Bundle of Joy?

by Ariella Papa

  Tonight I opened the gate and walked through the garden full of Halloween decorations. He lived in the garden apartment of a Federal brick building. When I rang the bell, he came to the door and kissed me. I was getting used to it, getting used to being with him.

  “Everything is almost ready,” he said.

  The place smelled inviting. I walked through a long hall into his apartment. It was giant. There was a big living room with a fireplace (a real fireplace). It was cold enough for him to have a fire going. My head was filled immediately with visions of lying beside it with him. There was a bedroom and a bathroom off that room and another hall that seemed to lead to another bedroom. I followed him to the kitchen and presented the two bottles of wine I had brought. With Armando’s guidance, I had a Chianti and a Barbera. Paul opened them both and poured the Barbera into a decanter. He kissed me again. I thought about how I’d never really had a boyfriend and how he had said that made him feel like I was really his.

  “Do you want to taste the sauce?” he asked me.

  “Sure.”

  He opened a giant pot and dipped some crusty bread into the sauce. He blew on it, then placed it gingerly in my mouth. It was delicious. It tasted like I imagined red sauce would taste in a small village in Italy—fresh, tangy, light.

  “Did you really make this? It’s great.”

  “Ancient Italian secret,” he said. “I think I made too much. I’m used to cooking for the guys. I realized when I got to like the twentieth pepper that I didn’t know how to cook for two.”

  I smiled. That implied he hadn’t really done this before. “I can take some home and eat it for lunch.”

  “Yeah,” he said. He seemed a little preoccupied with something. Maybe he was worried about dinner being perfect, but he wasn’t meeting my eye as much as usual.

  “How’s work?”

  “Okay. You know it’s been kinda quiet. Captain Shinners’ wife just had a baby. A ten-pound girl. He handed out cigars today. Shinners got captain after the Towers.”

  “Everyone’s having babies,” I said kind of stupidly, because even though that could’ve been just the segue I needed, I didn’t know how to ask him about “the Towers.”

  “Yeah, it sure seems that way. There’re three guys on the job whose ladies are expecting.”

  “Must be something in the water. We should be careful.” I broke off more bread and dipped it in the sauce.

  Paul stared at me. “What do you think about kids?”

  “Kids?” I laughed. “Let’s just get through dinner.”

  He barely smiled. What was up with him?

  “Well, my friend’s pregnant,” I continued. “She’s not having the best time. I keep worrying something bad is going to happen. It seems like a tough and dangerous thing.”

  “I mean, do you want your own? Do you want them in your life?”

  I was surprised at this line of questioning. I took another bite of bread. I wished we could just start making out rather than have deep conversations about things I didn’t know my stance on. I liked to have a witty retort for everything and I hadn’t rehearsed the section of my program about children.

  “I don’t know, actually. I haven’t thought much about kids. I would be perfectly happy without them, I think. I like the way my life is, you know, without mood swings, weight gain…” I stopped short of adding a giant flabby vagina and a peeing/shitting/crying brat, because something about Paul seemed suddenly strange.

  “Don’t you think it’s more than that? Don’t you think they could bring you joy?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I know I’m turning thirty, but honestly, it seems like something for someone else. I barely know how to have a boyfriend.”

  “You seem pretty capable.”

  I laughed and tried to change the subject. “You have no idea what goes on behind this facade.”

  “I think I do,” he said. He still hadn’t cracked a smile.

  I felt a little uncomfortable, like when Diane was staring into my eyes telling me about her religious awakening. I really hoped Paul wasn’t trying to convert me to motherhood.

  “Please don’t get me pregnant tonight. I just bought a new pair of pants.” Still nothing, not even a little chuckle. I wasn’t used to this kind of reaction. Paul’s laugh and the sight of his smile were something I aimed for constantly.

  “I guess I just want to know if you like kids.”

  “Well, if you have to know, I guess I don’t really. I just don’t see myself as one of those maternal types.” I heard Jamie’s voice in my head. She was telling me how hard it was to get a man to talk about commitment, and here I had one who was going beyond that. But I had never lied to Paul, and if he wanted my honest opinion, well, I was going to give it to him. He might as well know that Carol Brady I was not.

  “Can I see the rest of your place?” I asked as he poured us two glasses of wine.

  “Sure.” He showed me the backyard. It was unthinkably big. Nowhere in Manhattan could you have found something like that. Maybe I should have looked in the outer boroughs. As I stood coveting his outdoor space, my stomach started churning and I prayed (thanks, Diane!) that I could get through dinner without any trouble. How was I expected to change diapers when I could barely take care of my own digestive track? He wandered back to his bedroom, which was big and sparse except for a queen-size bed and a weight bench. It was all super clean.

  “Do you have a maid?”

  “No, I just tidied up before you got here.”

  “Thanks. I hope I prove worthy of your efforts.”

  He smiled at me and rubbed my cheek. Something was on his mind. Would my lack of maternal instinct make him break up with me? For the first time ever, I felt really awkward around him. There was something between us. I had to keep things light. Maybe if I kept talking, he wouldn’t have a chance to dump me.

  “What’s down that hall?”

  “Another bedroom.”

  “Show me.” I raised my recently sculpted eyebrows. I felt dumb. What was I implying? That I wanted to have sex with him in his second bedroom? Did I think I needed to so I could change the subject?

  “Uh, actually, it’s kind of a mess.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I said, trying to sound as flirtatious as possible.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, you tossed all your clutter in there.”

  “You caught me,” he said, and smiled. He looked past me into the kitchen. “I think dinner’s ready.”

  “Great, let’s eat.”

  Throughout dinner it was more of the same. We were talking, but something was off. Who knows what I was saying. I was following the conversation, but in my head I was going through what it would be like when he ended it. I couldn’t believe I had made such a disaster of this. Why couldn’t I have lied and said I love kids? I could have pointed to my big hips and said they were ideal for popping out little ones. I was already hearing myself telling Jamie the story of every little thing he said. Was seven weeks my freshness date on relationships? I imagined Kelly poking her head into my room to see if I wanted to go on a double date with her and her new man, and having to tell her I had effed it all up.

  The worst part: my stomach was killing me. My mouth told me the meal was delicious, but I couldn’t really enjoy it. I was shoveling it in, though, because I didn’t want him to add “ungrateful” to the list of reasons he was breaking up with me. Oh, Jamie was going to blame me for all this. I just knew it.

  “Everything tastes wonderful,” I said when we were diving into our second bottle of wine.

  “I’m glad you like it. There’s cannoli for dessert. It’s from a bakery my nonna worked for when she was a kid.”

  So I would be staying for dessert.

  When we finished our meal he stared across the little table at me. He was formulating his speech in his head. I could tell. Keep moving, I had to keep moving. If I didn’t stand still long enough the shot would never hit me. I got up and started to clear the table.r />
  “Voula, just leave it.” He got up and took the plate out of my hand. He kept holding my hand and walked me over to the fire. We sat on pillows. He pulled me into him and we watched the fire for a while. I was so preoccupied with what was going to happen that I didn’t feel scared of the flames.

  A fire is hypnotic (especially when enclosed); you could watch it for hours before you realized you are crying. I really cared about Paul and now I was never going to get to that stage where I felt comfortable in his space. I was never going to be able to walk around this place in one of his T-shirts. I was going to get cannoli and then I was going to get the talk. It was cruel, really, when you thought about it. What kind of man could feed a girl authentic Italian pastry and then dump her? The kind that wants babies, like all normal people should, I heard Jamie saying in my head. Then I heard her “don’t you realize the whole world wants kids but you?” laugh. Ugh. Why did I have to be “me cool”? Why hadn’t I cherished all the moments with Paul more?

  “Voula,” I heard Paul saying next to me. There was something big coming after that. He wasn’t even going to wait to satisfy my sweet tooth.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been wanting to, uh, tell you—” he stumbled.

  In that stumble, I kissed him. Shameless, I know, but if this was going to be it, I wanted it to be on my terms. Maybe it would be the last time. So I kept on kissing him and he didn’t stop me. We moved into the bedroom and I kissed his leg, the one he hurt on the soccer field, the one I had wanted to kiss since that time in the park. This was my last chance. I kissed it and kissed it until he pulled me to him.

  We fell asleep eventually. As I was drifting off, I realized we never ate the cannoli, but it didn’t matter because I was still there.

  I woke up to the smell of coffee and I stretched out in Paul’s empty bed. It was after ten. That was the beautiful thing about being a writer and Paul’s wacky schedule. We didn’t have to rush off the way other people did, though maybe that morning that would have been better.

  If this was to be it, I had to live the fantasy. I had to for once have a real boyfriend. I put Paul’s T-shirt on and walked out into the kitchen. He had cleaned up and done the dishes and was standing in his pajama bottoms staring out into his garden. Was he contemplating what to say to me?

  “Hey,” I said.

  He turned and smiled at me. His eyes looked especially green that morning. Man, I was going to miss this. I thought about ceremoniously burning his pack of condoms, offering to give birth to a baseball team if that’s what he wanted. I think I would have said anything to prevent the end, but instead I asked for coffee and he poured me a cup.

  “You know all I have for breakfast is Lucky Charms,” he said apologetically.

  So maybe he hadn’t intended for me to spend the night. Tricks were, after all, for kids.

  “Or we could have that cannoli from last night.”

  “I love Lucky Charms,” I lied. Perhaps if we blew up the bakery he would stay with me. Maybe if we avoided all pastry we could celebrate our silver anniversary.

  Things seemed pretty normal as we ate our cereal. Immediately afterward he cleared the table. Keep moving I thought, just keep moving.

  I had an idea.

  “Sure, you’re acting like the perfect housewife,” I said. “But I know where to find out what you’re keeping in the closet.”

  “Voula,” I heard him shouting as I ran through the hall, but I was quick. I pushed the door to his other bedroom open. I was expecting to find a mess, but instead there was one of those little beds shaped like a teepee. There was also a PlayStation, a desk and a child’s dresser. I was confused. He was behind me. I turned to get an explanation.

  “Voula, I was trying to tell you last night. I should have told you sooner.” He stepped into the room. “I have a son.” He went to the desk and picked up a picture of a father (him) and son (his) with baseball caps and mitts. “His name is Joseph.”

  It all happened so fast. One minute he was my kind-of boyfriend and the next he was someone’s dad.

  And then the next I was on the subway back to Manhattan.

  16

  Anger makes me extremely productive. That day was probably one of my most productive days ever. I called Jamie and left her a cryptic message saying that I needed to see her. When she called, I didn’t answer the phone. I wasn’t ready to get into it only to have her interrupt me to take some meeting on how to market lip gloss. I sent her an e-mail saying I would be at her place at seven-thirty.

  In a way, I wasn’t surprised that everything had gone bad. This was to be expected when you got involved with someone, right? I don’t know why I didn’t just stick with my Warren Tucker fantasies. They never disappointed. Kids didn’t pop in those.

  I decided now was as good a time as any to watch Warren’s audition tape. I felt like I needed to see him, to satisfy a craving. The sight of Warren would be something familiar. My dreams about him something I could count on.

  I rewired the TV from the DVD to the VCR and popped the tape in. I fast-forwarded through the color bars until I got to Warren holding a white piece of paper with his name written in thick black ink in front of him.

  “Say your name, age and profession,” a voice off-camera said.

  “My name is Warren Tucker. I’m thirty-one. I work as a financial advisor for a major Manhattan firm.”

  “Okay, uh, Warren, tell us about what you look for in a woman.”

  “I like a sense of humor. I guess I like a girl who is adventurous—”

  “Sexually?” the interviewer prodded.

  Jeez, this show was ridiculous. I was never going to watch it.

  “Um.” Warren looked flustered, but then he seemed to realize what they were looking for. He grinned straight at the camera. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What are you looking for physically?”

  “I like someone who is in shape, maybe a little shorter than me, blond hair, blue eyes.”

  He was describing the farthest thing from me. He was describing Jamie.

  “Would you say you are a butt, breast or leg man?”

  “I like a nice rack.”

  I had never heard him say the word rack. I thought about when he saw my rack. Maybe watching this was going to rid me of my feelings for him forever.

  “Why do you want to be on this show?”

  Good question.

  “I’m ready to prove to America that I am Mr. Right, not just Mr. Right…Now.”

  I had no idea what that meant, but it was awful. He said his buddies had dared him—what would be worth the dare? Then I heard Raj’s voice.

  “What is your idea of romance?”

  “Romance?”

  Duh! This was great. I needed this.

  “Yes, what was the most romantic thing that ever happened to you?”

  “Um.” Warren Tucker was stumped.

  I wondered if he saw his chance at proving to America who he was slipping away. He rubbed his chin, and my stomach dropped. I was reminded of his mannerisms the summer that I knew him. Suddenly he seemed to think of something.

  “I used to work as a bartender in the summers while I was going to school. My senior year I did it on Block Island at this pub. There was this girl I had a crush on. She was a waitress at the pub.”

  Oh boy, I couldn’t believe that he was talking about that summer. Now, on top of everything, I was going to find out that he had had a crush on Jamie.

  I stopped that tape. I couldn’t do it. My Warren idealization was something dear to me. I wasn’t ready to let go of it. I had been disappointed enough for one day.

  At exactly 7:05, I marched over to 8th Avenue and down to Jamie’s apartment.

  Since she hadn’t e-mailed me back, I didn’t really expect her to be home when I got there—these days she was lucky if she got home before ten—but I was hoping she would, that she’d heard the urgency in my voice and would come through for me. And she did: when I rang the bell, she buzzed me in. I
climbed the stairs as Sparky barked and a pregnant woman held him back.

  “Wow!” I shouted. There was a bump, a definite bump. My girl was not only pregnant, she had a baby in there.

  “Tell me about it. I just popped. Crazy, huh?”

  The last time I had seen her her skin had been full of acne; now she was kind of…glowing.

  I kissed her hello. She studied me carefully.

  “So what happened?”

  I took a deep breath. “You know, I’m starving. I just realized I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “Do you want to go to Two Boots?”

  “Yes!” I shouted. Pizza might be just what the doctor ordered.

  I filled her in on everything as we walked to the pizzeria at the end of her block. I told her what I knew about Joseph. What I’d learned from the many messages Paul had left on my voice mail. He’s five years old. Paul had partial custody of him. It seems that some of the times Paul had told me he was working, he wasn’t really working, he was parenting. Now, he wanted me to come with him to take Joseph trick-or-treating.

  I stopped my story long enough to order one regular slice and one slice of my favorite pizza, the Night Tripper, sun-dried tomatoes, roasted garlic and jalapeño pesto on a white pie with a spinach crust. If that couldn’t make things better, nothing could.

  I tried not to roll my eyes when Jamie got a slice of cheese-less Sicilian and the Earth Mother. Was she drawn to everything mother related? It was just boring old veggies.

  “To go?” our favorite bearded counterman asked.

  I knew he was going to give us a free slice as usual. That little thing cheered me up immensely. At least some things could be counted on.

  “It’s nice out, let’s sit on the stoop. I could use some air,” Jamie said.

  I thought it was a little cold, but sitting on her stoop might be more private than this small place and calmer than listening to Sparky bark.

  I tried not to cry as I ate my pizza and told her everything about Paul. I explained how wonderful it had been for a little while and how much it sucked that he hadn’t told me about the kid.

  “I just can’t believe he lied to me.”