by Kate Rorick
They nodded in time. Then, from across the room, Kathy’s voice rang out. “Marcus, can you come help Cecily? Show her how you made these perfect cauliflower florets! Marcus is very creative, Cecily.”
Marcus shrugged as he moved away, leaving Lyndi and Nathalie by themselves.
They hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise Christmas afternoon, so this was their first real chance to talk, face-to-face, since Thanksgiving.
Now all they had to do was actually talk.
“How do you think Kathy made pink and blue deviled eggs?” Nathalie finally said.
“Blue and pink chickens, duh,” Lyndi replied, earning a look of scorn, followed by the crack of a smile. “Hey—that lady Marcus is with . . . is that Madame Craig?”
“Yes—she’s in Kathy’s book club. Did she feel up your stomach?”
“No . . . oh my God did she feel up yours?”
Nathalie nodded gravely.
“Are people just going to do that?”
Nathalie shrugged. “Maybe not to you. Your stomach’s still flat as a gluten-free pancake.”
“Not it’s not,” Lyndi said, looking down. “Dr. Keen said I’d already gained five pounds.”
“Right, how did your appointment go?”
“Great!” Lyndi said brightly. “Very thorough, like you said. Got my bloodwork done that day. And . . . Marcus and I got to see the baby. It was amazing.”
The thrill of seeing the first ultrasound danced in her sister’s eyes. Nathalie understood that thrill, and she was so happy she got to do her small part in providing it. “Well then,” she said, “you’re welcome.”
Lyndi cocked her head to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just, you know . . . for the introduction.”
Not just an introduction. She’d made the damn appointment for Lyndi. Got her sister—and her little niece or nephew—the medical supervision that was so clearly needed.
“Right,” Lyndi said, shaking her head as she pulled out her phone. Her face fell as she read a text.
“What is it?”
“Nothing—just, Elizabeth can’t make it.”
“That sucks,” Nathalie said sympathetically.
“Yeah, she says she has to work.”
She glanced over to where David was on the patio, still talking on his phone. “There seems to be a lot of that going around. But at least you’ve got the rest of the Vowel Brigade coming, right? Olivia and Allison?”
But Lyndi shook her head. “They . . . also have work.”
“Right,” Nathalie said, awkwardly. “Well, this is mostly Kathy’s friends. Who do we still know that lives in Santa Barbara anyway?”
“Well, you know a couple at least.”
Nathalie’s head swiveled to where Lyndi was looking. At the door, two younger women (well, younger than the book club crowd) were having their coats taken by Madame Craig.
A grin broke out over Nathalie’s face as they saw her. “Vicki! Kelly!”
They waved and broke their way through the crowd. The squealing was incessant and immediately lifted her spirits.
“I didn’t know you guys were coming!” Nathalie said. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
“Not since—”
“Brunch! With those—”
“Mimosas!” All three of them chimed together.
“Well, that’s the bummer of having kids,” Kelly replied, as she pushed Vicki aside to give Nathalie a squeeze. Kelly was the shortest of them all but she was also the strongest, having been a dancer for years and a mother for half a decade. “I haven’t left the house without someone small clinging to me in four years.”
“I told Ron as soon as we got the invite,” Vicki chimed in, “that he was taking Luke on a boys’ day out and I was going to a party and I dared him to tell me otherwise.” Vicki’s face split into a wide smile, showing off the Lauren Hutton gap in her teeth that Nathalie had always found mesmerizing. “Oh, we are soooooo happy for you! It’s about time you joined the Mom Club!”
Nathalie let the warm glow of their congratulations settle over her.
“Lynds, you remember my best friends from high sch—Lynds?”
But Lyndi had moved away, and was currently being chatted up and petted by some of Kathy’s friends.
“You’re right to do it younger,” one of the ladies was saying to Lyndi. “You’ll still be young enough to have a life when they leave the house!”
“I know—that’s certainly one upside,” Lyndi replied politely.
“These girls,” the lady sighed, her eyes glancing in Nathalie’s direction, “waiting and waiting these days . . .”
Nathalie’s eyes narrowed; she gritted her teeth. She knew exactly what that was—a dig at anyone who had the audacity to have a child over the age of thirty . . . regardless of how long it had taken them to get there.
She turned resolutely back to her friends.
“Your sister is pregnant too, right?” Vicki said in low, conspiratorial tones. “That must be . . . interesting.”
It was on the tip of Nathalie’s tongue to say “It sure is.” But for some reason, she couldn’t fall back into catty high school patterns. As much as she wanted to bemoan Lyndi’s overt fertility, she wouldn’t do that. At least, not without a couple of mimosas, and she wasn’t about to have one of those.
Plus, the way Lyndi’s head stilled, she wondered if she could hear them.
“Kathy’s over the moon about it,” Nathalie said instead.
“Hmm.” Vicki’s lips pressed together. She looked like she was about to say something, but then Kelly bounced into the fray and took Nathalie by the arm.
“Come on, let’s get some pink and blue grub—and those pink and blue cocktails—and you can fill us in on all things LA.”
As Vicki took her other arm, she asked, “So . . . how are you feeling?”
Nathalie was feeling fine—as she told them. As she told everyone.
Strangely, no one seemed to believe her.
“Really? No swelling?” Vicki said, a blue-and-pink cocktail in hand, as they settled onto the recently unoccupied couch. “God, I remember I was so bloated with Luke, I looked like I’d died in the bathtub and they found my body three days later.”
“Ugh, the weirdest for me was the carpal tunnel,” Kelly chimed in. “Had it with both kids. I would be working and suddenly my hands would just go completely numb.”
“I remember you telling me about that.” Vicki laughed. “I said we’d get you one of those beer drinking hats so you didn’t have to worry about dropping your mocktinis.”
“Well, I did have morning sickness . . .” Nathalie began, but Vicki shook her head.
“Everyone has that.”
“I didn’t!” Kelly piped up.
“Wait till you get to the truly weird stuff. The restless leg syndrome. The way your skin changes. Your gums will bleed. The stuffed-up nose and the snoring. The gas. Oh my goodness—the gas!” Vicki laughed loudly, causing heads to turn.
“Basically, anything that can leak out of you, will leak out of you,” Kelly added, sage wisdom permeating every word.
Suddenly, one of the older women hovering near the couch turned to them. “My worst was in the eighth month—my Jeremy started sitting on my sciatic nerve. I could barely get off the couch the last month of pregnancy!”
“Ohhh, my first pregnancy, my little girl got her foot stuck up under my ribs. I haven’t felt pain like that since.”
“I just remember drooling all the time. My husband said it was like I was a Great Dane,” another book club member said.
“My hormones were so all over the place. I broke down in tears over conjugating verbs.” This from Madame Craig.
Then, Kathy found her way into the group. “I had edema so badly with Lyndi. My feet and hands were swollen—the worst was my genitals. It was like trying to walk with a water balloon between my legs!”
Everyone laughed. Everyone that is, except Nathalie. Instead, her
head spun.
Aside from the forced imagery of Kathy’s swollen genitals—dear God, that was something she could have gone several lifetimes without knowing—the sheer list of potential symptoms always made her a little queasy.
She’d read them before, in her research. But that didn’t help prepare Nathalie for what was to come . . . because she didn’t know which ones were to come.
“Excuse me for a second, ladies,” she said, standing.
“Have to pee?” Vicki said knowingly. “That’s just going to get worse, too.”
Nathalie walked away from the group, and headed for the bathroom, but ended up loitering in the empty hall, taking a moment to breathe.
If she knew what to specifically expect symptom-wise, she could make a plan. Was she going to get leg cramps at night? If so, she’d be prepared with a body pillow. Was she going to have swollen feet? Then, she’d have old lady orthopedic shoes in her Amazon cart today. Stuffy nose? Saline spray. Etc. so on and so forth.
But she didn’t know the likelihood of her getting any or all of these symptoms. And as she passed the mantel, she saw the picture of the only person who could have given her a clue.
Her mom.
In the picture, Nathalie’s mother looked about Nathalie’s age now, in her early thirties . . . young and bright and full of energy. She had her arms around Nathalie, who was about five. They were standing in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle in Disneyland, Nathalie grinning so much because she’d already had a candy apple and was riding a sugar high. She knew she was trying to escape her mother’s embrace in the picture, trying to go running off to see something, ANYTHING, because they were at Disney so why waste time taking photos?
Nathalie loved this picture. It was one of the few concrete memories she had of “before.” Her mother’s dark hair hung long down her back. She had a tan and a healthy amount of flesh on her body. Too many of Nathalie’s memories of her mother were of someone tired, and skeletal, and in pain.
This was the one picture in the house of Nathalie’s mom. She didn’t blame her dad for this. She didn’t even really blame the move from the house they grew up in to the 1500-square-foot smaller condo. They’d been slowly disappearing long before that, replaced by ones of Kathy, Lyndi, and a growing Nathalie as time went on.
This picture used to be in Nathalie’s room growing up. But for some reason, she didn’t take it with her to college. When she got home for break, and discovered her room had been converted into a sewing room/yoga relaxation lounge, she was panicked until she discovered the picture on her dad’s desk in his office.
This one, it seemed, he wouldn’t let go of.
“Hey, kiddo,” she heard from behind her. “You hiding out, too?”
She turned to find her father’s head sticking out of the den. He held his fingers up to his lips, as if to keep his presence in his own home a secret.
“Hey, Dad,” she said. “I was wondering where you were. You aren’t into all the pink and blue?”
“It’s a little over the top, I know, but Kathy was so excited for you girls,” her father said with a shrug as she walked through the door and into the den. The door slid shut. “I figured I’d let her have her fun and I could watch a bowl game in here.”
“So you’re okay not knowing the sex of your grandchildren?” she said, muting the TV. “How could you possibly live with the suspense?”
“Oh, I’ll come out for the cake cutting. But when Kathy’s book club is over I find it easiest to . . . stay out of the way.”
“Understandable.”
“So we didn’t really get a chance to talk on Christmas.” He threw an arm around her shoulder. “But just want to make sure you’re doing okay. How you holding up?”
“How you holding up” was the Dad equivalent of “how are you feeling,” she guessed.
“Fine. You know. Morning sickness pretty much gone.”
“And David—how’s he doing with it all?”
“Great!” she replied, a little taken aback. “Great—he’s just stuck on a big project at work right now, but that will be over soon.”
And things will get back to normal—at least, that was what she hoped.
“Good. I remember when your mom was pregnant with you. I spent the first couple months certain that I couldn’t handle the gig. Pretty much panicking over every little thing.”
“You handled the gig just fine, Dad,” Nathalie replied softly.
“I was better when Lyndi came around. I figured you were doing all right, I couldn’t be that terrible.”
“Not one bit. Is Lyndi holding up okay, too?” she asked, cautiously. “In your opinion?”
“I wouldn’t worry about your sister,” her dad said. “Kathy and I won’t let her stumble.”
Right. Because, Kathy and Dad would always catch Lyndi when she fell. She’d never had to worry about anything in her whole life.
But rather than give in to the pettiness of her thoughts, inspiration struck. A question she had meant to ask long ago, but only now found the opportunity. “Actually . . . I was wondering something. What do you remember about Mom being pregnant with me?”
“Other than my ongoing panic, you mean?”
“I mean, did she have any specific symptoms? Did I come early, or late, or were there complications? How did she prepare for all the changes?”
Her dad frowned, looked away. Then, after a moment . . . “When it came to stuff like that, your mother was a pretty private person. She didn’t complain about things, she would just . . . deal with them. I don’t know if you remember when she got sick, but—”
Nathalie looked down to her toes, determined not to let the shine in her eyes give her away. “I remember. I know what you mean.”
“I’m sorry, kiddo. But I can tell you your mom was so happy to be pregnant. That I do remember. And I was just so relieved when you came out with twelve fingers and toes. We just had the extra ones removed.”
“Ha ha,” she deadpanned. Then . . . “You’re kidding right? I know you’re kidding.”
He smirked, but before he could give an answer, the door to the den slid open, and Kathy burst through. “There you are! Nathalie, it’s almost noon! Time for the big reveal!”
“Of course, I’ll be right th—”
But before she could finish the sentence, Kathy’s perfectly blue-and-pink-manicured hand grabbed Nathalie’s, and dragged her out of the den.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming! Kathy, the cake is just sitting there, right? It’s not like it’s got an appointment after this and needs to be cut exactly at noon.”
Kathy rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t understand your humor sometimes. No, the cake is not on a timer. But the glitter balloons are.”
“The glitter balloons?” This from Lyndi, who appeared at Nathalie’s side. Marcus slid in right next to her.
Kathy pointed up. There, in the middle of the living room ceiling, hovering above their heads this entire time, were two large white balloons. Attached to each was a mousetrap-like contraption with a sharp, shiny needle at one end, inches way from pricking the balloons.
“Kathy asked me to set it up last night. It’s synced to an app on her phone, set to go off just as you two cut into your cakes.”
Marcus waved toward the refreshment table, where two plain white cakes—one marked “Lyndi and Marcus,” one marked “Natalie and David” (her name spelled incorrectly, of course)—had emerged.
“No!” Kathy cried. “Cecily, the cakes are meant to go in the center! Marcus, help me!”
As Kathy stalked off to deal with the positioning of the cakes, Marcus was dragged along as if by an invisible thread.
“I don’t think Marcus’s Kathy-fu is very strong yet,” Nathalie said, wryly.
“He’s spent the last three days here, I think he’s going to turn the experience into his next article for the website.”
“Well, that’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“As evidenced by this party,
Kathy has discovered the internet.”
Lyndi swallowed a laugh. “He’s doing really well though. I remember when you brought David home. I thought Dad was going to crush his hand with the handshake.”
Nathalie’s eyes slid over to where David was still talking on the phone on the balcony. He gripped the railing, his shoulders sagging. He looked tired.
“Yes, well . . . he broke Dad in, so you and Marcus have it easier.” Her eyes went back to Kathy, and now her dad, who had appeared—as predicted—near the cakes. He was being roped into moving them along with Marcus.
The men in the family, all gathered around to celebrate the women.
All except one.
“But then again,” she said on a sigh. “You always have it easier.”
A queer look crossed Lyndi’s face again. “What makes you say that?”
Uh, the fact that you got pregnant without even trying? That our parents are going to carry you and your baby? That people think you’re doing this at your age for a reason? That everyone thinks you’re going to be fine and nobody’s worried about you being able to manage a pregnancy let alone a baby and all anyone will tell me is about how awful the next six months will be?
“No reason,” she said, pasting a placid smile on her face. “This is just . . . overwhelming, that’s all.”
“No kidding,” Lyndi agreed.
And she’d been alone in facing it. She knew none of this would have gotten to her the way it did if David hadn’t spent the last hour on the phone on the balcony.
“Okay everyone! Everyone!”
“Attention, s’il vous plaît!” called out Madame Craig. Which weirdly worked. Everyone in the room quieted down.
“It’s time for the cake cutting!” Kathy said, going pink under the attention from all her friends. “Marcus, the countdown please!”
Marcus looked like he had no idea if he was supposed to just count down from ten or begin a nuclear launch sequence, but before he could decide Nathalie took a step forward.
“Hold on—just let me get David.”
“Nathalie, the time!” Kathy panicked, grabbing her arm. “I don’t know how to stop the app for the glitter balloons!”