He had no idea. He thought their love was exclusive. But all this time, Michael Furey was there, part of his wife’s past. Everything has changed for Gabriel—nothing is what he thought it was.
Jack is Laurie’s Michael Furey. Jack will always have a piece of Laurie that doesn’t belong to Alan. Not to mention the physical presence of Michael Furey/Jack. Every day the baby will remind Alan of someone else in Laurie’s life. Jack and Laurie have created a human being together. Alan is only there to catch the football after it’s thrown. He reconsiders, realizes that’s a terrible analogy.
But this isn’t Jack’s fault. If Alan should be mad at anybody, it’s the crazy fertility clinic tech who switched around the specimens. Jack is as innocent as Laurie. Or Alan. Or the baby.
Alan could give Jack money to disappear, leave the state, promise to never contact them again. Would that make him feel better, even though it’s creepy and borderline criminal?
Or if he agrees to dinner that might put everything to rest. He’ll reassure himself that Jack is a fine potential father/donor. And once he’s reassured, he can let the ghost of Michael Furey go away. Hopefully for good.
Unless the giving Jack money thing works out.
***
Alan and Nancy Futterman talk about life in Texas versus life in California, their marriages. Nancy and Bob’s marriage is going through a rough patch. Alan says he understands.
They haven’t acknowledged their new relationship e
xcept when one of them types, “I’m so glad we made this connection again. :-)” That would be Nancy.
Does :-) mean Nancy will meet him in Albuquerque? Alan isn’t sure how to bring that up. Does he casually work it into a conversation about CityVille or Ava’s new haircut? “You ever get out to Albuquerque?” Alan could say. “No, why are you asking?” Nancy will answer. And then Alan could tell her he has business there, and when he was looking it up on a map, he realized Albuquerque is almost exactly halfway between Los Angeles and Dallas, what an amazing coincidence.
There must be an easier way to suggest they get together in Albuquerque. Hey, do you like balloon rides? How do you feel about atomic testing?
***
He tells himself he doesn’t want to have sex with Nancy. Yes, he liked having sex with her way back when, but that was way back when. Yes, he liked her breasts, not that he should compare them to Laurie’s because Laurie’s are excellent—and changing. At first it was exciting, watching them grow rounder and fuller, and when Laurie told him they tingled sometimes and her nipples felt more sensitive. “Let’s see how sensitive,” Alan said and touched his fingertip to her nipple. Laurie gave a little “ooh” of pleasure and Alan touched it again, this time with his tongue.
But that was weeks ago. The last time Alan reached for Laurie’s breasts, she was getting dressed, putting on a lacy bra he’s never seen before and he saw her breasts in the mirror—large, engorged, the areolas darker, the nipples pinker. He reached over and squeezed them, gently, the way she likes. But she pushed him away. “Sorry, ow. They’re super tender today.”
He knows she’s not rejecting him. It’s the pregnancy. Once the baby is born, their sex life will go back to what it was before—different time schedule, but mostly the same.
So he’s not thinking about sex with Nancy Futterman; it’s more about how he’d like to lie in bed with someone, have the imaginary someone put her arms around him. No one judging him or telling him his fear about having a baby that is only part his is unnatural and will go away. He won’t have to think about the baby at all. He can bury his head in the crook of her neck and she won’t push him away. He won’t have to think about anything unpleasant, like the pressure of the Choc-O presentation at Palmer-Boone—he’s been told the presentation has to have wow factor. He won’t worry how a new baby will change his life. Or how his feelings about the new baby are still complicated and possibly unresolvable.
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