Bundle of Joy?

by Ariella Papa

  As we sat in traffic up 8th Avenue, I blurted out the details of my date with Paul and that I was waiting to hear if my offer was countered. The weekend was messing with the way things were supposed to flow. For some reason no one could make a real estate decision on Sunday. As expected, Jamie didn’t say anything about my real estate adventure.

  “Wait! You had sex this week? And you didn’t tell me?”

  I wished she would lower her voice. I didn’t want the cabbie to think I was a slut.

  “Well, we barely talked.”

  “But what about yesterday?” She sounded so hurt.

  I refrained from pointing out that yesterday I had listened to two thirty-minute diatribes from her. The first about the change in her hair texture, the second about how difficult it was for her to sleep. That conversation was divided into two parts—first, how often she peed, and second, how uncomfortable she was sleeping on her side since she usually slept on her back. What I said was “It just didn’t come up.”

  “This is big, Voula,” she said.

  As if I hadn’t thought about this.

  “I know,” I said. I held up my hand. “I’m almost going to have to start counting on the other one.”

  Jamie giggled and so did I.

  “I’ve run out of everything,” Jamie said, looking down to her swollen toes. “I stopped counting at sixty-three.”

  “Jeez,” I said, wondering what the cabbie was thinking now. Still, it felt better to have told her. It made that night seem like it had really happened.

  “Was it great? I mean, had you forgotten how to schtoop?” She elbowed me and winked.

  “Is pregnancy turning you into Jackie Mason?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. So, details. Namely, when are you going to see him again?”

  “His schedule is so effed up. He signed up for all this overtime before our first date and couldn’t get out of it. His job is awesome unless there’s a fire. He basically just eats and works out.”

  “Sounds like your job,” she said. “But without the working out.”

  “Shut up! Anyway, he is just so sweet. Can you believe I’m saying ‘sweet’? But he is. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Now that I’d started talking about him, I didn’t want to stop. I avoided Kelly’s questions with sly grins just because I wasn’t sure I wanted her to see the full extent of my neuroses. Now that I could tell Jamie about it, the topics seemed endless.

  “Don’t talk yourself out of it, Voul. Just go with it. Give what you get. Don’t Dan-the-Man him.”

  “What?”

  “You know—don’t act like you don’t care.”

  “Do you really think I messed up the Dan the Man situation in some way? Do you really think I should have worn my heart on my sleeve for that one?”

  “You can just pull up right here on the left,” Jamie said to the cabbie. She looked at me. “No, and don’t get pissy. I’m saying play it cool. Just not too cool. Not you cool.”

  “Me cool? As in frigid?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Jamie said as she took a wobbly step out of the cab in her heels. “Just don’t act like every guy is out to get something. Some of them are quite nice.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I also know from a lot of your experiences that some of them are dicks.”

  “Right, but this guy doesn’t have to be. It sounds like you think you can trust him. So trust him.”

  Alice’s doorman ushered us in with a friendly wave. In the elevator, Jamie gave a deep sigh.

  “So first, sex—how was it? What I wouldn’t give to kiss and touch someone again for the first time. It’s so amazing when it’s really right. You just kind of drink him in for hours and hours.”

  Jamie closed her eyes as if reviewing all of the sixty-three-plus “first times” she had had. I knew then (if there was ever any doubt) that I would never be the kind of sexual person that Jamie was. I wasn’t ever going to drink anyone in. But while her eyes were closed I took a look at her swollen body. For the second time in our lives, she was envious of something I was doing. It was all so hard to believe.

  Alice had married well. All of the primping and exercise, the extravagant amount of money spent on clothes, had landed her a very busy, very important, very handsome—and extremely boring—investment banker. They bought a two-bedroom apartment in Chelsea Mercantile at the beginning, before Whole Foods even got there. Even though Alice said they had gotten it for a song, I was sure they paid one and half million for it. And it wasn’t even south facing.

  Alice had just had a baby three weeks earlier. This brunch was an excuse for us to ogle little Lucinda. Alice had a full-time nanny and planned to work part time. She was always kind to me. She didn’t have to include me in her plans, but she made an effort. I liked her. I just thought she was the kind of person who didn’t want you to keep up with them, that she liked to have people around who would stare at her in wonder. She was the kind of person who would happen to mention that she made her own wedding veil, that her pie crusts were from scratch and that she was next in line for a promotion at work.

  She told Jamie how great she looked and let slip in her sweet-as-pie way that she had gained only fourteen pounds during her entire pregnancy. She said this in the context of how quickly the weight would come off. Already, according to her dull husband, Peter, she had lost ten.

  I made my way into the kitchen to fix a drink. I checked out the silver appliances (an easy extra three grand and in a place like this, probably five) and took note of the food spread. I was certain that instead of rolling each individual wrap, Alice had just called down to Whole Foods. That was a sign to me that something was wrong.

  I gathered with the rest of the women in the jumbo living room with fifteen-foot ceilings. Jamie was telling everyone about my recent bid and a select few about my recent exploits. I was embarrassed, but also kind of pleased. For once I had something to report other than just talking about articles I knew that no one was going to read. But it didn’t last. Alice pursed her lips, asked me a question about Paul and then preceded to regale the group with stories of her labor and casually mention that the luxurious throws on the couch were knit by her between contractions.

  The baby had been napping when we arrived, but after we polished off the light dill dip and samosas, we heard a cry.

  “I’ll get her,” Peter said, and dashed into the depths of the massive apartment.

  I was certain that if I were to look into the baby’s room I would find a space bigger than apartments that were in my price range. His exit gave Alice the ideal opportunity to mention how “fabulous” a parent Peter was.

  “The other day he said he wished he could lactate so he could relieve me of the nighttime feeding. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you ever heard?”

  I tried not to wince.

  “I think I’m more scared of the breastfeeding than the actual delivery,” Jamie said.

  “It’s really a piece of cake,” Alice said, matter-of-factly. “I know some women have problems, but Lucinda latched on right away. They say it’s because I didn’t have any drugs.”

  “I think I’m probably going to have to take something,” Jamie said, her voice lower than usual.

  Peter came back into the living room carrying Lucinda, who was decked out in a furry pink jumper.

  I felt the appropriate thing to do was follow the crowd and begin cooing at the baby. Immediately everyone was clamoring for a chance to hold the baby. I was fine to pass on it. The thing looked far too tiny to be in my arms. I could be clumsy and I wasn’t going to risk dropping Alice’s pride and joy. However, I alternated between telling Alice how beautiful Lucinda was with waving at the baby, as if it could even see me with its scrunched-up eyes.

  I noticed that Jamie didn’t ask to hold the baby until Alice’s sister, Jen, offered it to her. Only then did Jamie take Lucinda, tentatively, and smile down at her.

  “Just watch the head,” Alice said.

  Jamie imm
ediately adjusted her arms, and I felt bad that she had been corrected. “You’re a natural,” I said, trying to make her feel better.

  Alice’s mother-in-law arrived and immediately reached to take the baby out of Jamie’s arms. “I’m going to have to kidnap my grandchild,” the woman said.

  I looked away when Jamie passed the baby to her. I feared she was going to drop it. I was relieved when Alice took her back to her crib where the baby would be safe from all of these cooing women.

  “She’s ridiculous,” Alice whispered to the rest of us. “She pulls the baby away from anyone.”

  “First grandchild syndrome,” one of Alice’s co-workers muttered. She spoke from experience, as she had two kids of her own. She looked at Jamie. “You should really think about natural childbirth. It isn’t as bad as you think.”

  To me, there was nothing “natural” about anything that big coming out of someone, no matter how you looked at it. For the next twenty minutes, I listened to the three women who had already had babies discuss the perils of painkillers and male doctors and the joy one feels when pushing an eight-pound baby through the teeny tiny birth canal. According to the experts gathered, the pain was negligible.

  “Honestly, once it was over, I was ready to go right back in for the next one,” Alice bragged.

  “I was so in awe of her,” Peter said, beaming at Alice.

  I felt yucky. I looked at Jamie and thought that perhaps she was getting a taste of her own “how can you not understand how important procreation is?” attitude.

  “Well, my doctor told me I shouldn’t try to be a hero.”

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?” the all-knowing earth-mother colleague said.

  Jamie nodded and so did the rest of the women. She should have thought twice before picking a man.

  “Well,” Alice said, “it’s really an individual choice, I guess.” Then she got up and announced that lunch was served.

  I thought I would have a break from the baby talk while we stuffed our faces, but our lunch conversation mostly revolved around a device that turned baby excrement into poop sausages and how much the women with children missed their little ones even though they had only been separated for a matter of hours.

  “I know,” Alice said, totally getting into it. “I don’t know how I could be without her even for a minute.”

  I looked at Alice’s sister and Jamie’s other friend, Morgan, who was the other Olsen Twin. Neither of them had children or were having them, and like me, neither of them had much to say. Alice’s sister looked jealous and Morgan looked like she would rather be out at a real brunch where we could tie one on.

  Later during coffee, Morgan plopped down next to me on the couch. She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. In the ten years I’ve known her, I don’t think I have ever felt closer to her.

  Lucinda was back out and shrieking. No one seemed at all fazed when she puked up a speckled white liquid. Soon there was the distinct smell of shit, and everyone was too busy cooing about baby smell to notice the unmistakable ass smell. I still hadn’t held her and this didn’t seem the right time. Alice was acting as if her daughter was reciting Shakespeare and not emitting high-pitched squeals that would make a dog run for cover.

  And speaking of dogs…one of the other mommy experts (I tried not to remember the name of anyone I didn’t already know in the hopes I would never see them again) was telling Jamie that soon her beloved Sparky—who slept in the bed with her and Raj and who ate no less than two pieces of buttered toast a day—would be relegated to the position of actual dog, not baby substitute. Then she told Jamie that she, too, suffered from bad acne into her second trimester. It was one thing to see the acne, but another to acknowledge it.

  After my second helping of lime pie, I gave Jamie the sign and happily she extricated herself from the mommy/skin/pet expert and said it was time for us to go. I said my goodbyes, exchanging an emotional hug with Morgan and bending to kiss Alice, who held an exhausted, fussy baby in her arms.

  “Oh, Voula, you never got to hold her,” Alice whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. Realizing my voice was too loud from the way Alice grimaced, I took it down a notch. “I’ll get some baby next time.”

  Jamie and I rode down the elevator (six thousand), walked past the security guard (at least fifteen, which doesn’t include holiday tips), and landed on the sidewalk in total silence. I decided to escort her home.

  “A cab?” I asked.

  “No,” Jamie said. “I feel like walking.”

  “Cool. Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “What do you think of the name Lucinda?” she asked.

  “It’s all right,” I said cautiously. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

  “It was one of my names.”

  “What?” As far as I knew, Jamie’s middle name was Kathleen.

  “I told Alice I liked it before she got pregnant. Then she stole it. You would be surprised at how many people are name thieves.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s all that.”

  She nodded. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. I tried again.

  “They really love talking breasts up there, don’t they.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And shit, they like to talk about shit.”

  A smile spread across Jamie’s face. “I’m really glad you came with me to that, Voula. Imagining your recap made it almost bearable.”

  She was being so sincere, I tried to stop on 7th Avenue, but nothing was going to break her stride. She seemed desperate to walk off all of her baby pounds. For the first time, I saw real doubt in her swollen, acne-covered face.

  15

  For seven weeks, things were almost perfect. There was a minor bidding war on the apartment I wanted. First the sellers counteroffered. They got me up to 205. Then someone else wanted to bid 210, but Maureen told me the sellers said I could have the place if I bid 220. It was just too much, so I passed on it.

  I knew Maureen was losing patience with me, so I took a little break from the scene. Luckily, there were plenty of aspects of the real estate market to write about for my Financial Woman pieces. I waxed poetic about mortgage rates being so low and what that meant for the woman looking to buy.

  At this rate, I was never going to find a place, and I had seen so many. I knew I had to go up in price. I had to stop underbidding. But, it seemed impossible to spend so much on something that wasn’t all that big. It was my life savings and I didn’t want to spend it foolishly. I just wanted to be wowed by something.

  I think I would have felt like a real estate failure if Paul hadn’t been there to distract me. I saw him almost every other night. We still talked on the phone constantly when he was at the station, but he would also come over and we’d walk along the Hudson or subway up to Central Park. Autumn had arrived, but I wanted to milk the extended days for as long as I could. I was in bliss.

  I barely talked to Jamie. Despite being tired all the time, she was working like a dog. I sensed that she was busting her ass to prove that she wouldn’t be affected by her pregnancy. I think she also feared what would happen when she went on maternity leave. The only real heart-to-heart we had was when she was waiting for the results of some triple screen test. I had no idea what the test was for, but I know that it was three diseases that were freaking her out. She left a message when the tests came out okay.

  Kelly was dating a new guy, Joel, who seemed really into her, and we double dated a couple of times. Being in those situations, being a part of a couple with other couples, was something I hadn’t ever experienced.

  I felt like my feet weren’t touching the ground and, despite a few nervous pangs, things were great.

  I had a mini breakdown the day after daylight saving time ended because the sky got dark so early, but I think it was just a reaction to all the happiness. Luckily, Paul was working that night.

  I was trying not to be “me cool,” as Jamie had put it, but two things st
ill bothered me about my relationship with Paul: We never talked about his experience during September eleventh, which I gathered for someone in his profession was probably a big deal. And I still hadn’t been to his place. The former I didn’t want to force, but the latter was about to be remedied. He invited me for his specialty: pasta and stuffed peppers. Even though we had spent so much time together, being let into his space was a big deal.

  On my next visit to Diane, I asked her to do my bikini line and legs as well. It was only after I had my pants off that she revealed she had recently had a religious conversion. She was now a born-again Christian. She got so caught up in telling me how she had seen the light that she didn’t notice she was doing the same leg twice. I was so worried that she’d be suspicious of my suddenly wanting to do my bikini line that I didn’t bother to correct her.

  As she poured hot wax in my most sensitive places, I told her about my real estate woes. I thanked her again for bringing Maureen into my life.

  “Voula,” she said, bringing her face a little too close to mine and looking me directly in the eyes. “You think it was me, but now I know it was the Lord.”

  She went on about all the ways that God had changed her life. And it worked, sort of, in those moments as the wax dried, I actually prayed. When she ripped it off, it hurt like hell, but I swear that once I had my clothes back on I said an “Amen.”

  I wanted the night to be special, so I purchased a new outfit for my trip to Brooklyn. Nothing fancy, just black cotton pants and a tight red sweater. Kelly joked that I needed to find something sufficiently outer borough since Paul lived in Carroll Gardens. It wasn’t too far from the city, but it felt like a different world. When we discussed my apartment-hunting experiences, Paul told me that the yuppies were moving in to his neighborhood, where his family had lived for almost a century. When he rented his apartment, he hadn’t signed a lease, he had shaken a hand.