Chill Out, Josey!

by Susan May Warren

  Why, God? I thought You loved me. The thought stings my heart, biting down, refusing to let go.

  Especially when the Mayor announces my name, and says some nice things about me. Although I can’t understand them, I can see affirmation of his words on Maggie’s face. And even Igor is smiling. Apparently, someone is rising up to call me blessed. But, of course, Chase isn’t here to see it. I smile and wave and say, “Spaceeba.” But really all I want to do is go home and take a bath. I don’t care if the water is the temperature of the polar ice cap.

  The kids disperse to play and the directors clump in conversation. Maggie is busy talking with the Mayor, of course, so I wander around the back of the orphanage, near the gardens, the budding potato and cabbage plants, to be alone with my pain.

  I think I hate Chase. I can’t believe, after all this patience, all my hard work, he’d leave me. For curves.

  I have curves. Just in the wrong places. What was all this be-nice-to-Josey stuff this past month—a decoy? Pity?

  So maybe I am reaching, believing that Chase left me for Bertha, but I’m in pain. Which does things to my brain. Even if he hasn’t left me, it’s clear that we’re miles from being on the same road to parenthood, or our future, or even our marriage. In fact, it might have been better if we’d spent our newlywed year on different continents. At least I would have had takeout.

  My back spasms again and I beeline for a bench and lower myself, holding my back.

  And from this position, I can plainly see Igor and Sveta in a torrid embrace under the budding apple tree. Wow. Apparently Thug isn’t near as stoic as I pegged him. Or maybe Sveta just brings it out in him.

  I am caught like a deer in headlights and before I can shake myself free, Igor spots me. He whispers in Sveta’s ear and she turns to look.

  I wave. Hi. It’s me. The peeping Josey.

  Then, to my surprise, Igor reaches for Sveta’s hand. They walk toward me, smiling, swinging their hands.

  The sun is sharp and bright and I wince as it glints off something…on their fingers? I stare dumbly at the gold band on Igor’s right hand. Now, why didn’t I notice that earlier?

  Methinks someone’s been a little too self-absorbed.

  “Vwe Zhenilas?” I ask them. I can’t believe they got married. And didn’t tell me! When did this happen?

  Sveta smiles and answers my unspoken question. “Mesitz Nazad.”

  A month ago? My mind travels back to the Day of the Watermelon. Igor’s strange absence.

  And then it occurs to me. Ryslan’s parents, Nurse Stalin said. My throat feels like wool and I barely make out his name.

  Sveta nods, then turns and kisses Igor. He grins at me, flushing slightly. “He’s vif my mozer during the day.”

  Ryslan has another grandma!

  Getting up, I fling myself at both of them. And I’m so utterly thankful that someone is happy, I start blubbering.

  Sveta has someone with whom to share the joys, the struggles, the parenting.

  We stand there a long moment, but my blubbering doesn’t cease. In fact, it sounds, even to me, as if I might be losing it. Igor notices and leaves me in Sveta’s embrace.

  Sveta says nothing as I sink to the ground, feeling the cold soil seep into my legs. I put my hands over my face, but I can’t stop crying.

  “Josey, are you okay?”

  Sveta eases me back and the fact I’ve soaked her shirt is not lost on me. I look at Daphne, who has been fetched by Igor. “No. I’m not okay!” My words come out in stages, between huffs of breath. “Chase left me!”

  Daphne’s jaw goes tight and I can see her struggle with denying what looks like the obvious. “Why would he do that?” she asks quietly. Oh, good counseling response, Daph.

  I glare at her. “Because I’m a mess. I’m fat—”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “I’m fat! Even Luka thinks so. And I can’t cook. And Chase doesn’t want to clean pools all his life, and people shouldn’t be forced to be parents!”

  “Tiha…” Sveta says softly, but Daphne is staring at me, horrified.

  “Yeah, that’s right!” I snap. “I’m not the perfect wife. I don’t get up early, or cook for my family, or even make footies for Junior. I eat caviar and shop online and sit at home blaming Chase for my misery!” My words end in a sort of shriek that scares even me. Daphne is still staring.

  Oh, go away. “I don’t surpass, Daphne. I don’t even measure up.”

  I climb to my feet, shrugging off Sveta, ignoring Daphne. Turning to Igor, I raise my chin. “Can you take me home?”

  He nods, but behind me I hear, “Are you sure—?”

  I round on Daphne. “You had the perfect guy and you let him go because of your own stupid fears. Don’t you know that marriage isn’t perfect? It’s hard work. And patience. And messing it up. And forgiving.” Or, it used to be about forgiving. At the moment, it’s about surviving. “Caleb loves you. He wants to marry you and not a week goes by that he doesn’t ask me about you.”

  Daphne’s eyes are darkening but I don’t care.

  “Don’t give up on Caleb just because Chase gave up on me.” The last words emerge in a whisper. I don’t wait for her reaction. Just tighten my jaw and, reaching out for Igor, let him help me hobble to the car.

  Sveta and Daphne stay behind to help Maggie, who watches me leave with a sort of pain on her face.

  I turn away and lie down on the backseat. All I want is a cool bath. And someone in my life who cares, who won’t leave me.

  Anyone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My Perfect Life

  I hear the phone ringing as I unlock the apartment door. But by the time I work my way over to it—leaning against the wall, then bracing my hand on the table, then chair, then diving for the other wall and finally collapsing onto the sofa—the caller has hung up.

  That’s right. Hang up on me. Seems about right.

  Sliding to the floor, I crawl to the bathroom and turn on the water. It’s glacial. And refreshing.

  I crawl back to my bedroom for clean clothes. I dig out my Taz jammies, which have never forsaken me.

  My back spasms again, and it’s so bad I have to take long breaths through it. In the book I swiped from Jasmine, it had introductory breathing techniques. I remember thinking, does a woman really need to be reminded to breathe?

  Clearly, yes.

  I must have put too much tension on my body today. I crawl back to the bathroom put my hand in to test the water. It’s numbing.

  Right now, I’d give anything to be numb. Instead of the burning pain in the middle of my chest.

  I lean back against the door frame, close my eyes. Listen to the water fill. The phone rings again, and for a fleeting moment I debate the pros and cons of crawling along the floor to the phone.

  Uh, no.

  Maybe it’s Chase. Maybe he’s worried about me.

  But he hasn’t spent much time worrying these past nine months, has he?

  I close my eyes again. My back spasms two more times before I decide that half-full is full enough and I turn off the water. Don’t want to freeze out Junior.

  I laugh at this. Freeze out Junior. At this point, I’d do just about anything to coax Junior out. If it weren’t a month or so too early.

  But once I get home, with Jasmine to feed me and my mother to give me advice, well, I might just live through this.

  Without Chase? My throat constricts. Along with my back. What’s the deal? I breathe through the spasm. I just need to relax, that’s all.

  So I climb to my feet and grab a towel.

  And that’s when it happens. Something…strange. A pop inside, and then to my horror…water.

  And I’m not even in the bath yet.

  Oh No.

  I stand there, breathing hard, the silence in the flat ringing my ears. Realization is swift and hard and confirming as another contraction hits and sends me to my knees.

  I’m in labor.

  How can I be in l
abor? I’m not due for weeks! I somehow wrestle on my clothing—Chase’s Scary Pants—he’s never getting them back after what he’s done to me—and my Taz jammies. Then I crawl to the family room and onto the sofa. A contraction takes me down and it occurs to me that I should time them. Or do I time in between? Oh, I don’t know! When Jasmine went into labor, we called 9-1-1 and she got a ride with the sirens on. I am hearing sirens right now. In my head.

  I don’t want to have a baby in Russia!

  I grab the phone and sit up, cradling it in my lap. Dial Daphne. No answer. Of course, because she’s at the orphanage. Caleb. It rings twelve times before I hang up. Screwing up my courage, I call Chase. It rolls over to voice mail.

  I even call WorldMar. No Chase isn’t there, an Underfed says. I’m about to ask her to send paramedics when another spasm hits. “Wait–” She hangs up on me as I gasp for breath.

  Everyone I know is still at the orphanage. Or on a plane to America.

  I lean my head back, breathing through another contraction. My options are gone, and something inside me snaps.

  “Listen here. I did this right. I sacrificed my own needs for my husband’s. I was patient and except for that one time, I tried valiantly not to tear down my house with my own hands! I volunteered at the orphanage, and did everything I could to be noble. So, what’s the deal?” I look out the window at the way the sky is turning a dark blue. As if a storm might be brewing.

  I’d say it already hit.

  “Why can’t you be on my side? What do I have to do to make you love me?”

  My words catch me. Take my breath away—along with a contraction. Make who love me? God? Chase? Both. Tears burn my eyes and I breathe deeply.

  I think back to the beginning, to my fear that Chase would someday stop loving me and I have to wonder…have I been trying to be the perfect wife so that Chase would love me…or so that God would love me? Am I hoping that if I do everything right, God will give me the perfect life?

  If so, it backfired. I close my eyes, defeated. My ears buzz as another contraction hits. I let the pain take me, tuning out everything else.

  “I just wanted you to love me,” I mumble as the contraction eases.

  “I do love you, G.I.”

  I open my eyes to the soft voice. And stare at Chase. His hair is mussed, his eyes red. I frown at him. “Where have you been?”

  He shakes his head, and I see his face twitch. “I know I haven’t done a very good job at being here this year, but I do love you, G.I. So much that sometimes it hurts.”

  He doesn’t have a clue what real pain is. “No, I mean, where have you been?”

  “I don’t know…I guess I was so afraid that with this baby all your feelings for me would change. You’re so…capable. It’s like you don’t need me. You came here and immediately got a new job and you succeed at everything, and—” his voice catches “—and I’m just a lousy husband who can’t keep a job. So, I guess you’re right. My heart hasn’t really been here, either.”

  I blink at him. Still hasn’t answered my question…and apparently he hasn’t noticed that I’m grimacing. “But what about Bertha?”

  It is so painfully clear that we are not tracking with each other because he looks as if I’ve slapped him. “Bertha?”

  I cut to the chase. “Do you love me?”

  “Of course I love you,” he says, his hand cupping my face. “I’m your Chase-Me, aren’t I? I need you, Jose, more than I ever realized. I’m never letting you go.”

  “I need you, too, Chase.” I cover his hand with mine. “And I’m not as capable as you think. We’re going to have to figure out how to be parents, together. But seriously, where were you?”

  “Picking up your sister.” He glances toward the door. I follow his gaze and to my utter disbelief I see…Jasmine?

  Do hallucinations accompany labor? Jasmine is standing in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open. Thin and beautiful and just what I need. “Jas?”

  She nods, drops her carry-on and rushes toward me. “Chase wanted me to surprise you.”

  I close my eyes and wince. Which is not the greeting she expects, I’m sure. “I’m definitely surprised.”

  “Are you okay?” she says as she kneels beside me. I open my eyes, shake my head. She rounds on Chase. “You told me she was fine!”

  “I thought she was fine! She was planning a party today. How was I to know she was home, in pain?”

  In labor, folks. “It wasn’t a party. It was a launch. For your peanut butter business.”

  “Didn’t you take her to the doctor? Didn’t you ask her how she was? You’re her husband, for crying out loud.” Jasmine the Undaunted.

  Chase looks bereft. Yeah! What she said! I want to say, and wish I had the strength to pump my fist in the air.

  “A launch?” he asks, tracking on me, finally.

  I nod. “The orphanage is going to buy your peanut butter. And probably more.” I take a deep breath. “But I thought you left with Bertha—”

  “Where does it hurt, Jose?” Jasmine feels my forehead. I don’t think that is where the pain is, honey.

  Chase’s blue eyes find mine and I see in them disbelief. “I know I spent way too much time at the office.” He takes my hands from their place on my stomach. Uh, I need those to ward off the pain, pal. “But, I would never ever leave you for another woman. Ever.” The tightness in his voice suggests the truth. And I feel sick.

  In fact, I lean over and lose my peanut butter cookies on his shoes.

  He jumps back. As does Jasmine. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.

  “Are you okay?” His voice is stricken.

  Catching on, are we?

  “I think I’m in labor.” I whisper.

  “Oh, Dear Lord, help us,” Jasmine says, and I know it’s a prayer. Because I’ve been saying the same thing for nearly nine months.

  University of Hamburg

  Germany

  Dear H,

  I’m a mother!

  But before I get to the details, I have to tell you. I will fit into a bridesmaid dress. Even if it’s camouflage. Actually, camouflage might be a very good idea.

  So, remember when I told you—not even a year ago!—that birthing isn’t so bad, if you don’t look at the person doing the birthing? Yeah, well, I lied.

  It feels much like having your body ripped in half and turned inside out. I supposed you didn’t need that visual, but thankfully you’re in the land of the epidural.

  I, however, am not. Or, was not. Right now, I’m overlooking the lush and groomed grounds of Hamburg University. It’s beautiful here, with flower boxes overflowing with impatiens, clean cobblestone streets and delicious chocolate pastries. Jasmine is in ecstasy—she’s already trying to pry from the hospital staff their favorite recipes. And every day she brings me a chocolate tart.

  But really, it’s just for my postpartum recovery. My diet starts next week when we fly home to Gull Lake.

  But I started too far ahead. Let me back up to the moment when I discovered I was in labor. Actually I discovered a number of other things, as well, the most important that Chase didn’t leave me for another woman. Chase had been to the airport to pick up Jasmine. He’d been plotting to get her to Russia all year, and she finally arrived the day of a stellar peanut butter party that I planned, only to have her luggage delayed in customs, causing Chase to miss the party. They arrived slightly after I realized we were in dire straits.

  But Chase, my hero, swung into action. He picked me up, although I weighed two thousand pounds, and after Jasmine wrapped me in a blanket—not sure why because it was about eighty million degrees outside, but maybe she thought I might give birth in the car—we went down to the parking lot.

  Normally there are about thirty-five cars lined up along the sidewalk. That night…none. Chase stood there, and I could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but I couldn’t manage a suggestion because my voice was abducted by pain, when suddenly, my favorite mayor drove up. From the very party I w
as just at!

  The Mayor of Moscow and Chase wedged me into the car, the mayor barked some instruction to his driver, and Chase and Jas and the mayor and I took off to the International Hospital. But I made them stop at my clinic because no one was delivering my baby but Luka.

  He wasn’t there, but the powers that be promised to track him down. He, too was at the orphanage…and believe me by this time, I was thinking this was some sort of divine joke, but I’ll get to that later, and we sped off to the hospital.

  Now, over the past six months when people have asked me about the International Hospital, I pictured some sort of glitzy American place, with elevator music and mauve carpets and English-speaking doctors.

  Uh, no. First off, we had to put on footies. Like those little booties they wear on Discovery Channel Health shows? Then, as Chase slipped down the hallway on polished linoleum, carrying me, the Mayor’s chauffeur hauled out a doctor from a room—here’s thinking the guy had a previous life in the KGB—and told him to take care of me. To his credit, the doctor understood—or maybe it was the sounds I was making by this time—the urgency of the moment and galvanized the staff.

  They brought me to a room with a single bed. Chase plopped me down and I saw in the adjoining room a contraption that looked a lot like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Think, stirrups. And hard metal.

  “I’m not having a baby in Russia!” I wailed. To deaf ears because both Chase and Jasmine were talking to the Mayor and the doctor. While I lay there and suffered.

  I think Chase paid off the Mayor’s chauffeur to find Luka, because off he went and less than an hour later, Luka arrived, flushed, worried and my hero. Along with Chase, of course. Funny how I had these feelings of intense emotion when I saw Luka. Very weird. In the meantime, Jasmine secured me some cold cloths and taught me some rudimentary breathing techniques. I know I once told you I’d never do natural childbirth. Someone, and I’m not mentioning any names, is laughing up there in heaven.

  Chase paced, in between holding my hand. He looked rough around the edges, and in many ways worse than me. Which was a difficult accomplishment.