Free Gift With Purchase

by Jackie Pilossoph

  I think I knew right then that I was pregnant.

  .

  Chapter 11

  That night, after Izzie was in bed, my two drinking buddies and I were once again at the kitchen table, sipping Pinot Noir. I was doing the responsible thing, taking small sips and trying not to have more than a half a glass since my intuition was telling me a little Emma was inside of me. Even though I couldn’t begin to decide whether or not I was going to actually have a baby, I felt like drinking alcohol was probably a bad idea.

  “How could I have gotten pregnant?” I’d asked myself over and over again. “We used condoms every time,” I found myself repeating in my head. I had no proof I was pregnant, but in my heart I knew I was. Maybe a condom had broken one night? I didn’t think so. Was there even one time when perhaps we’d gone without protection? It finally hit me. The forest preserve. That night, it had been spontaneous, and it was the one time Preston and I had unprotected sex.

  “I’m going to move out for awhile,” my mother announced.

  “What?!” Laura and I shouted at the same time.

  “Shh…” our mother scolded in a whisper, “Someone is sleeping!”

  “Mom, are you crazy?” I asked.

  “Yes Emma, she is,” Laura replied.

  “Look, I need a little space. I’m so angry with him. Plus, I’m not even sure he’s going to stop seeing her!”

  “Of course he is!” said Laura, “He has to.”

  “No he doesn’t,” said my mother, “He has to want to end it with Mrs. Feldman. I don’t want him back out of guilt or obligation.”

  “He’ll end it,” said Laura, “I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said.

  “I’m not so sure I care,” said my mother.

  Laura replied, “Of course you care.”

  My mother’s eyes welled with tears when she looked at me. “Up for another roommate?”

  My jaw was on the ground. “Uh…sure. But are you sure, mom?”

  “For now, yes. I think your father and I need to be apart.”

  “You can sleep in the bed with me,” Laura offered.

  “Thank you,” Mom said.

  My mom then switched gears and looked at me. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” she asked, “You seem like you’re hiding something.”

  “No,” I lied, “Everything’s fine.”

  “You do seem a little weird tonight. Is everything okay?”

  “Fine,” I lied again.

  It was tough to keep my secret from my family, but I decided there was no reason to get everyone in an uproar until I went out and bought a test, which I was planning on doing the next day. Fortunately I was able to hold them off for the night, probably because we had lots of other issues on the table. Both my parents situation and my sister’s divorce were pretty huge, not to mention what ended up being the highlight of the night: Laura’s announcement.

  “So,” she said with hesitation, “I have a date tomorrow night.”

  “What?” I replied, “This is great! Who is it?”

  “A doctor from the hospital. Someone told him I was separated and he asked me out. His name is Ari Bega. He’s Israeli.”

  “Wow! I’m so happy for you!” I said.

  “It’s great, honey,” said our mother.

  “I bet he’s gorgeous!” I exclaimed, “Since he’s Israeli and everything.”

  “He’s pretty cute,” said Laura.

  “How old?” asked Mom.

  “Around my age, I think. He just got divorced and has two daughters.”

  “See?”

  “See what?” she asked.

  “It’s already starting. And you thought no one would want to date you.”

  “Will you help me find an outfit?”

  My sweet, sweet sister, so strong and sure of herself when it came to her job, yet so insecure, almost possessing a teen-age-like mentality when it came to her physical self-confidence, and I knew it was only going to get worse now that she was single again. “Sure,” I said with a smile.

  My mother looked pleased. I guessed she was happy her daughter had so quickly gotten up the courage to put herself out there. As for me, I was thrilled for Laura. I went to bed that night ecstatic for my sister but sick about my situation. So sick in fact, that I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours.

  That night, in total, I think I got approximately twenty minutes of sleep. I spent it crying, thinking, trying different sleeping positions, and watching Seinfeld re-runs. During commercial breaks of Seinfeld and between the bouts of weeping, I tried to come up with the answer for how in the hell a forty-two year old woman using condoms every time except one time could possibly end up pregnant. One time!

  From around 3:30 until 6:00 when Izzie woke up and crawled into my bed, I thought about the two options I had. One, have the baby. Yeah, right. I think I’ll complicate my daughter’s life even more by bringing a brother or sister into our home, whose father is a commitment-phobic sex addict. That thought only brought on more tears.

  Option number two, have an abortion, which in the Jewish religion isn’t really a huge deal. It’s sort of not discussed, which I always believed meant that it was okay, just don’t talk about it. The Jews, who are pretty much the chattiest group of people on earth, and who talk about everything under the sun in life, conveniently leave the topic of pro-life versus pro-choice out of their realm of conversation.

  Browsing in the pregnancy test aisle at Walgreen’s the next day, searching for the perfect brand to give me my official pregnancy test result, I wasn’t sure which option I’d go with, but I realized the first thing I had to do was tell Preston. Not because I was realistically thinking of having his baby, but because something was telling me he’d want to know. After all, he’d just told me not to hide anything from him.

  Plus, as immature as he seemed, Preston was also very intelligent, and he had good, decent morals (with the exception of thinking threesomes were okay), which made me believe that when it came to most issues he was an ethical person who would consider both options carefully. That’s why I felt that going right for terminating the pregnancy without even letting him know was wrong.

  “Eighteen sixty-five,” said the cashier.

  I pulled out my credit card and swiped it to pay for the pregnancy test. While the cashier was bagging my little item, I looked around the store to make sure no one was witnessing what I was buying. Walgreen’s was pretty empty, so Miss Paranoia could relax. No neighbors had discovered my dirty little secret.

  “Thank you,” said the cashier, handing me the bag.

  I headed for the exit door, thinking about how in less than ten minutes I would have confirmation that I was with child. Then, as I was walking out, I got a huge shock. Guess who was walking in? Den0507!

  I recognized him right away because he looked exactly like his picture: adorable, nice, very big and bulky, and huggable. And those eyes… We glanced at each other and he gave me a polite smile. I think I smiled back, but I wasn’t sure. My heart was beating out of my chest and by the time I got to my car, I considered going back into the store and pretending I forgot something so I could meet him. I didn’t, though. How could I? I was a single mother who was carrying some young guy’s child. This was not the time for Den0507. This was the time to figure out what I was going to do with playboy Preston Christiansen’s baby. Den0507 and his salsa loving personality were for down the road. Possibly. Right now, the focus had to be on me and my children (both of them), so I headed home.

  Minutes later, standing at the bathroom counter, I gasped when I saw the plus sign on the test. I wasn’t the least bit surprised, so why I was acting shocked was a mystery to me. Right then, I decided to call the father and drop the bomb before I lost my nerve.

  I went downstairs and picked up the phone, and just as I was dialing Preston I got a text. Great… He was texting me, probably something sexy and seductive at the exact time I was calling him to give him the news that he was going
to be a daddy.

  I looked at the text. Surprisingly it was not from who I thought. It was from Luke. It read, “Hey Emma, want to run again tomorrow morning?”

  “Could this day get any weirder?” I asked myself. I texted Luke back. “Kind of busy this week. Rain check?”

  Luke texted, “Sure, just let me know. Hope all is well. Lucky’s potty trained, by the way.”

  The irony… “I might be potty training someone in the near future,” I could have texted back. Instead I went with, “Congratulations,” and then I smiled, thinking about Luke and his cute effort at being funny.

  Every time I heard from Luke, which was usually a text or a voice mail message, or a short conversation, it felt safe and nice. Upon hearing or reading one of his messages, I would always feel like things in my life were going to be okay. I don’t really know why. It was just a warm, fuzzy feeling. Luke had a way, without even trying, of helping soothe and calm me in a protective, big brother type of way. Although, admittedly it was more than that. There was undoubtedly an underlying attraction. But for now, I was so wrapped up in my current, highly explosive relationship that I wouldn’t let my mind go there and think of Luke in any kind of romantic way.

  As I hit Preston’s number on my phone, I considered the fact that maybe the timing of Luke’s text was a sign. It was my friend telling me, “It’s okay. Just call him. Everything’s going to turn out fine.”

  “Hey, Baby,” Preston answered.

  When I heard the name “Baby,” I had the sickest feeling I think I’ve ever experienced.

  “Hey,” I said, “Can you not call me that anymore?”

  “Okay,” he responded with a chuckle. Then a moment of silence followed before he asked, “Why not?”

  I took a deep breath and then decided to go out to my courtyard and tend to my beautiful garden while I broke the news. I figured that watering my gorgeous rose bushes might calm me down and help me to get my words out easier. The neighbors to the left of my house had just moved out, so the place was vacant. The people to my right were in Martha’s Vineyard for the month of August, so they weren’t around either. That’s why I felt free to speak outside, knowing no one would hear my scandalous secret.

  “Um…just because.” I said. “Because your baby is having a baby!” I wanted to shout. But I didn’t. Instead I stood there in my garden without saying anything.

  “So what’s up, Emma?” he said, stressing the name “Emma.”

  Before I could even turn on the hose, I began to weep. I sat on the steps outside my door, and cried and cried.

  “Oh my God! What is it?” asked Preston.

  I composed myself, tears still streaming down my face and snot running down my nose. “The thing is,” I managed to say. Then more crying.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said.

  “The thing is, I’m pregnant.”

  What followed was complete and utter silence on the other end of the phone for what seemed like ten minutes. In reality, I think it was about four seconds.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “I’m here, Baby…” he stuttered, “I mean…sorry. I’m here Emma…”

  “Can you believe it?”

  “How?”

  “The forest preserve.”

  Another estimated two seconds of silence and then, “I don’t understand. I mean, you’re like forty-one years old.”

  “Forty-two.”

  “Oh,” was all he could say.

  “What should I do?” I asked softly, “I guess I should have an abortion, but I don’t know.”

  “Look,” he said, “You just blew me away. I need to think. Is that okay?”

  “Yes. We both need to think about what to do.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m really scared, Preston.”

  “I know Bab…sorry. I know. Let me call you later.”

  He hung up, and I just sat there in a daze, completely out of it and thinking, “That’s it?” I’d just told my lover I was pregnant. He’d said he was “blown away” and that he’d call me later. End of conversation. I seriously was on the phone with Preston for less than two minutes. I wondered right then just how deep (or how shallow) our relationship really was.

  Although very thoughtful and sweet, Preston, not knowing what else to say, had simply ended the call. Was I on my own with this one? Was I going to have to make the decision myself? It clearly was looking that way.

  I managed to get through the rest of the day acting normal, reading to Izzie, making dinner with my mom, taking Izzie out for ice-cream, all the old, familiar rituals to try to return to normalcy, as if following a normal routine and doing everything the way I always did would make the pregnancy turn out not to be real. Maybe I’d wake up tomorrow and realize it was just a dream. Yeah, right.

  Just before 8:00, I dressed Laura and sent her on her date with Ari. I’m not lying when I say it took sixteen outfits before Laura agreed to wear a black halter top and the True Religion jeans I made her buy a few months earlier. My sister had a bod that millions of women wished they had. Unfortunately, in her own warped mind, she was unable to see how physically attractive she was. She never could. And now, with what Alan had just sprung on her, that he was basically dumping her and marrying a twenty-six year old, I knew it wasn’t going to help her self-image, physical and otherwise, one bit. Nevertheless, my sister seemed pretty pleased with her appearance when she walked out the door to go meet her date.

  “Hey,” I said to her as she walked to her car, “If you get into a situation…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look in your purse, in the side zipper pocket.” Then I burst out laughing.

  Laura opened her car door, and before even getting in, she placed her purse on the seat, unzipped the side pocket, and pulled out the two condoms I’d stuck in there. “Very funny. What are you? Seventeen?”

  “No, I’m middle-aged and responsible,” I answered, when in reality I wanted to throw up because I realized I should have made sure there were condoms in my zipper side pocket.

  With a wave and a nervous smile, my sister was gone. That’s when I went inside and called my mother, who told me she and my father were in the middle of a discussion and that she would speak to me in the morning. I put Isabelle to bed around 8:30 and decided to curl up into my bed and read a book. Instantly, I fell asleep. At around 9:00, I heard my Blackberry ring. I dragged myself out of bed and answered it.

  “Hey,” said Preston.

  “Hi,” I answered, my voice groggy, “Where are you?”

  “I’m still at work. Can I come over? I want to see you.”

  “Sure,” I smiled.

  Within ten minutes, Preston was at my door. When I opened it, he took me in his arms and hugged me for a long time. It felt strange. We weren’t attacking and groping each other, and kissing passionately like we usually did. We were grasping one another, both feeling scared, and needing each other for emotional support.

  “Isabelle asleep?” he asked softly.

  I nodded, “Come in.” Then I took his hand and led him to the couch. “Want something to drink?”

  “I’m good,” he said with a sad smile, “How are you?”

  “Good,” I lied.

  “Emma,” he began, “I’ve been sitting at my desk all day in a daze.”

  I gave him an empathetic nod.

  Preston then took my hands and looked me in the eyes. His voice was shaking when he said, “I think you should have the baby.” Then he took his hands and gently pulled up my tee-shirt halfway. “Hi Baby,” he whispered to my belly.

  I sat there frozen, trying to absorb this unbelievably surreal moment. The next thing he did was put his lips on my stomach and gently kiss it. And then, Preston Christiansen, the ultimate playboy bachelor, set his head down to rest on my belly and on his child. And then he began to weep.

  .

  Chapter 12

  Henry Horowitz was my dentist. He was recently divorced, and when I say recently, I mean like f
our weeks recently. Henry’s union had officially ended a month earlier, and in celebration of his newly single status, he decided to throw himself a big, huge, extravagant divorce party.

  I had received the invitation a couple weeks earlier, and when I showed it to Laura we both cracked up. On the front of the card was a picture of a donkey. Below the animal it read, “The divorce was a pain in the ass…” The inside read, “…but it wasn’t half as bad as the one I was living with!”

  “This guy seems hilarious,” Laura commented.

  The invite continued, “Please come celebrate my status change on Thursday, August 20th at 7:30 p.m.—Claudia’s Bistro.” Henry had handwritten a note below that read, “No happily married people allowed. Also, everyone attending is required to bring a single friend, male or female.”

  “So will you go with me?” I had asked my sister.

  At the time, I didn’t know I would be extremely pre-occupied with the recent discovery that I was carrying Preston’s child, so I wholeheartedly accepted, and actually thought going to the party would be a riot. Now, at this moment, walking into the shindig, I felt physically sick to my stomach. And no, I was not experiencing morning sickness.

  I still hadn’t told Laura about the baby and by no means was I telling her tonight. I mean, why ruin a good time? Honestly, I was dreading telling her, certain she’d be irate that I even got pregnant in the first place, not to mention furious if I told her I was considering having the baby. Laura would without a doubt try to talk me out of it. So, I was stalling.

  We walked into Henry’s bash, which was packed. I would have guessed there were about fifty people in attendance, mingling, nibbling on passed hors d’oeuvres and sipping wine.

  “Which one is Henry?” Laura asked me.

  I pointed to him. Then I looked at my sister and judging by her expression, I felt the need to say, “No, he’s not gay.”

  “Really?” Laura asked, “Are you sure? Maybe that’s why he got divorced.” She added, “Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m not judging.”

  I smiled as we watched my very effeminate dentist talk to some girl and admire her outfit. It was when I heard Henry demand that she spin around so he could have the full view of her new Rock and Republic jeans that I realized just how metro sexual Henry was. And possibly gay. Truly good-natured, though.