This Is How It Happened (not a love story)

by Jo Barrett

  “I saw him on TV,” I say. “Channel 7 did a segment on him.”

  Carlton smiles at me in the way that makes my knees weak. “My little tiger,” he says, tweaking my chin.

  I smell the scent of his cologne.

  “Go get ’em,” I say, kissing him on the lips.

  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Can’t have lipstick on me today,” he says.

  “I’m not wearing lipstick,” I say. I’m expecting Carlton to say, “In that case—” and lay a huge, wet one on me, but he doesn’t.

  “Gotta jet,” he says. “I’m running late.”

  I smile. Lately, Carlton has taken to saying phrases like, “Gotta jet,” or “It’s time to bounce,” when he’s ready to leave. I don’t know where he’s come up with these. It’s almost as if he’s been watching late-night VH1.

  I want to correct him. To tell him he’s much too mature to talk like this. And besides, he should be more careful with his image. Especially as a budding young CEO. It would be a public relations nightmare for a reporter to print something along the lines of…“I was in a bar when I overheard Carlton Connors, the CEO of the largest growing organic foods company say, “I gotta blow this joint.”

  As soon as Carlton walks out the door, I feel my stomach do a cartwheel. I rush to the toilet and vomit. On a hunch, I speed to Walgreen’s and buy a pregnancy test. I hold my breath as I pee, but it isn’t necessary. The two pink lines show up immediately. I read the instruction manual. The EPT test has a 97 percent accuracy rate. This means there’s a good 3 percent chance I’m in the clear. It’s not great odds, but I’ll take what I can get. I race back to the store, cursing myself for not buying more tests. I buy one of each brand. Even the generic Walgreen’s brand.

  Two lines. Two lines. Two lines. Two lines.

  The news doesn’t hit me for a while. I throw the tests away. Make some chamomile tea. Watch a Seinfeld re-run. I think I even laugh. It’s the one where Elaine asks whether a guy is “sponge-worthy.”

  I call into work and tell everyone I’m sick. My employees are surprised because it’s the first time I’ve taken a sick day. Ever. In the history of Organics 4 Kids.

  I regard the stack of pregnancy tests in the trash. It’s not the right time for a baby, I know that. But Carlton and I are both in our thirties. We’ve lived together four years, and we’re basically engaged. I twirl the Juliet ring around on my finger. I never imagined myself as a shotgun wedding type of gal. But hey! Maybe this is fate.

  I’m excited about the possibility of Carlton and I starting our family. I walk into the study. Plenty of space for a nursery, I think, imagining a baby bed tucked neatly in the corner.

  I know I shouldn’t bother Carlton in the middle of his coffee with the mayor, but this news can’t wait. I punch the numbers to his cell phone.

  “What’s up?” he says, automatically.

  “Are you still with the mayor.”

  “Just left,” he says.

  “How did it go?” I venture.

  “Awesome,” he says. “And I owe it all to you,” he chuckles.

  “Well, I’ve got something big I need to tell you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’m pregnant,” I say, because there’s no reason to beat around the bush.

  Carlton doesn’t speak.

  “Hello?” I say. “Still there?”

  “I…I don’t know what to say, Maddy. How did this happen?”

  “Well, I think you know how it happened.”

  “No—I mean, are you sure?”

  “Unless seven pregnancy tests are wrong,” I say.

  “Jesus,” he says. And I notice his voice has dropped to a low, unrecognizable tone.

  “When are you coming home?” I ask.

  He sighs. One of those weight-of-the-world sighs. I imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Ah, Maddy. C’mon. I’m booked solid this afternoon. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings. Then I’m playing racquetball with David Myers. I’d hate to cancel. He’s a potential investor if we need to do another round of financing.”

  “Don’t cancel,” I say, in a strong voice. “We can talk about this tonight. When it’s convenient.”

  “Great,” he says, as if he’s ending a conference call.

  I’m a little taken aback but then I catch myself. He’s nervous, I think.

  “Well, good-bye, Romeo.”

  “Bye,” he says, and hangs up.

  I mope around the apartment. Then call Cheryl. My ob-gyn. Better to have a doctor tell me I’m pregnant. Just in case.

  Cheryl agrees to fit me in.

  “It’s an emergency,” I say.

  “Herpes outbreak?” she asks.

  “Baby,” I reply.

  She’s silent a moment. “Come in for a blood test,” she says, firmly.

  Cheryl is a really good doctor. She actually talks to her patients on the phone. Can you believe that?

  An hour later, I’ve got my feet in the stirrups again and I’m staring up at the awful cat poster. The cat dangling upside down from a tree with the tagline “Hang in there!” It’s awful. It really is.

  Cheryl presses my abdomen in different spots, reads the lab results from my blood and urine samples, and confirms the pregnancy.

  “Are you SURE, sure?” I ask.

  “I’m positive, Madeline. We can schedule a vaginal ultrasound if you want to see it,” she says.

  “Uh, what are my options?” I ask. And I realize this is a stupid, stupid question.

  Cheryl walks to the sink and washes her hands. “I don’t do terminations here in this office,” she says. “But I work at Planned Parenthood on Tuesdays.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about uh…um, termination,” I say. “I’m thinking of having the baby,” I say.

  Cheryl says, “That’s your choice, of course. I thought you were asking me about termination ser vices. Since you’re single.”

  Before I can tell Cheryl I’m in a long-term monogamous relationship, and that I live with my fiancé, she walks briskly out the door.

  She’s a fast cookie, Cheryl.

  Chapter 39

  Dick and I agree not to have contact by phone or e-mail. We’ll exchange messages on the message board at Starbucks. So instead of the usual lost dog, and babysitter needed, I’ll tack up a secret missive to my favorite hired gun. It will say, To D. From J. Wednesday. 4:00.

  Yep. This is how Dick and Jane have decided to communicate. It’s simple. Easy. Convenient. Not a lot of bells and whistles. There won’t be any messages waiting for me in my morning newspaper. Like in the movies. No carrier pigeons or anything like that. There will just be a note tacked up on a corkboard at good ol’ Starbucks.

  The next night I go to my tennis lesson. Deepak introduces me to the new guy. The new very cute guy. Apparently, he will be my hitting partner during the lesson.

  “This is Nicholas,” Deepak says.

  “Nick,” the guy corrects him.

  Wow. First Dick. Now Nick. I never saw the storm cloud coming, but apparently it’s raining men.

  Nicholas, or Nick, strolls over and I see he’s wearing all black. Not a tennis purist like me, but still. He’s six feet tall, with wavy blond hair, and the nicest smile I’ve seen in a long time. Nick has cute dimples when he smiles and sharp blue eyes.

  “I’m Jane—I mean, Madeline,” I say, shaking his hand.

  I hold my breath and check his hand for a wedding ring.

  Nada. Nothing. Zippo.

  He probably has a live-in girlfriend, though. Or maybe he’s gay. “Nice to meet you Jane Madeline.”

  “It’s just Madeline. But everyone calls me Maddy,” I say. I smile at him and flutter my eyelashes a little. I realize I’m nervous. My palms are even sweaty.

  Jeez, Maddy. Get a grip!

  Deepak tells us to “pair up” so Nick and I move to opposite ends of the court and begin warming up.

  I lob the ball over easily because
I don’t know Nick’s level of play. I’m pleasantly surprised when he expertly hits the ball low and fast back across the net.

  I return the ball hard down the line. Nick races for it and I watch his body move as he whacks it back. This guy is certainly graceful on the court. And quick as lightning. I’m glad for the competition.

  We hit back and forth for a while. Nick plays well. In fact, he’s the best man I’ve ever played against, besides my father.

  I think he’s impressed with me, too, because he walks up to the net and says, “Where did you learn to hit like that?” I notice he’s out of breath. And I’m just warming up.

  “My dad enrolled me in tennis camp when I was still in a stroller,” I say.

  Nick smiles and I notice his nice, straight teeth.

  “Smart guy,” he says.

  “Yes, he was. He passed away a few years ago, but every time I’m on a tennis court, I think of him.”

  Whoa, Maddy. Hold your horses.

  I’m suddenly sharing personal information with this guy and I’ve known him a whole two seconds.

  Nick shuffles his feet a little. And taps his racquet against his shoe. First one shoe, then the other.

  “Yeah, my dad died of cancer last year. He was a big tennis buff, too,” he says. “We even went to Wimbledon.”

  “Oh my gosh! I bet that was incredible,” I say.

  Nick looks up and our eyes meet. We kind of stare at each other for a second too long. And then we both look down at our shoes. There’s suddenly so much chemistry between us, I think I’m going to be electrocuted. Of course, it could all be in my head.

  Deepak is watching us from the sidelines and he says, “Back to work, lazy people!” Then he decides to ignore us and circulate around the other couples in the class.

  I lean against the net. “So why are you taking lessons, Nick? I mean, you don’t seem like you need them.”

  “I can use a little help on my swing,” he says. “But how about you? I mean, you’ve got this tennis thing down to a science. You definitely don’t need to be here.”

  I refrain from telling Nick that I’m a lonely, pathetic woman. Because I figure it might end up sounding lonely and pathetic. So I say, “My serve isn’t what it used to be.”

  He says, “Tell me about it.”

  We go back to our individual sides of the court and have a vigorous hour of play.

  Afterward, Deepak congratulates us on a game well played.

  Nick sits on the bench with a water bottle. He turns to me and says, “Hey, do you want to get a smoothie or something?”

  I zip my racquet up inside my tennis bag, stand and brush my hands off against my tennis skirt.

  “Absolutely,” I say, flashing him my most winning smile.

  I follow Nick’s car to Jamba Juice. And I’m wondering what on earth is going on. I haven’t dated anyone since Carlton the Terrible. So it’s been, like, forever. I wonder if this guy is actually interested in little ol’ me? Or does he just want company? Maybe he’s bored, I think. I decide that he’s bored.

  Nick gets out of his car and escorts me into the juice bar. “After you,” he says, holding the door open for me.

  “Thank you so much,” I coo, and I realize I sound like Heather.

  I order a strawberry, banana, and peach. Nick goes with a protein shake. We sit outside at a table and slurp at our straws.

  So, tell me about you,” Nick says. He’s looking at me with those blue eyes and smiling with those dimples. And honestly, it throws me a little off balance.

  “I went to the University of Texas for both my undergraduate and graduate degree,” I say. “They say that people who come to Austin never leave, and I guess I was one of them.”

  Nick laughs. “It’s a great school. I went to Vandy, myself. But, unlike you, I couldn’t wait to leave Nashville. I guess I’m an East Coast guy at heart,” he says.

  “Oh yeah? Where are you from?”

  “Boston originally. But my family moved around a lot.”

  “Witness protection program?” I ask, and Nick laughs.

  “My dad was in the Air Force,” he says. “So tell me more about you. Any siblings?”

  “A younger brother. He’s great. Ronnie,” I say. And I realize I’m smiling like a proud sister.

  Nick chews on his straw a minute and stares down at the table.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Huh? Oh nothing. I’m an only child. I always wished I had a brother, though.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without Ronnie,” I say. I finish my smoothie, crumple the cup and lob it into the trash can from a good distance.

  “Two points,” Nick says.

  “Well, thanks for the great tennis match,” I say. I suddenly feel sweaty, tired, and a little grungy. I wonder if Nick thinks I look gross. I’m second-guessing myself because it’s been so long. Plus, I wish this juice joint were a tad darker. The sidewalk tables are lit up like a Christmas tree. Nick can probably see every dirty pore on my face.

  “Same time next week?” I ask, and I immediately regret leaving so suddenly. Nick looks like he was just about to ask me for my phone number.

  Oh well.

  I’m on a mission. And this guy probably wouldn’t think it was very attractive if he found out I’d hired a mercenary to get back at my ex-fiancé.

  He’d probably think I was nuts. In fact, I’m beginning to think I’m nuts.

  But that’s what happens with women in love. They do some crazy shit, sometimes.

  Nick says, “I’d like that.” He stands and we shake hands, awkwardly. We stroll back through the parking lot.

  I look up at the sky. “Nice night. Lots of stars.”

  Nick takes a moment to look up at the sky, too. Then he looks straight at me.

  “Beautiful,” he says.

  An hour later, after I’ve showered and brushed my teeth, I’m sitting in my bathrobe with my feet propped up. Leafing through the various business journals. That’s when I spot the article. On the front page, no less. The City Business Journal shows a picture of Carlton at the awards dinner. The headline reads, YOUNG CEO AWARD’S DINNER INTERRUPTED BY HECKLER.

  Heckler! I sit up straight on my couch.

  Carlton Connors, recipient of the Young Giants Award, was called a fraud last night, by an angry heckler. The unidentified man threw a sheaf of paper in the air, which turned out to be a secret balance sheet from the company that did not match the balance sheet sent out to the public. When asked to explain the discrepancy in the numbers, Mr. Connors was at a loss for words. “Certain forces have been against me the entire time,” he said. “It’s too bad my competitors had to falsify a document and stoop to this level.”

  Oh. My. God. I clap my hand to my mouth. I feel a momentary pang of guilt. But then, I can’t help myself. I begin to laugh. And I can’t stop. I imagine Dick jumping out of his seat, calling Carlton a fraud, throwing the papers in the air, and rushing from the ballroom.

  Ready for round two, I think.

  Chapter 40

  I wasn’t overjoyed about the pregnancy, but I wasn’t sad about it, either. Deep down, in some odd way, I thought the experience could possibly bond Carlton and me. And make us closer as lovers and companions. I knew there were many couples that decided, for one reason or another, it wasn’t the right time. A baby would be welcome at a later date, but not today. And I believed that day would come for us. Even if a baby seemed wrong now. At least we knew it was possible. Some couples had to turn to artificial insemination. But our love had created a natural pregnancy. And that was a beautiful thing. Our love would conquer all, I thought.

  If Carlton thought having a baby was too much pressure, too much expense, too much everything—I didn’t have to agree with him. Deep down, in my heart, I really wanted this baby.

  Later that afternoon, Carlton shoots me an e-mail out of the blue. I’m expecting something sweet like: It’s all gonna be okay, my Juliet. Don’t worry about a thing. But instead, his message
is weird. Formal.

  I suddenly panic.

  Maddy,

  What I want to tell you is difficult, so I thought it best to e-mail you. That way, you have an opportunity to read what I have to say and really think about it. I love you, but I’m starting to think it would be best if I expanded my horizons. Especially in light of the news from today. I think I need to be honest. That is only fair to you.

  I sit for a moment. Read the e-mail in silence.

  Expand his horizons? What does that mean?

  Oh, I get it. He doesn’t want the baby. He wants room. Space. Freedom from the responsibilities of fatherhood. And this is his way of telling me. Expanding his horizons—makes sense. He wants to travel freely, play golf, go hunting, hang out with the guys on Saturday nights. He doesn’t want a crying baby around. A wife who keeps him tied up. A ball and chain on each leg.

  I understand, Carlton. I understand, I think.

  My dearest Romeo,

  Please don’t freak out. I agree this isn’t the best time for a baby, but is it ever? I’m willing to discuss options.

  I love you!

  Your Juliet

  I sit by my laptop and wait. Five minutes later, Carlton sends his reply.

  Maddy,

  When I said I wanted to expand my horizons, I meant it. I think it would be best if you and I re-evaluated.

  Re-evaluated? Re-EVALUATED!

  Hmm. I read about this once. In one of those “men are from a different planet” books. Sometimes men like to retreat into a cave. And women aren’t supposed to chase them. We’re supposed to let them go into their caves and they’ll come out and love us and want to be with us more than when they went into their cave.

  Carlton,

  If you need some space, take it. I understand.

  M.

  I get an instant response this time.

  Maddy,

  The type of space I need, sweetie, may be permanent.

  Carlton

  My body feels cold all of a sudden, and I shiver involuntarily. I stare at my laptop. Let the e-mail sink in.

  Is Carlton breaking up with me on the day I tell him I’m pregnant?