by Lara Hunter
“I didn’t know how much loneliness affected me,” she whispered into the receiver. “If you need anyone, please go find one of your friends. They’re all in the city, aren’t they?”
“Most of them have babies,” Lisa said. “They’re boring now.”
“Well, so are you, then,” Diane reminded her, her voice motherly, yet stern.
“Right,” Lisa grumbled.
“I’ve gotta get in bed, honey, I’m working early tomorrow morning,” Diane said after a pause, letting out a tired sigh.
“Hope your Christmas isn’t too bad, Mom. I miss you, and I love you. See you soon.”
“Merry Christmas, sweetie. Take care of yourself, and the baby.”
Lisa hung up the phone, then, and scoured the internet for any news of Prince Francesco and Princess Rose, who’d been mysteriously quiet in the weeks since she’d met up with the Princess. She often wondered how the conversation had gone between the two of them upon Princess Rose’s return. Surely, Francesco had been bothered by it—having known Lisa, having told her so many secrets of himself. Right?
Ultimately, Lisa knew she had to make peace with the fact that, perhaps, she didn’t know the Prince at all. He was just another man, looking to use her, to assure her she was beautiful for just another night. It just so happened that Lisa had believed this one, this time. It was just her luck that he also happened to be a prince.
The Christmas season swept on, and then, suddenly, it was New Year’s Eve. Lisa scampered through Times Square, taking glamorous shots of the performers, staging interviews with some of the biggest acts, and watching as the ball dropped, having no one there beside her to kiss her. As it dropped, she closed her eyes, imagining Francesco’s lips upon hers. Her eyelashes fluttered, but her brain understood the fickle nature of memory.
On January 8th, Lisa entered the pre-natal clinic, her belly beginning an early protrusion over her jeans. She gave a friendly smile to a woman in the corner who was reading a pregnancy magazine. Her grin was wide, earnest, big-toothed. Her accent was Texan.
“Boy, big momma. You look like you’re in your fifth month!” the woman cried, assessing Lisa’s stance.
Lisa shook her head, laughing slightly. She felt a bead of sweat drip down her forehead as she took a seat. “Actually, I’m only three months along. Crazy, huh?”
“Oh,” the woman said, frowning. “You look bigger than I did. What have you been eating?” She turned her attention back to the pregnancy magazine, clearly frightened both for Lisa and for herself. Who was “right” and who was “wrong” seemed to be a perpetual game in the pregnancy world. Already, Lisa had begun to feel distaste for it. And she’d only just begun to show.
After a short wait, the tech called Lisa’s name, and she entered the exam room, her walk a slight waddle.
The nurse assessed her, eyeing her chart. “And you said you’re only—”
“Three months. Yep,” she affirmed. She eyed the clock, noting that a comedian was meant to appear at a frozen yogurt shop in less than two hours’ time. She had to be there. She had to get the shot. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Can’t have this baby slow me down even more than it already has.”
“He or she,” the nurse corrected her, eyeing her sharply. Lisa gave her a hearty eye roll.
The nurse slathered chilly goop upon her stomach, and Lisa waited, staring up at the ceiling. Several moments later, the nurse placed the scanner upon her bulbous belly, and then pointed toward the screen, a smile stretching over her cheeks.
Lisa felt touched that this woman could feel any sort of emotion for her unborn child. For her, surely, it was mere routine. It was inconsequential. It was just something she did during her work shift. That was all.
But God, there it was. A collection of stringy cells. And Lisa was already in love.
The nurse leaned closer, her eyebrows lowering. “Wait. What is—” She gestured, eyeing the image on the screen. “Has any doctor stated if you are having more than one baby?” she asked.
“I mean, I should be asking you, right?” Lisa said, laughing nervously. “You’re the one with the medical degree.”
“You do seem bigger than you should be,” the nurse continued, speaking of her body like a girl in gym class, assessing her form. “Lisa,” she continued, swiping the radar over her belly, “you’re going to be a mother to three babies. You’re expecting triplets.”
Lisa flung her head back, caught off-guard and unable to run from the table. She was tied down, covered with goop. The words rang through her ears. “Three babies?” she whispered, incredulous. “That’s impossible.”
“Look, Lisa. There are three forms on the screen, as I live and breathe,” the nurse said excitedly, pointing out their spines and little, beating hearts. “Triplets. You don’t see that every day.”
Lisa pressed her lips together with sudden excitement. Despite the panic jolting through her, the sheer fact that she was carrying three babies—three balls of cells who would grow up into very real, very lovable people—was incredible. She wanted to dance down the hallways. She wanted to declare her love for her children to the world. She swept her fingers over her lips, quivering with emotion. Tears began to drizzle down her cheeks.
“I know,” the nurse affirmed. “I know it’s overwhelming. But you’re going to be fine. It’s going to be perfectly fine.”
The nurse left Lisa a few moments later, allowing her to dress alone, yanking her jeans as far up as possible before they stopped under her round belly. Lisa eyed her breasts in the small mirror in the corner of the room, noticing the darkness in her nipples and the weight of them, surely preparing for three babies to nurse from them throughout the first months of their lives.
But would they even be with her during those months?
She walked from the clinic, her head spinning. She hadn’t eaten in several hours, and the thought of marching all the way to a frozen yogurt stand, just to catch a single photograph of some washed-up comic scraping the bottom of his bowl just didn’t appeal to her.
Spotting a nearby coffee shop, she darted toward it, ordering a turkey sandwich and a bowl of corn chowder. As the teenage barista slowly began to pour her soup, his movements tentative, she reached over the counter and grasped a cookie, sensing herself going into shock.
“Hey! You can’t do that!” the boy declared.
But already, Lisa had bitten into the cookie, the dark chocolate coursing over her tongue. She closed her eyes, oxygen flooding back into her brain. Suddenly, she could articulate thoughts. And the reality of what had just occurred in the clinic struck her, full-force.
Armed with her soup and sandwich, Lisa collapsed into a chair near the window, gazing out at the city. Post-Christmas, everyone looked a little fatter, a little wearier, and unprepared for the rough months ahead. As she scarfed her chowder, bits of it dribbling down her chin, she considered her dwindling bank account, and the fact that she’d have to feed herself properly for the next six months, until the babies came.
She wouldn’t be able to afford her breakfasts, let alone her lunches. And beyond that, she was growing lonely, inching toward being unable to rub her feet, and knowing that her working days were drawing to a close.
She had read that Francesco had been on a Christmas vacation with his father, mother and sister, without Princess Rose. But the tabloid hadn’t mentioned anything about “trouble in paradise.” Rather, the vacation had been touted as a last-ditch effort for the family to spend “quality time” together before the wedding festivities.
Lisa pressed the edge of the spoon against her lips, uncertain. If she tried to call Francesco and Rose again, telling them that she was expecting triplets, she’d be breaching the arrangement she and Rose had made the previous month.
She was supposed to stay away. And the alternative—that the royal family ruin her very existence—didn’t seem viable, compared to just scraping through the next six months and ducking out on the other end a free, rich person.
“Penny for your thoughts,” the barista said as he gathered trash, shoving napkins into the plastic bag and looking at her earnestly.
“I just wish life was a bit easier to figure out,” Lisa breathed, leaning her chin heavily upon her fist. “Don’t you?”
“Tell me about it,” the barista stated, his eyes wide. “I just asked out a girl for the second time, and she’s still ‘thinking about it.’ When will it end?”
He turned, then, and returned to his place at the register, where he accepted more orders and frantically brewed another round of coffees. Lisa just watched him, centered upon the youthful nature of his face, his gangly arms, and his eyes, so lost. Was anyone ever found?
THIRTEEN
The next five months, from January to June, bordered on nightmarish, with Lisa’s pregnant belly extending far beyond any other she’d seen before—and certainly much further than any of her friends’, who’d been so blissfully excited for the arrival of their child-rearing years. The unfairness of it all made her tense and irritable.
Still, she pushed on, cleaning up her diet, ensuring that protein-rich salads were a lunch-staple, and even reading the baby books leant to her by Nancy and the other pre-soccer moms, who “just couldn’t wait” to squeeze all three children’s cheeks.
As she grew larger, Lisa found she could take fewer and fewer projects, ultimately bringing her bank balance to an all-time low. Whenever Rocco called, she made excuses, not wanting him to discover her “predicament.” She’d considered telling him that she had a family emergency, that she wouldn’t be able to work for a few months, but that she’d return full-fledged and vibrant, like a new woman. She supposed the lie wasn’t so dramatic. With each inch that her belly protruded, the pregnancy felt like a greater emergency. She couldn’t very well chase after celebrities, her camera flailing, and expect to get the shots she needed.
Lisa splayed out on her couch on a mid-June afternoon, calculating her remaining funds, and recognizing that she would soon have to give up her apartment. She just couldn’t make it for the next few months, rent-wise. She bit her lip, sensing the weight of her reality with each calculation, realizing that, in many ways, her life in New York was over.
She hadn’t heard from Princess Rose in the months since she’d seen her at Central Park. She hadn’t received a single cent from her, nor any paperwork regarding the adoption. She’d become obsessed with tabloid photographs of the couple, thinking back to that fateful night, when she’d watched over them from the corner of the Matador, so light and confident, bribing her way into their private space to net herself a sweet profit. What she would do to take it all back. What she would do to spring back into her old life, pre-Francesco, and pre-Rose.
She slid her hand over her bulbous stomach, knowing that this wasn’t exactly true. Her love for her babies constantly grew within her. Sometimes, she stayed up all night, daydreaming about their futures—if they’d get along, if they’d become different people, each of them taking a drastically different path through life. Of course, the imagining often spiraled out of control. But she supposed that was true for almost every mother.
She’d begun to harbor an active hatred for the Prince, who’d ultimately abandoned her. She was more alone, and broken, than she’d ever been. And, in conversation with her mother the previous evening, she’d decided to move back to Detroit to find her footing.
“I can support us both,” her mother had affirmed, showing such confidence in the face of adversity. Such was her way.
“Mom, no. I’ll get a job once I’m there. Once the babies are born, I’ll go back to work. I’ll help you. I just can’t handle the city right now.”
“I’ll handle it,” her mother had said again, almost daring Lisa to argue. “If you worry too much, you’ll get sick. And trust me: pregnancy is one hundred times worse when you’re sick.”
Lisa began to pack her things into small boxes, with the mindset that she would only bring whatever could fit in her mother’s car, and leave the rest at the side of the road. She slipped books into bags, leaving the baby books behind, sensing that whatever she hadn’t learned already, she would pick up along the way. She gazed forlornly at her clothing collection, at the little blue dress she’d been wearing the night the babies had been conceived, and tossed away much of it, barely remembering the body she’d once had. Her wardrobe was simply a painful reminder of a time when she’d been happy; when she’d been working toward something.
As she packed, listening to loud music and stressing herself with momentary bouts of anger toward the Prince and Princess, she realized she needed to get out of the apartment, at least for a little while. She put on flip-flops, which were the only shoes that could possibly accommodate her swollen feet, and shuffled from the door.
The New York heat was heavy upon her shoulders, causing immediate sweat beads to form in her armpits. She stared back at the people who stared at her as she waddled down the street. On the corner, a small bodega awaited her, where she could buy candy bars, which she would scarf back in the air conditioning, once the chocolate hardened once more.
Standing at the bodega, Lisa found herself gazing at the Daily Sneak, tucked away on the top rack of tabloid magazines. The Prince’s face stared at her from the center, with massive text beneath: “Royal Wedding Just Two Weeks Away—Secret New York Venue!”
New York? Lisa’s eyes widened. She swayed slightly on her feet, forcing the poor bodega owner to rush toward her and make sure she wasn’t going to fall over. Surely, he was only really worried about his well-organized candy bar collection.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked.
Lisa blinked heavily. “Sure,” she murmured. “Can I take one of every candy bar, and a copy of the Daily Sneak?”
“One of every candy bar?” the man asked, incredulous. “Every single kind?”
“Yup, I’m eating for four, you see!” Lisa affirmed. “And quick. If I stay out in this heat another second more, I might go into labor. And you’ll be doing the delivery.” She winked at him, but he scurried quickly, tossing a handful of candy bars at her, along with the copy of the Daily Sneak.
“Just get home, lady,” he said, gesturing back down the street. “You’re too pregnant to be out in this.”
Lisa accepted the gifts and waddled back down the street, grinning to herself, and refusing to look at the tabloid until she calmed down. She knew another peek at the Prince’s face would send her reeling. And she didn’t want to frighten anyone else in the dripping Brooklyn heat.
Back in her apartment, Lisa had to gulp several cups of water, feeling dehydrated after her brief outing. She stretched out on the couch before opening the tabloid. She knew she was entering a doorway of heartache. But, for the sake of her babies, she had to know the truth.
The Prince and Princess filled the entirety of the centerfold story, with the copy detailing their chaotic courtship, breakups and reunions—much of which Lisa already knew, but couldn’t help but read again. She slid her finger over the Prince’s face on the page, simultaneously hating him, and also looking forward to that day, just a few weeks away, when she’d see his beautiful features echoed in the faces of her three children.
The wedding would be downtown, at the Ritz Hotel, and was purported to have cost a whopping 50 million dollars. The dress, designed by Vera Wang, of course, was said to highlight the Princess’ “interesting” features, and the Prince was rumored to be having one of the most expensive bachelor parties in recorded history, in Dubai.
As she read, Lisa felt her brain buzz with anger. While this affair continued to roll forward, she was packing up her life and being forced to move back in with her mother, practically penniless. She clenched her fists together and, before she knew what had hit her, convinced herself that she had to f
ind the Prince. She had to give him a piece of her mind. And she had to tell him that she wouldn’t allow him and the Princess to “buy” her babies from her, in some disgusting exchange of human property.
It was all too much. And, for once, Lisa wasn’t going to allow herself to dip to that level. Not even for her career.
She lifted her phone and began to dial old colleagues she’d worked with at the Daily Sneak, many of whom she hadn’t seen since she’d grown too big to walk further than the corner bodega. One in particular, a guy named Chris, was particularly chatty, telling her that he’d uncovered a scoop on some mega-star that would probably pay for his car insurance for the next four years.
“Really?” Lisa said, feigning interest. “How on earth did you uncover it?”