Mommy Tracked

by Whitney Gaskell

  “Don’t forget the train!” Juliet reminded him, laughing.

  James cracked up. “That’s right, the damned train.”

  The contraction started to ebb, leaving Chloe feeling weak and gasping for breath. Why wasn’t anyone paying attention to her? Shouldn’t James be sitting with her, holding her hand, helping her breathe through the contractions, and bullying the anesthesiologist into coming in and juicing her up with an epidural, rather than joking around with her friends and distracting the doctor?

  “The crossing gate came down, and I was going to try to make it, but James screamed and scared the hell out of me, so I stopped,” Juliet continued.

  “I did not scream. I just…yelped a little,” James said. He was laughing so hard, he had to lean against the wall to keep from falling over.

  “It was a full, horror-movie scream,” Juliet said, shaking her head in mock disgust.

  Dr. Camp was laughing now too. Chloe wondered if she’d somehow turned invisible; she tried to swallow back her mounting frustration. Didn’t they understand that all this chatter was holding up her epidural? She wanted to stop them, interrupt their story, demand they take notice of her and how much pain she was in.

  “Excuse me?” Chloe said apologetically. “Dr. Camp? About that epidural?”

  Which was about as demanding as Chloe was ever able to get. Why, she wondered miserably, can’t I just once be poised and self-assured and articulate? Because if there was a time for me to take charge, this would be it. And yet she just couldn’t do it.

  Great. I’m the only woman in the world who can’t do the bitchy-and-demanding thing while in labor, Chloe thought sadly.

  “Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry!” Anna looked mortified, and she covered her mouth with one hand. “We shouldn’t have been monopolizing your doctor.”

  “No, no, it’s okay,” Chloe rushed to assure her. “It’s just…the pain isn’t really getting any better. In fact, I think the contractions are getting more intense.” She laughed self-consciously. “It feels like the baby is clawing his way out.”

  “Like that scene in Alien, where the alien bursts out of John Hurt’s stomach?” Juliet asked interestedly.

  “Juliet,” Anna said, elbowing her in the side.

  “What? Sorry. This is all new to me. I had a scheduled C-section with the twins,” Juliet said.

  “I’ll send the anesthesiologist right in,” Dr. Camp promised.

  “He’d better hurry,” Anna murmured after the doctor left. She was speaking in a low voice to Juliet and James, and Chloe could just barely hear her. “If the baby starts to drop, it might be too late for the epidural. That happened to me.”

  “Christ,” Juliet said with a shudder. “Childbirth without meds? That’s practically medieval.”

  “It wasn’t fun,” Anna said darkly.

  “But that won’t happen, right? They’ll get Chloe the epidural in time, won’t they?” James asked, his voice anxious and his face pale.

  But Chloe didn’t hear Anna’s response. Another contraction gripped her, and she let out a soft cry, tensed up, and turned inward, as her body’s violent attempt to evict the baby started again. In her fog of pain, she wondered briefly if God was punishing her for stealing the baby shoes. But then another contraction came, and then another, until she couldn’t think of anything at all.

  five

  Grace

  You have a date with the sexy wine-store guy?” Grace whispered excitedly.

  “Don’t rub it in,” Anna sighed. “I don’t know how it happened. I guess he tracked down my work number. And he has this great voice—don’t you think he has a great voice?”

  “I don’t know him,” Grace said, bemused.

  “Oh, right. Well, trust me, he has the greatest voice. It’s really, deep like…like…”

  “Like James Earl Jones?”

  “No. Not that deep. More like…”

  “George Clooney?”

  “No.”

  “Alan Rickman?”

  “No! Grace, will you please let me finish my story,” Anna whispered.

  “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Anyway, I said yes. But I shouldn’t have. If I could think of a way to get out of it, I would.”

  “Are you nuts? Why would you want to get out of it?” Grace exclaimed.

  “Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes,” Miss Emily, the children’s librarian, sang.

  “Eyes and ears and mouth and nose,” the mothers chorused along, some more enthusiastically than others.

  Grace and Anna were sitting with the rest of the mothers in a circle in the children’s room on the second floor of the library. Some of the calmer kids camped out in their mothers’ laps, while others were dancing in the center of the circle, bouncing around as though they’d been guzzling down espressos before heading to story hour.

  “I’m just not ready to start dating again,” Anna whispered.

  “It’s been over two years since you and the a-hole split up,” Grace replied. This was Grace’s way of making her language child-friendly: a-hole instead of asshole. She was also fond of spelling out curse words: F-U-C-K, S-H-I-T, etc.

  “No, it’s not Brad,” Anna said, wrinkling her nose, as though even his name carried a bad odor. “It’s Charlie. I decided when he was born that I wasn’t going to date. At least, not until he’s in college. I remember what it was like when I was a kid, and my mom had a stream of men coming in and out of the house. I don’t want to do that to him.”

  “One date is hardly a stream of men. And there’s nothing wrong with being happy,” Grace whispered back.

  “There is if it’s at Charlie’s expense,” Anna replied.

  “What shall we sing next? How about ‘The Hokey Pokey’? Come on, Mommies, let’s all get up and dance,” Miss Emily said, leaping deftly to her feet.

  Emily was in her early twenties and had a softly rounded face, ivory-white skin, wide green eyes, red ringlets falling down her shoulders. Grace could just picture her as a character in one of the historical romance novels she adored. The ones where the heroine’s breasts were always on the verge of spilling out of her bodice, and penises were referred to as throbbing members, and there was a steamy sex scene every other chapter. The sort of book you sink into with a glass of red wine and a bowl of pistachio nuts. Or maybe a decadent slice of cheesecake…or melted brie spread on thick slices of crusty bread…Mmmm, Grace thought dreamily. All she’d had for breakfast was black coffee and half a grapefruit, and now her stomach was growling. This is what happened—she’d start the day with the best of intentions to stick to a strict diet, then she’d get so hungry she couldn’t stand it, and it would all go to hell.

  “Tell me again why you talked me into a personal day from work to come here?” Anna asked as they struggled to their feet.

  “Wholesome family fun, remember?” Grace said.

  The truth was, she didn’t know why she insisted on dragging Hannah to story hour week after week. Hannah was not a fan of circle time or of sitting quietly, which meant Grace spent most of the half-hour session chasing around after her independent-minded daughter. But the group dancing was the worst part. Grace felt so self-conscious dancing in front of the other moms, awkwardly swaying her hips and swinging her arms along with “Hot Potato” by the Wiggles. She only liked to dance when she’d had a few drinks; at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning, not so much. “When did they stop reading stories at story hour? All she’s done since we’ve gotten here is sing one stupid song after another.”

  “Just hope she doesn’t get out the parachute,” Anna said darkly. The rainbow-hued parachute—which the moms would hold by the edges and billow up and down over the kids’ heads—always got the kids overexcited. “I need Charlie to nap this afternoon so I can finish my column.”

  “You put your right leg in, you put your right leg out,” Miss Emily sang, shaking a shapely leg that ended in a gorgeous tan Stuart Weitzman high-heeled sandal. If Grace wasn’t mistaken, they were t
he same sandals she’d ogled at Bloomingdale’s last week, before deciding that they were both too expensive and impractical for a stay-at-home mom.

  Charlie and Hannah were ignoring the song and instead cracking themselves up by turning around and around in circles, their heads tipped back until they got dizzy. Grace stopped dancing. She was all for spending quality time with her daughter, but if Hannah wasn’t going to do the Hokey Pokey, Grace didn’t see why she should. Anna stopped too.

  “Four-inch heels on a Tuesday morning?” Grace said under her breath, eyeing Miss Emily’s slim figure critically. “Oh, I forgot, she doesn’t have kids. I knew there was a reason I hated her.”

  “I don’t hate her because she doesn’t have kids. I hate her because she’s gorgeous, weighs ninety pounds, and is disgustingly cheerful at all times. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s relentless perkiness,” Anna grumbled back.

  “Do you think she ever eats?”

  “She must eat something.”

  “I think some people can survive on coffee, cigarettes, and the odd salad,” Grace said thoughtfully. “They’re like thin freaks of nature.”

  “No talking, Mommies. Remember, we’re supposed to be setting a good example for the children,” Miss Emily chirped, looking directly at Grace and Anna. “Now, who wants to play with the parachute?”

  The kids all cheered wildly. Grace and Anna exchanged a grim look.

  “If she really weighs only ninety pounds, I think we can take her down,” Grace whispered. “What do you say? Are you with me?”

  Twenty minutes later Grace and Anna left the library, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dazzling south Florida sunshine. Grace was lugging the baby in her car-seat carrier, staggering under its weight, and Anna was holding Charlie’s and Hannah’s hands.

  “So tell me about Chloe’s baby. You said she had a boy, right?”

  “Yes. William Thomas,” Anna said. “Seven pounds, eight ounces.”

  “How did the birth go?”

  “Chloe did great. It was a long labor, but she was a real trooper. Her husband, on the other hand…” Anna’s voice trailed off, as though it were so bad, it pained her to say it aloud.

  “Oh, no! What happened?”

  “At first he was great. Holding Chloe’s hand, coaching her along, making her laugh between contractions. But then she started to push, and he suddenly turned green. Seriously: green. I’ve never actually seen someone turn that shade before. The next thing I know, he goes running into the bathroom. I checked on him after a while; he was lying on the floor in the fetal position. He didn’t come out until after William was born.”

  Grace gasped. “Are you serious?”

  Anna nodded grimly. “He said that he couldn’t cope with seeing Chloe in that much pain. I thought Juliet was going to clobber him.”

  “He couldn’t cope? What about her? God, I would have killed Louis if he’d left me alone like that.”

  “That’s pretty much exactly what Juliet said. Only she was yelling at him, while he was still curled up on the floor.”

  “Grace! Wait up! I want to see your baby!” a high voice trilled out.

  They turned to see Mandy Rider, the most competitive mother in Orange Cove, hurrying after them, with her twin three-year-old boys in tow. Jeremy and Duncan Rider were dressed alike in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren, and they each wore their blond hair parted on the left and slicked across their foreheads. They looked like a pair of miniature bankers.

  “Save me,” Grace said, looking around desperately for an escape, while Anna smothered a laugh.

  Thinner than me, Grace thought, watching Mandy Rider lope up. And a real pain in the ass to boot.

  “You know I hate to brag, but we had the twins tested, and they were off the charts. The pediatrician said that they have genius-level IQs,” Mandy would say whenever she got the chance. She claimed Jeremy was already composing music and Duncan showed an early interest in Shakespeare. No matter what the milestone, the Wonder Twins—as Grace called them—got there first. According to Mandy—who Grace was pretty sure was a pathological liar—the Wonder Twins supposedly rolled over at two weeks, sat up at two months, and were crawling by four months.

  “Not only is that a lie,” Grace had said indignantly when she’d first heard this claim, “it’s just plain weird. What kind of a creepy baby crawls at four months?”

  “Oh, she’s beautiful,” Mandy now said as she peered down at Natalie, her long dark ponytail falling over her shoulder. Mandy was pretty in a bland, preppy way. She never wore makeup and favored pastel capri pants with grosgrain belts. Today the pants were pink and the belt was aqua blue with green alligators marching around it. “What’s her name?”

  “Natalie Marie,” Grace said proudly.

  “Oh, how…interesting. Is that a family name?” Mandy asked.

  Interesting.

  Grace saw Anna wince and glance nervously at her, as though she half-expected Grace to set down the car-seat carrier and slug Mandy. But Grace just took a deep breath and tried to center herself. Women like Mandy, the sort who viewed mothering as a competitive sport, were definitely not worth getting yourself worked up over.

  “No,” Grace said, smiling sweetly if insincerely. “Louis and I just liked it.”

  “You certainly favor girls, don’t you?” Mandy said. “This is your fourth, right?”

  “Third.”

  “Oh, right, sorry. It just seems like you’ve been pregnant forever,” Mandy said, with a trill of laughter. She showed a lot of teeth when she laughed.

  Grace rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  “Were you disappointed? I mean, you must have been,” Mandy pressed.

  What, Grace wondered, does she mean by that? Usually, Grace gave people the benefit of the doubt. But not Mandy, who had thrown one too many bitchy barbs in Grace’s direction over the years.

  “Why would I be disappointed?” Grace asked, tipping her head slightly to one side, as she took in another deep centering breath and tried to imagine what Mandy would look like with a bad perm and her face covered in pimples.

  “Well, I just assumed that you were hoping for a boy. I mean, girls are wonderful, of course,” Mandy said hastily. But then she smiled beatifically and rested her hands on the twins’ shoulders. “But there’s nothing like the bond between a mother and son.”

  That’s it, Grace thought. It’s payback time.

  “Mandy, I don’t think—” Anna began, clearly looking to defuse the situation, but Grace cut her off before she finished the thought.

  “So, Mandy, did you hear the news about Winston Academy?” Grace asked.

  “No—what?” Mandy asked.

  “Well…,” Grace said, pausing for effect. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “They had so many legacies apply for next year’s pre-K class, they’ve decided not to take on any new families.”

  The color drained from Mandy’s stricken face, the way it might when a doctor told someone they had an inoperable tumor. In Mandy’s world, the news was almost as bad.

  Winston Academy wasn’t just the best private school in Orange Cove, it was the Shangri-la of elementary schools. And it was the only one a woman like Mandy would ever consider sending her progeny to. The school was built on a nature preserve covering five acres, where the children could study local vegetation and observe a butterfly garden. It also offered private French and music lessons, had a hutch full of English lop rabbits, and on the second Friday of every month the school celebrated Foreign Friends Day, where the children learned about a different culture. There was always a buffet of native dishes for lunch and an assembly showcasing dancers or other traditional entertainers from the country being studied.

  Mandy’s boys were, Grace knew, scheduled to start attending classes at Winston in the fall. But since Jeremy and Duncan were Mandy’s only children, news that the school had decided to take only legacies—the younger siblings of children already attending the school—meant the twins would
be boxed out.

  “Luckily Hannah’s getting in, since Molly’s already a student there,” Grace continued blithely.

  “But…but…that can’t be,” Mandy said. Her eyes were wide and a little manic-looking. “I would have heard; the school would have called me.”

  “They just made the decision a few days ago. They’re keeping it hush-hush until they get a chance to notify all of the parents. In fact, I really wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” Grace said regretfully, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “Don’t say anything, okay?”

  “Oh…um…right,” Mandy said distractedly. She glanced down at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I have to run.”

  Mandy grabbed each twin by a wrist and—to their loud protests—began dragging them off toward her gold Lexus SUV. Even her ponytail looked like it was drooping.

  “Bye, Mandy!” Grace called after her.

  “Is that true?” Anna asked.

  “What?” she asked, the very image of innocence.

  Anna rolled her eyes. “What do you think? What you just told Mandy about Winston only accepting legacies.”

  “Oh, that,” Grace said. She smiled, pleased with herself. “As a matter of fact, it’s not. Poor Mandy. She’ll spend the next two days burning up the phone lines and pestering Mrs. Gregory for information.” Mrs. Gregory was the no-nonsense headmistress of Winston Academy. All of the parents were a little terrified of her. “With any luck, Mrs. Gregory will be so annoyed she’ll ban the Wonder Twins from attending next year.”

  “Grace!” Anna exclaimed. “I can’t believe you lied to her like that!”

  “Oh, please. She totally deserved it,” Grace said, waving an airy hand. “After that ‘boys are better than girls’ crap. I’m surprised Mandy didn’t ask me if we were going to try again for a boy. Do you know I’ve already had fourteen people ask me that? As though it’s any of their business.”

  “What do you tell them?”

  “I tell them the truth,” Grace said, grinning wickedly. “I’m making Louis get the big V. He’s going in next week. Snip-snip.” Grace pantomimed a pair of scissors. “That usually shuts them up. Now, come on. Let’s go get some lunch and figure out what you’re going to wear on your big date.”