Puck Me Baby

by Lili Valente

  *

  Amanda: That’s a disturbing story, weirdo.

  *

  Diana: We’re animals, Amanda. It’s in our nature to be turned on by savagery.

  *

  Amanda: Speaking of savagery, I have to run in a few. It’s almost time for lunch, and I have an entire roast chicken in the fridge that I’ve been waiting to devour since I finished breakfast. Ten fifty isn’t too early for lunch, right?

  *

  Diana: That’s the perfect time for lunch. And then you can have second lunch around two and pre-dinner cheese and crackers at four forty-five. That’s the way I like to roll, anyway.

  *

  Amanda: Your metabolism is insane. It makes me hate you a little.

  *

  Diana: And your big, beautiful boobs make me hate you a little, so we’re even.

  Have a good first lunch, and please check in soon. I get worried when I don’t hear from you for three or four days.

  *

  Amanda: Will do. And don’t worry.

  Everything is good, better than good…

  *knock on wood*

  *

  Diana: I’m so happy for you, darling.

  It couldn’t happen to a better person.

  *

  Amanda: Am I a good person even if I still haven’t told my mother that I’m pregnant?

  *

  Diana: I don’t understand why you’re afraid of your mother.

  *

  Amanda: That’s because she’s not your mother…

  *

  Diana: She’s going to be happy about the baby, Mandy.

  Eventually. No doubt in my mind.

  But the longer you wait…

  *

  Amanda: The bigger the meltdown. I know, I know. I’m going to tell her. Soon. As soon as I survive meeting Alexi’s grandmother. I’m already nervous enough without adding Mom stress on top of it.

  *

  Diana: No need to be nervous. She’ll love you. Parents always love you.

  *

  Amanda: Argh! You did it again. You jinxed me!

  *

  Diana: I did not, psycho. It’s going to be fine. I know that the way I know that beer is tasty and people love to drink it so I should quit obsessing over this ad copy and send the package over to management. Right?

  *

  Amanda: Yes, go work. Talk soon. Thanks for the pep talk.

  *

  Diana: Any time, lady. Any time.

  Chapter 13

  Amanda

  *

  When people say they’re there for you “any time” they don’t really mean it. Even Diana, the most loyal best friend a girl could ask for, doesn’t want me texting her in the middle of a tense as hell game during which her husband is playing first string and has been smashed into the glass no fewer than three times by the opposing team’s obscenely large defensemen.

  Besides, this is nothing I can’t swing on my own, without textual hand-holding.

  Sure, I thought Alexi would be with me to make introductions the first time I met his grandmother. And admittedly I assumed those introductions would take place in a location free of screaming fans, where we could hear ourselves think and it would be easier to be chatty and charming. And yes, it’s strange to be prepping for an important meeting while watching my sweet, supportive boyfriend become a vicious nightmare person on the ice, when I know in real life he’s one of the nicest people in the entire world.

  Or so you would like to believe. But what if the sweet side is the act, not the tall, dark, and terrifying part? You’ve only been dating the man for a month, for God’s sake, and we all know your instincts are shit when it comes to deciding who you should trust and who you shouldn’t…

  Before I can push the freak-out thoughts to the back of my mind, where I shove all the emotional baggage I know would derail my new relationship faster than confessing to my professional hockey-playing lover that, while I enjoy hockey, baseball will always be the game of my heart, a thin hand comes to rest on my shoulder, making me flinch and my heart start pounding a hundred miles a minute.

  I look over my shoulder to see a tiny woman with a significant amount of steel gray threaded through her halo of frizzy black curls and a sparkly silver shawl that glitters almost as brightly as her gray eyes, staring down at me with an intensity that’s unnerving.

  I jump to my feet with a breathy laugh and hold out a hand. “Hi! You must be Sofia! I’m Amanda. It’s so great to meet you. Alexi’s told me wonderful things.”

  The woman nods, but doesn’t reach out to take my hand. Her focus remains fixed on my face, as if the secrets of my soul are written on my corneas. Or maybe she’s staring through my eyes to the wrinkles on my brain.

  The longer we stand here—locked in a polite standoff—the more it feels like someone’s poking around in my skull, probing for weak spots like I’m a melon that’s about to go bad. Finally, when the uncomfortable moment has stretched on for at least two endless, awkward, gut-gurgling minutes, I find myself confessing in a strained voice, “I should make a run to the ladies’ room before we settle in to watch the rest of the game.”

  Suddenly I have to pee so badly I’m not sure I’ll make it up the stairs in time. The pregnancy bladder is bad enough without adding anxiety into the mix.

  Sofia arches a thin brow as she cocks her head, as if considering whether or not to allow me out of the aisle she’s currently blocking with her thin body and long black cane. “First, your hand.” She holds hers out, palm up, twitching her fingers impatiently when I hesitate. “Come, come, now, I won’t bite.”

  I place my hand in hers, determined to be courteous and respectful, even if Sofia seems inclined to loathe me at first sight. Sure, I was hoping for more warmth from this woman who, from what I’ve gleaned from Alexi’s stories, is the only reason he had anything resembling a normal childhood. But I’ve lived long enough to know that you can’t make everyone like you, no matter how hard you try.

  Bottom line, this woman is the reason Alexi grew up to become the amazing man he is, and I’m grateful to her for that. So, no matter how uncomfortable I am, I will be kind, cooperative, and friendly…as long as she lets me go to the bathroom in the next few minutes.

  If not, all bets are off. I’m all for playing nice, but not if it means wetting my maternity jeans in public.

  Sofia turns my hand over, capturing my pinkie finger in one bony claw and my thumb in the other, spreading my palm like a sock she intends to turn inside out, stopping just as the stretching sensation is about to become truly painful. Once she has my palm laid open like a startled starfish, she leans down, ignoring the roar of the fans around us as the Badgers score another goal.

  I glance up, seeing it go up on the scoreboard, but I have no idea who got the puck in the net. I’m too busy watching a tiny Russian woman whisper to my fingers, her mouth so close I can feel her breath warm on my skin. I’m beginning to suspect that this granny might be out of her mind—and wondering how I’m going to break the news of her advanced dementia to Alexi—when she begins poking the various lines on my palm with her nails, muttering ominous sounding things about lifelines as the pressure in my bladder builds to the stinging place.

  I squeeze my thighs together and bite down hard on my bottom lip, casting a frantic glance to the row of seats a few bleachers away, where Diana is sitting next to Tanner’s mother and stepdad. But Dee is deep in conversation with her new in-laws, and there’s no way I can text her with only one hand free.

  There will be no hero riding to the rescue this time. I’m going to have to rescue myself, something I have to admit I’m not the best at.

  I’m a put-up-with-bad-stuff-until-it-gets-bored-and-goes-away-on-its-own kind of girl. I prefer not to make waves or ruffle feathers. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve incited conflict, and most of them involve my father while he was in the midst of an alcohol-and-stimulant-charged spree of poor decision-making that could have led to both of our
deaths if I’d allowed him to bully me into a car.

  Even when things were at their worst with Arnold, I would simply hold my tongue and wait for his dark mood to pass. A part of me had always known I wasn’t the true target of his anger. Arnold was Arnold’s own worst critic. I’d had compassion for him, and his damaged sense of self, right up until the day I realized the lying, betraying bastard had every reason to be riddled with guilt and self-hatred.

  But Sofia isn’t my father or my rotten ex-boyfriend. Sofia is a stranger, and I have never been abrasive with a stranger. So if she refuses to let me go, I’ll probably end up peeing my pants before I rip my hand from hers, shove her out of the way, and make a break for the ladies’ room.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she finally says, lifting her sharp chin.

  I swallow the anxiety lump rising in my throat and squeeze my thighs even more tightly together. “Excuse me?” Oh God, is she one of those old-fashioned people who thinks pregnant women need to stay safely indoors with their feet propped up until the day they deliver? If so, I guess I could tell her I’m sorry and that I’ll head for home right away. At least then I’ll be able to get to a bathroom before it’s too late.

  Sofia jabs a sharp nail into the deepest line on my palm. “Right here, your lifeline is broken in three places.”

  “Oh, I, um, I didn’t realize that,” I say politely as sweat begins to bead on my upper lip and my bladder cries out in agony.

  “One break is significant, but two, or three…” She shakes her head, eyes narrowing again into that brain-prickling stare. “I’ll need to take prints of both of your hands and bring them to my teacher. This is too serious for me to risk a diagnosis alone. We’ll do it here. I brought my ink pads and parchment paper.”

  I nod too fast. “All right. Whatever you need, but could I please run to the bathroom first?”

  “What if I say no?” Her grip on my hand relaxes, but she doesn’t let me go. “What if I said you have to give me the prints right now and there will be no bathroom break until I’ve gotten what I need?”

  “I don’t know.” I wince in pain, having trouble focusing. “I guess I…” I swallow hard, shaking my head as tears rise in my eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t think straight. I’m so nervous, and I want to make a good impression, but I’m seriously going to wet my pants if I don’t get to a bathroom fast.”

  Sofia steps to the side. “Then go, lovely, but when you get back we’re going to have a long talk about standing up for yourself and not taking any shit from crazy old ladies. If you’re going to hold your own with my grandson, you’re going to have to put some steel in your spine.”

  Sensing I’ve just passed some kind of weird test, I mumble my amenableness to this plan and hurry up the stairs to the mezzanine. I dart to the right, past the men lined up to get draft beer and a few stands offering soft pretzels and overpriced cotton candy, and breeze into the ladies’ room. There, I find a line twenty deep and realize instantly that there’s no way I’m going to make it through a wait that long.

  But instead of wiggling to the back of the line and praying for the strength to hold it a few extra minutes, the way I usually would, I decide to instigate Sofia’s proposed “take no shit” attitude immediately.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the women near the sinks, casting a glance to include the rest of the line in my address as I continue, “I have never asked to cut in line in my entire life, but this baby is making me pee every ten minutes and if I don’t get to a bathroom soon, it’s going to get ugly.”

  The older woman at the front, wearing a Badgers sweatshirt that reaches nearly to her knees, laughs and motions me on. “Go ahead, girl. I remember those days. By the time I was pregnant with baby number three I might as well have stayed in the bathroom all day long.”

  “Amen!” another woman echoes from farther back in line. “And your bladder is never going to be the same, sweetheart, hate to break it to you.”

  “I was on the trampoline with my son the other day and nearly wet my pants,” a third woman says with a laugh. “He was making fun of me, but I told him it was his fault for being an enormous, lazy baby who sat on my bladder for three extra weeks, refusing to be born.”

  Another woman starts a story about pulling over to pee by the side of the road while she was pregnant and getting poison ivy on her backside in the process, but before she can finish, a stall door swings open and I make a break for the newly freed loo. What feels like ten minutes later, I’ve finally finished unburdening my bladder and emerge to a now mostly empty bathroom, save for a woman changing a diaper at the far end of the row of stalls, a mother helping her two young daughters wash their hands at the sink, and a crooked-looking old woman leaning on her cane next to the tampon machine.

  I prop my hands on my hips and study Sofia’s amused expression, feeling more prepared to do battle now that I’ve answered nature’s call. “Do you do this to all Alexi’s girlfriends? Test them to see how far they’ll let you go before they snap?”

  She smiles guiltily, showcasing slightly uneven but very white teeth. “Not all of them. Just the ones I think will be sticking around for more than a week or two. I want the best for Alexi, and if a woman can’t be kind to a crazy old lady for a few minutes, then she isn’t good enough for my grandson.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that, I guess,” I say, my irritation fading. I’m not sure I agree with her methods, but I see her point.

  “Of course you can argue,” Sofia says as I move to the sink to wash my hands. “You can call me a meddling old bully who should mind her own damned business if you want to.”

  I balk visibly at the thought, my reflection betraying how completely out of the question that would be, and Sofia laughs.

  “Yes, with you we have the opposite,” she says, crossing to stand near the sink beside me. “You’re too kind.”

  “No offense, Sofia, but we just met. I hope we’ll get to know each other, but you don’t know me yet. I’m not afraid to stand up for what I believe in, and Alexi and I have had our share of arguments. Not lately, but…”

  “Because you let him have his way,” she says, nodding knowingly. “I can see it in your eyes. You want to make people happy, even if it makes you unhappy. I suspect that’s the reason for the breaks in your lifeline. When times get hard, your life force goes underground to hide and wait for the storm to pass rather than fight for the change you need to achieve your own fulfillment.”

  With a frown, I reach for a paper towel, refusing to look at my palm as I dry my hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in palm reading.”

  She smiles again. “See, such good manners. Even when I’m picking and meddling and hitting too close to home.”

  A bubble of emotion swells in my chest. At first, it feels like anger or panic—she is hitting close to home, no matter how much I would like to deny it—but when I open my mouth laughter comes out. “I’ve figured out who you remind me of, Sofia. She’s been my best friend since we were kids, and I would love for you to meet her. She’s here tonight, sitting just a few seats away from us.”

  Sofia clasps her hands together in delight. “That would be an honor. I would love to meet your friend. I enjoy people who don’t know when to keep their noses out of other people’s business.”

  I grin as I motion toward the exit. “Then you’re going to love Diana.”

  And she does. And Diana loves Sofia. And Tanner’s parents are as adorable and lovely as their son and offer to watch the last period from the higher seats so Sofia, Diana, and I can extend our visit.

  We gossip through the second period and eat an obscene amount of popcorn while watching the Badgers pull ahead in the third for an easy win. By the time the game is over and we’re heading down to the green room to wait for the boys, I feel like I’m among friends. If I let myself, it would be easy to forget about the awkward start to the evening.

  But as I sit in an overstuffed chair with my phone, pretending to read through the menu for the
restaurant Diana suggested for late night snacks (and beer for those who aren’t knocked-up), I can’t seem to focus on the list of apps and salads. I keep looking at my right hand and that dash-dash-dash lifeline. The first time I went underground, I was fourteen and things with Dad were getting really bad. My memories of those years are still blurry, smudged and faded by stress and fear and the feeling that I was drifting across the surface of my life, too scared to be fully present. To be above ground…

  I suppose the second break could have been when Arnold and I were locked in our sad, downward spiral, but that doesn’t ring true. Arnold hurt me terribly, no doubt about it, but I never felt like I was underground, under water, under so much pressure that I had no choice but to retreat from life simply to stay sane enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  It makes me wonder if something worse than Arnold, something as bad as Dad changing from a loving, if distant, father into a person so lost to addiction he didn’t care if he lived or died—or who he took out with him—is waiting for me down the road, somewhere in the future that only this morning seemed so bright.

  Even before Alexi appears in the doorway, looking worn out and not at all in the mood to stay up to midnight celebrating a win, I’ve decided to ask him if we can skip the after party. As much as I hate conflict and calling people on their bullshit, it’s time for Alexi and I to have a serious discussion about where we go from here. Going with the flow and seeing where things lead is fine for people who aren’t on a timeline. But that’s not our reality.

  In five months, we’re bringing a new life into the world—a tiny, fragile, innocent soul who deserves the absolute best we can give her. And our “best” isn’t a mother and father whose relationship is based primarily on how much they enjoy getting naked together.

  Naked is all well and good—it’s fan-fucking-tastic really, better than I imagined sex could ever be—but it’s not enough. If we’re going to be a couple when Baby is born, we’re going to need more than a mutual appreciation of each other’s bodies to go on.

  Thankfully, when I ask Alexi if we can head for home and some one-on-one time, he doesn’t hesitate to say his good-byes, promise Sofia he’ll still be awake when she gets home from the bar—she’s staying in his guest room in the big house and isn’t ready to call it a night just yet—and lead me out the door toward his truck.