by Sarah Morgan
Greg stood there, wearing what she thought of as his listening face. “Negative?”
She nodded and pressed her face against his chest. He smelled good. Like lemons and fresh air. “Don’t say anything.” Greg was a therapist. He’d always been good with people, but right now there was nothing he could say that would make her feel better and she was afraid sympathy might tip her over the edge.
She felt his arms come round her.
“How about ‘I love you.’”
“That always works.” She loved the way he hugged. Tightly, holding her close, as if he meant it. As if nothing was ever going to come between them.
“We’re young and we haven’t been trying that long, Jenna.”
“Seventeen months, one week and two days. Don’t you think it’s time we talked to a doctor?”
“We don’t need to do that.” He eased away. “Think of all the great sex we can have while we’re making this baby.”
But it’s not working.
“I’d like to talk to someone.”
He sighed. “You’re very tense all the time.”
She couldn’t get pregnant. What did he expect?
“If you’re about to tell me to relax, I’ll injure you.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “You work so hard. You give everything you have to those kids in your class—”
“I love my job.”
“Maybe you could go to yoga or something.”
“I can’t sit still long enough to do yoga.”
“Something else then. I don’t know—”
This time she was the one who pulled away. “Don’t you dare buy me a book on mindfulness.”
“Damn, there goes my Christmas gift.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Hang in there, honey.” The look in his eyes made her want to cry.
“We’re going to be late for work.”
Twenty hyperactive six-year-olds were waiting for her. Other people’s six-year-olds. She adjudicated arguments, mopped tears, educated them and tried not to imagine how it would be if one of those kids was hers.
Every day at school she taught the children a new word. Definitions had a way of flashing through her head even when she didn’t want them to. Like now.
Disappointed: saddened by the failing of an expectation.
Frustrated: having feelings of dissatisfaction or lack of fulfilment.
“It would be easier if people didn’t keep asking when we’re going to have a baby.”
“They do that?”
“All the time.” She grabbed her makeup from the bathroom. “It must be a woman thing. Maybe I should stop being evasive. Next time someone asks me I should tell them we’re having nonstop sex.”
“They already know.”
“How?”
He grinned. “A couple of weeks ago you texted me at work.”
“Plenty of wives text their husbands at work.”
“But generally those texts don’t say Hey, hot stuff, I’m naked and ready for sex.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except Pamela had my phone.”
“No!” She felt a rush of mortification. “Why?”
“She’s my receptionist. I was with a client. I left it with her in case someone had an emergency. I wasn’t to know you would be having a sex emergency.”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or hide.” Jenna covered her mouth with her hand. “Pamela was my babysitter. She still treats me as if I’m six years old.”
“We can rest assured she now knows you’re all grown up.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She handed me my phone back, but I have no doubt that our sex life will be the topic of discussion at the knitting group, the book group and the conservation commission meeting. If we’re lucky, it might not be on the agenda for the annual town meeting.”
“Do you think she’ll mention it to my mother?”
“Given that your mother is a member of both the book group and the conservation commission, not to mention numerous other committees on this island, I think the answer to that is yes. But so what?”
“It will be another transgression to add to a very long list.”
Jenna had once overheard her mother say Lauren never gave me any trouble, but Jenna—She’d paused at that point, as if to confirm that there were no words to describe Jenna’s wayward nature.
“Whenever I’m with my mother I still feel as if I should be sitting in the naughty corner.”
Greg gave a slow smile. “What happens in this naughty corner? Is there room for two?”
“She thinks you’re perfect. The only thing I’ve ever done that has won the approval of my mother is marry you! It drives me batshit crazy.”
“Batshit—” Greg arched an eyebrow. “Is that today’s word?”
“If you’re not careful I’ll tell her what a bad influence you are.”
“We’re married, Jenna. We are allowed to have sex wherever and whenever we like as long as we don’t get arrested for public indecency.”
“I know, but—you know my mother. She’ll sigh the way she does when she despairs of me. She’ll be wishing I was more like my sister.” Although Jenna adored Lauren, she had never wanted to be her. “My mother is the beating heart of this island. If anyone is in trouble she’s there with her flaky double-crusted pies and endless support. She’s closer to Betty at the store than she is to me.” And it was a never-ending source of frustration and hurt that she and her mother didn’t have a better relationship.
Jenna considered herself easygoing. She got along well with pretty much everyone.
Why did it feel so hard to talk to her mother?
“Parent-child relationships are complicated.”
Dysfunctional: relationships or behavior which are different from what is considered to be normal.
“I get that. What I don’t get is why it still bothers me so much. Why can’t I accept things the way they are? It’s exhausting.”
“Mmm.” Greg glanced at his watch. “Happy to deliver a lecture on the latest research into mother-daughter relationships, but I charge by the half hour and you can’t afford me.” He kissed her again. “Get dressed, or the next thing they’ll be discussing at the annual town meeting is the fact that their first-grade teacher was standing in front of the class wearing her dinosaur pajamas. Want me to cook tonight?”
“It’s my turn. And speaking of my mother, I’m visiting her later.”
“Thanks for the warning. Better pick up a bottle of something strong when you pass the store.”
“Visits were so much easier when my dad was alive.”
Greg raised an eyebrow. “He was always on the golf course.”
“But he usually wandered in at some point and he was always pleased to see me. Mom still thinks I’m a wild child.”
“It’s the reason I married you. I’ll see you tonight, and you can be as wild as you like.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Text me later to let me know how you are?”
“Only if you promise not to give Pamela your phone.”
“Or you could stop sexting.” He pulled her against him. “On second thoughts, don’t stop sexting. I like it and it’s great for my reputation.”
“Oh please—your island approval ratings are already through the roof.” She shoved at his chest. “Go.”
“I’ll see you later.” He scooped up his coat and car keys and made for the door. “Oh and, Jenna—”
“What?”
“Try to relax.” He winked at her and was gone before she could throw something.
Shivering in the blast of cold air he’d let into the house, she walked back into the bedroom and glanced out of the window.
Despite everything, he’d made her smi
le. He always made her smile.
Then she noticed him standing by the car, his shoulders slumped, and her smile faded.
He was always so upbeat about everything, but right now he didn’t look upbeat. Was he putting on an act for her sake?
She waited until he drove away, then swapped pajamas for her smart black pants. Last year they’d fitted perfectly but now they were tight around the waist and she knew that had nothing to do with being pregnant and everything to do with the fact she’d started using food as a comfort.
Greg had left coffee for her and she poured herself a cup, reached for the oatmeal and then changed her mind and took a cupcake from the tin instead. She’d made them the day before and decorated them with sugar icing. They were supposed to be a peace offering for her mother, something she could take to her book group, but she wasn’t going to miss one, was she?
Not the healthiest breakfast, but the negative pregnancy test was enough to make her want to fall face-first into the nearest source of sugar.
She sank her teeth into the softness of the cake and closed her eyes.
Baking soothed her.
If she’d had a child, she would have baked with them. She would have had the softest buttercream, the lightest sponge cakes and her cookies would have been the envy of everyone. She could imagine all the kids saying I wish my mom could cook as well as yours.
As Jenna didn’t have any kids to eat the cupcakes, she ate most of them herself. She ate to fill a big hole in her soul, but unfortunately it filled other things, too, including her fat cells.
She stared at the crumbs on her plate, drenched with regret and self-loathing.
Why had she done that? It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand what was going on here. She was married to a therapist. She felt a rush of frustration that she didn’t have more control. She knew that smothering her emotions with sugar wasn’t going to solve anything, but she didn’t seem able to stop it. Her desperation for a baby had snapped something inside her.
She felt as if her life was slipping out of her grip and it was terrifying.
She had a sudden urge to call her sister, but that would make her late for work.
Would her sister even understand? Lauren had the perfect life. She had a beautiful house, no money worries, a great husband and a beautiful daughter.
And she couldn’t exactly talk to her mother.
Nancy Stewart was the sort of person who had time and sympathy enough for everyone. Unless you happened to be her daughter.
Jenna drove to school along empty roads. In the summer months, her journey took at least twice as long. From late May through to early September, the Vineyard hummed with visitors, both summer residents and day trippers. They came to savor the “escapist” feel of the island, but did so in such large numbers that they inadvertently turned it into a copy of the places they’d left behind.
Jenna parked in the school parking lot and was caught at the gate by Mrs. Corren, who was anxious about Daisy, her daughter.
Andrea Corren gave her a wobbly smile. “Hi, Jenna. How was your weekend?”
I found out I’m not pregnant. “Good, thanks, Andrea. You?”
“Not good.” The wobble in her smile moved to her voice. “Do you have a minute?”
She didn’t. She had twenty hyperactive children waiting for her and she needed to keep them busy, occupied and entertained. That, she’d discovered, was the way to achieve a happy, harmonious classroom.
What she didn’t need was to arrive late.
But she was also a little worried about Daisy.
“Of course.” She saw Andrea Corren’s eyes fill. “Let’s find somewhere more private.” She opted for the gym, which would be quiet for at least another half hour.
“How can I help, Andrea?”
She sat down on one of the small chairs. It forced her knees up at a strange angle, one of the reasons she rarely wore skirts or dresses to work. Dignity went out of the window when you taught six-year-olds. Sitting in this awkward position, she was horribly aware of the waistband of her pants biting into her stomach.
Why had she eaten that cupcake?
Andrea sat down next to her. “Things have been unsettled at home. Tense. We—Things are a little—rough—right now between Daisy’s father and me. Our marriage isn’t great.”
Jenna stopped thinking about cupcakes. By “rough” did she mean something physical? This was a small community. Everyone knew Todd Corren had lost his job before Christmas and been out of work since. And everyone knew he’d punched Lyle Carpenter in an altercation on New Year’s Eve.
“Do you think the problems in your marriage are having an impact on Daisy?”
“He’s having an affair.” Andrea blurted out the words. “He denies it, but I know it’s true.”
“I’m sorry.” And she was. A fractured marriage was an injury to the whole family. Children limped wounded into her classroom, trying to make sense of the change in their world and she did what she could to create an environment that felt safe and secure.
“I haven’t said anything to the children, and I’m trying hard not to show how upset I am because I don’t want to confuse them. They don’t know what’s going on, and I’m afraid if I say something he’ll make me seem like the bad guy. Mom is having one of her moods again, that kind of thing. I don’t want to bring the kids into this. How does Daisy seem to you?”
“She’s been a little quieter than usual, but she hasn’t said anything specific.” Jenna made some suggestions, careful to keep the conversation focused on the child. It wasn’t her job to fix their marriage or pass comment, although invariably when you were a teacher, you became involved with the whole family. The fact that she’d been at school with the mothers of half the kids in her class, and some of the fathers, occasionally complicated matters.
Andrea pulled a tissue out of her bag. “I don’t want this to harm my kids. If he stops right now, maybe we can fix this. Maybe they never have to know. But I’m not good at keeping secrets. I’m an honest person and I’ve raised them to be honest, too, so by making me do this, he’s tainted our family. It isn’t just his deception, it’s mine, too, because now I’m lying to my kids.”
Jenna understood how heavy a secret could be, especially when you carried it for a long time. “I really hope you manage to work out your problems, Andrea.”
“We used to be so close. Known each other since we were kids, like you and Greg. Maybe that’s the problem. We’ve been together so long, he never sowed his wild oats.”
Jenna had never sowed wild oats either. Neither, to the best of her knowledge, had Greg.
“Have you thought about talking to someone?”
Andrea’s eyes filled again. “I’ve been seeing Greg.”
That didn’t come as a surprise. Half the island had seen Greg at one time or another. The other half had seen his partner in the practice, Alison.
“I’m glad you’re talking to someone.”
“Greg is wonderful. You’re lucky being married to him.” Andrea reached for her purse. “He has this way of talking, sort of quiet but firm. Makes you think there’s hope and that you’re going to be able to fix whatever the problem is.”
That voice hadn’t managed to fix the fact that she couldn’t get pregnant.
“He’s good at what he does.” That was true. Greg made a difference to the island. And so did she. Community was important to both of them. Jenna often wondered how her sister could live in a big anonymous city. She knew she wouldn’t be happy doing that. With the exception of a few vacations and her time at college, Jenna had lived her whole life here. She’d married Greg in the Old Whaling Church in Edgartown in the presence of half the community. Her oldest friend had made the cake and Lauren had done her makeup. She’d known most of the guests her whole life.
Jenna stood up. “I’ll keep an eye on Daisy.”
Thank goodness Mrs. Sullivan hadn’t said the F word.
“Daisy is smart.”
“Too smart sometimes. I’m worried she’ll see things I don’t want her seeing.” Andrea stood up, too. “You’re very good at your job, Jenna. You’re going to be a wonderful mother when you eventually decide to have children.”
Jenna managed to keep her smile in place.
She walked Andrea back to the school gates, promised to keep an eye on Daisy and then made her way back to the classroom.
The wind was biting and most of the islanders were longing for spring. Not Jenna. Spring meant buds on the trees and lambs playing in the fields. Everywhere you looked there was new life. This time last year she’d been sure that by now she’d be pushing a stroller along the streets. Instead she was back in her classroom teaching other people’s kids.
Of course it was still possible that spring might be lucky for her, too.
If she and Greg had nonstop sex over the next few weeks she could potentially be pregnant by April or May. That would mean a Christmas baby.
She allowed herself a moment of dreaming, and then snapped out of it.
All she thought about was babies.
Obsess: to worry neurotically or obsessively.
Her obsession had even entered the bedroom. When she and Greg made love she found herself thinking, Please let me get pregnant.
Maybe she’d cook a special meal tonight. Open a bottle of wine. Try to relax a little. She could greet him at the door wearing nothing but a smile and hope Mrs. Pardew across the road wasn’t looking out the window.
She reached the door of her classroom and winced at the noise that came from inside.
Bracing herself, she pushed open the door and the noise dimmed to a hum.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan.” The chorus of voices lifted the cloud that had been hanging over her.