She poked her head but thankfully not her nipples out from behind the door. “What’s wrong? Are you OK?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why haven’t you bought anything? Didn’t you say you wanted something for your anniversary?” She stared at me with narrowed eyes.
“Sex is bad. Highly overrated. With dire consequences.”
“What?”
“It’s bad, Jules,” I said, shaking my head and staring at the floor. I couldn’t even make eye contact with her; I was afraid I’d dissolve into the pink-carpeted floor.
“What? You’re getting divorced, aren’t you?” She opened the door and stepped out of the dressing room—thong, too-small bra, nipples showing, and all. A guy noticed, choked on his gum, and dropped a bottle of perfume.
“Maybe we should go in here.” I pushed her back into the dressing room and closed the door behind us.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing but I’m really worried and I don’t want you to freak out or anything.”
“What?”
“My freaking period is late, OK?” I threw my hands up.
“Oh, God! That’s it? I thought you were having an affair or something.” She threw her arms around me. “I mean, that totally sucks but it’s no biggie, right? Just a fluke.”
“Um, yeah. I’m just freaking out.”
“You’re still on the pill, right?”
“Yeah, but I was on antibiotics.”
She waved her hands around. “That is such crap. You’re totally fine. I mean, it’s like that time that—”
“I know, I know. Hey, Jules?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna go out there because the fact I’m having this conversation while I can see your nipples is disturbing me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
I stepped out of the dressing room and took the black rain cloud with me. A few minutes later, Julie walked out.
“Shopping trip is over,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“We have other things to do.”
“Is this because of what I said? Just forget it. I’m sure it’s nothing. I swear, I’ll buy something.”
“I know it’s nothing. That’s why we’re going to get you one of those tests so you can relax.”
“No way. I’m not ready for that.”
“Are you ready to drink wine and smoke cigarettes?”
“Always, what’s your point?”
“Well, my dear, that’s exactly what we’re going to do once you take that test and life can go on.”
“I just don’t think I can,” I said.
“I’ll even take one with you.”
“That’s crazy. You didn’t even miss your period.”
“No crazier than you freaking out, since you’re totally fine.”
“Well, I—”
“Shut up. We’re doing it,” she said.
4:00 P.M.
“Look at how expensive they are. No way. I’m not doing this. I can’t afford it.” I tried to walk away from the Scary Aisle in Walgreens and over to the fun section to buy some nail polish, but Julie grabbed my elbow and yanked me back in front of the pregnancy tests.
“I saw you buy a pair of boots last month that cost the equivalent of forty of these tests. Now’s not the time to be the girl who cried poor, OK?”
I thought, Why? Why did I have to tell her? Why couldn’t I be trying on lingerie or jeans right now instead of profusely sweating in a drug store?
“Fine. You pick one,” I finally said as I wiped my hands on my jeans. She squinted at all eight million options and picked one out.
“Here! This one says ‘early result.’ This way there will be no doubt in your mind.”
Great, just what I’m looking for—concrete answers.
“Whatever,” I mumbled as I grabbed it from her and headed toward the cashier. I picked up a few fashion magazines and some gum to hopefully distract the cashier from thinking I’m a Big Pregnant Ho. I also made sure to use my left hand to scratch my nose a few times so he would see my wedding ring. I thought the first time I bought a pregnancy test would be a time when it was something I’d be hoping for, not praying against like a knocked-up high school student.
Maybe Julie is right. Maybe I’ll be drinking martinis and laughing about this in an hour.
An hour later, we were back at my place.
“Did you do it right?” Julie asked casually, sipping a vodka martini.
“How should I know? I’ve never done this before.” I tried to grab the other martini next to her on the table but she slid it away.
“Oh, no. Not yet. This is for after you get your negative and the world can go back to revolving.” She took another big swig of her drink. “God, can you imagine if you are?”
“Julie! What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, whatever. I can say it since you aren’t, but what if you are? What would you do?”
“There wouldn’t be anything to do. Except completely flip out.”
“Yeah. Your life would pretty much be over. You’d have to wear high-waisted mom jeans and spend your paycheck on diapers.”
“Julie!”
“Just kidding. Can you imagine?”
“I thought you said I’m not so I shouldn’t even worry about it!” I cried out.
“I know! You’re not—don’t worry. Has it been two minutes yet?”
I glanced at the clock, wondering if 5:24 would become a significant moment.
“Yeah.”
“Well, go look,” she said.
“I can’t. I think I’m frozen. You do it.”
“Fine, drama queen.” She rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool and disappeared into the bathroom.
I tried to take a deep breath and calm down but grabbed the martini glass instead and took a big swig. I figured one more swallow wouldn’t hurt.
There was dead silence as Julie came out of the bathroom.
She held the test and stared at it.
“Where’s the box?” she said in this weird, almost nonhuman voice.
“Why? What is it?” I said, my voice shaking.
“The box! The box it came in. Where is it?” That voice again.
“I don’t know, it’s in the garbage or something. WHY? WHAT IS GOING ON?” I reached for the test and she jerked her arm away. “Give it to me.”
She just stared at me.
“Give me the fucking test.”
She slowly extended her arm and handed me the test. I looked down and saw two pink lines.
Oh, God.
I started gagging.
“Clare! Get to the sink!” Julie rushed me over to the kitchen.
A million thoughts ran in my head in between heaves.
How could this have happened?
Bleech.
What did I do wrong?
Bleech.
Does this mean I have to stop drinking?
Bleech.
“It’s OK, hon. It will be fun! Designer diaper bags and all. And Seven! Seven jeans! Maternity jeans! Just came out! Coincidence? I think not! You’ll be super skinny still! You’ll probably be smaller than me when you deliver! I should lend you some of my clothes to wear as maternity clothes!” Julie blabbered on, rat-a-tat-tatting like a jackhammer.
I sank down and sat on the kitchen floor, still unable to grasp what was happening. I thought I was hallucinating. I couldn’t comprehend the fact I was sitting on my kitchen floor, listening to Julie, while pregnant.
A thought raced through my head: Does this mean there’s something growing inside of me?
Julie didn’t stop talking for two hours. I think she was afraid if she stopped talking, I’d flip out and start screaming and running around.
The horrible panic and vomiting had subsided, replaced by a comatose feeling of calm. I started thinking. I can totally do this. I’ll wear designer clothes for a few months, have the kid, be skinny again
and buy some baby stuff. I’m not going to be one of those frumpy moms who wears Christmas sweaters and breast-feeds their kid until age four.
Julie continued on about celebrities with kids. “Reese Witherspoon! Her baby wasn’t planned and she’s this huge movie star with a gorgeous husband and a size-two body. Having a kid helped her career! Well, she and her husband did get divorced but you and Jake totally won’t get divorced so you’ll be like Reese Witherspoon but better!”
She shook my shoulder a little. “Clare? Clare? Are you OK?”
“Mmmm,” I responded.
“And don’t worry! Sex is going to be awesome for you! Did you know that being knocked up increases the blood flow to a woman’s hoo-ha? So, orgasms will be even better!” Julie flung her hands out.
I slowly turned my head and stared at her, silent. She sounded like her head was going to explode. Amazingly, I remained calm in my Zenlike hypnotic state.
“No, it’s true! One time I had to put a catheter in a pregnant woman and she got off from it. Shit! We all should be so lucky, right?”
I narrowed my eyes at her and she shut up. We sat silent on the kitchen floor, staring at the clumps of cat hair skittering by our feet like tumbleweeds across a Western plain. I realized the irony of my situation now, compared to the last time I sat on the kitchen floor. I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Finding out I’m pregnant is supposed to be an exhilarating, thrilling, and wanted moment. But all I could feel was fear. Fear about how Jake would react. Fear about how I was supposed to react.
After several minutes, I cleared my throat. “Well, I guess—,” I started to say when I heard the front door open.
“Hey, Clare! Guess what? The liquor store was having a sale on that Riesling you like so I bought a case of it.” Jake was home.
I looked at Julie, my face going pale and forehead beginning to throb. The acid in my stomach churned again and I swallowed quickly to keep from getting sick again.
We both quickly peeled ourselves off of the kitchen floor and stood up just as Jake walked in.
“HI!” Julie yelled, making Jake jump a bit.
Jake’s eyes shifted from Julie to me. “Hey. What’s going on?” he asked.
I’m not sure what tipped him off, Julie’s fake high-pitched voice or my inability to lift my pale and sweaty face and meet his eyes.
Or maybe it was because both of us were covered in an inch of dust and cat hair from the kitchen floor.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
I wasn’t going to say anything. I figured Julie could tell him.
But that damn bitch smiled and said, “Well! Gotta run! Call me later!” and kissed me on the cheek and clocked Olympic-sprinter speed running to the front door.
It’s already happening. People have already started to ditch me since I’m pregnant.
Jake took a step toward me and tried to grab my hand but I pulled it away. I knew if he touched me I’d fall apart.
“Please tell me what’s going on.”
I waited a few seconds until I knew I could speak without sounding squeaky. “Let’s go over here,” I said, and pointed to the couch. We sat down and I saw his hands shaking.
“I have some news and I don’t want you to freak out. It will be OK.”
He nodded slowly, and I could see his right eye twitching slightly.
“It’s no big deal but I took a test today and, um, it wasn’t negative.”
I studied his face for a reaction and all I saw was confusion.
“For what?”
“What?”
“Not negative for what?”
“Jake, it wasn’t negative for, um, pregnancy.”
He leaned back and his look of shock almost broke my heart.
“What?” he finally whispered.
“Yeah, apparently we are going to have a baby.” I could barely say the word “baby.”
Long pause.
“I guess I should return that case of wine I just bought.”
It was a start.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
We sat there in silence for several more minutes. I twisted my hands in my lap, the fear tightening its grip on my shoulders. I was afraid I ruined the moment. I was afraid I was expected to lead the way and act happy and excited. I was afraid he’d ask me if we should keep the baby.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“I’m fine.”
It must’ve been the Zenlike comatose state.
Around midnight, after five hundred and eighty-seven more “fine”s, Jake broke down. He started sweating and asking questions about Scary Things like day care, breast-feeding, money, and who is going to baby-sit during the annual St. Patrick’s Day Pub Crawl. I certainly didn’t have any of the answers. After exhausting every angle, our heads were about to explode, so we watched the Weather Channel for an hour and went to bed.
God, we’re already acting like parents.
3:00 A.M.
Neither of us slept much. I desperately wanted to, in dramatic fashion, fling myself down on the bed and curl into a ball, but I knew if I let my emotions out of the corner of my brain where they were so tightly bound, I’d never be able to rein them back in. I’d walk around for the rest of my life as an emotional wreck, unable to process my sudden loss of freedom. I’d be an elderly old lady, yelling at the kids who stepped on my lawn, “Get off my property, you punks. Did you know I got pregnant when I was on BIRTH CONTROL? DO YOU KNOW THAT CAN HAPPEN?” and they’d say of course they did and spit on my daffodils.
So, I’ve chosen to remain not completely in denial, but really fucking close.
I woke up in the middle of the night thinking, It was a horrible nightmare. Yes, dreamt all of it, like the time I dreamt that the Backstreet Boys called me up to ask if Jake could be a member but I said no because he had to make pancakes for the cat. Maybe it is a secret lesson designed to make me appreciate my youth? I dreamt all of it.
Except I knew it wasn’t a dream. I could feel Jake throwing himself around in bed, making it obvious he was awake, meaning he wanted me to talk to him. But I couldn’t. I was too scared and freaked out.
Sometime in the morning, Jake poked me and whispered, “You awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“Not really,” I mumbled.
“Oh. Okay.”
I rolled over and snuggled against Jake’s back and wrapped my arm around him. I buried my head in his T-shirt and breathed in the smell of Tide Ultra. He put his hand over mine and brought it to his mouth and kissed it.
I want to freeze everything right now, when things are quiet.
I know things are going to be different. I know we’re about to go down the rabbit hole and the whole universe is going to kick us in the ass.
I took a deep breath and gave him a little squeeze. “I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too,” he whispered back. “You know I want to keep the baby, right?”
“You do?” I lifted my head off the pillow a little.
“I do.”
“I’m scared, but me too,” I said, my voice wavering.
“It’s going to be great,” he said.
We finally fell asleep.
Monday, May 7
I can’t help but feel like I’m on a roller coaster that just pulled out of the station. The car hasn’t even gone over the first hill, but I’m already ready for it to be over.
I don’t have any philosophical reasoning why all of this is happening, but I know we’re stuck for the ride.
Julie left a million messages on my cell phone but I’m not ready to talk to her yet. She’ll just ask me a bunch of questions I don’t have the answers to and name more knocked-up celebrities. And forget about telling my parents or, God help me, Jake’s parents. No, I’m not ready to share this info yet. I’ll tell them eventually, like right after I deliver.
“I’m just fine, Marianne. Oh, I almost forgot
to tell you, I birthed a child earlier. Congratulations! You’re a grandma! Yes, I’m going back to work and no, I’m still not changing my last name.”
I can’t even think about this right now. Work, I must focus on work right now.
11:30 A.M.
Mule Face totally knows. I can feel it. When I saw her in the conference room, she glanced at my stomach. Why would she do that? I bet she knows. It would be so typical of her. She probably went through my trash last night and found the seven pregnancy tests I took, praying that one, just one would come up negative, meaning I could disregard all of the other positive ones and have a cocktail. But those little buggers came up positive each time.
2:00 P.M.
Google. Google is my friend. (I had to break up with my old best friend, Belvedere vodka. I told him I’d write and in nine months, we could totally hang.) I’m going to Google “pregnant tips” and the learning will begin.
2:06 P.M.
I’m super pissed off. It’s amazing how hard it is to even get pregnant. The average woman (who is not on the pill) has a less than 25 percent chance each month of conceiving even if everything is timed perfectly. Which makes me the most fertile asshole on the planet. I should become an infertility counselor. I’d tell people all they have to do is take birth control pills while on antibiotics. Hmmm . . . I might be on to something. Maybe I can invent a new fertility treatment. The money would certainly help with the upcoming diaper expenses. It might also help fund a personal trainer, tummy tuck, and breast lift. I checked those prices, too.
4:00 P.M.
I must update my blog, although I have no idea what to write about. Maybe I can do a random mundane entry about my extreme distaste for bulk-shopping grocery stores. It has to be somewhat coherent, since my last entry was written at two in the morning on Friday and titled “Crann3p#ples Rules!”
Tuesday, May 8
Still in shock, Jake and I went to an Italian restaurant for dinner last night. I hoped the public setting would eliminate the possibility of sudden crying jags or flipping out. We tried to talk about things other than the pregnancy, but the conversation sounded something like this:
“So, Jake. How’s work?”
“Fine, Clare. Thanks for asking. How’s your work?”
A Bump in the Road Page 4