The Storm (Fairhope)

by Laura Lexington

  “She’s perfect,” he whispered as they handed her to him for the first time.

  I nodded in agreement. My eyes brimmed with tears as he tenderly stroked her cheek. “I think she looks like you. She has your perfect nose.”

  For the first time in my life, I watched Andrew blush. “I see your eyes, Jana, and your cute curvy lips.”

  Calla’s dark eyes fluttered open, and quickly shut again.

  “She’s an itsy bitsy perfect combination of the two of us.” I gestured for him to come closer.

  Not taking his eyes off our daughter, Andrew lowered to my bedside until we were both cuddling her.

  “I never knew I could love like this. My mother was right; we are going to worry for the rest of our lives now.”

  Fatigue started to spread through my body, and I heard the nurse mutter something to Andrew about me needing rest. “Her body has been through a lot…”

  “I feel like my life just changed forever.” I smiled sleepily, leaning back and letting Andrew take over with Calla.

  I think the nurse smiled affectionately as my eyes fluttered closed.

  “It did, sweetheart. Your life is now all about her.”

  Our first weeks with Calla were a beautiful mess. Nothing else mattered but her. Not sleep, not food, not sex (at least for me). We kissed sleep goodbye and embraced the nocturnal lifestyle with sinful amounts of coffee, M&M’s, and the rebirth of romance novels on my Kindle. Grace, who needed the practice for her own upcoming arrival, took up residence at the Cook house the week after our mothers retreated back to their own beds.

  With bags under our eyes and stomachs growling, we proudly introduced Calla to our friends who brought dinner to us, dressing her in frilly outfits like an American Girl doll on display. I soaked in the beautiful fragrance of being a first time mother, my professional worries taking a backseat to my precious angel.

  Much to my surprise, I adored my new role. Holly embraced her new responsibility as my homemaking mentor even after my not-so-graceful exit with Grace from the church seminar. She taught me how to whip up impressive meals in record time and how to let Calla “cry it out” when necessary. Her fantastic organizational skills made me want to vomit, but I definitely learned a lot that helped my day-to-day parenting go much smoother. She gave me the confidence I needed to believe I was actually good at this mothering thing. I could not master the whole ‘schedule’ thing those popular how-to baby books touted, which had proven to be bullshit. Calla Cook slept when she wanted to sleep and ate when she wanted to eat. Holly said that was normal.

  I convinced myself that I did not miss my career, ignoring wistful memories of comfy scrubs, smiles on patients’ faces when they swore my device changed their lives, and the aqua skies and pristine beaches of our last President’s Club adventure in Jamaica. I swallowed my feelings and wore the title of “Mom” like I was President.

  The weeks turned to months, the extra time my “maternity leave” bought me looming to a close. The clock was running out on my final decision to sue or not. The severance agreement would be due.

  Listening to Calla’s sweet breaths as she slept peacefully each night helped tune out my sadness. The whisper spun its love throughout my heart as I played this game called parenting, and I felt God by my side. No matter what happened next, He would never let me fall, and neither would Andrew. I believed.

  “I’M FREE!” GRACE, her face exploding with exhilaration, busted through the restaurant doors. She was a postpartum woman escaped out of the dungeon, ready to get reacquainted with the world.

  To celebrate Emma Milton’s freedom from house arrest, Grace and I met for lunch while the shots were still fresh, racing to beat the side effects that could ruin the next twenty-four hours. Born nearly a month early but topping seven pounds, Grace’s doctor’s best guess was a miscalculated due date.

  “This one’s a firecracker,” Grace said, her voice cloaked with its usual animation. She nudged toward passed-out Emma, snug in her car seat. She swung the carrier over the side of the booth in our favorite Mexican restaurant, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Sweet baby Jesus, don’t let her wake up.”

  “So she must take after you and not Gavin.” Gavin was the fire extinguisher to Grace’s uncontrollable flames.

  We housed the chips and salsa like two ravenous wolves. “Holy shit, this stuff never tasted better.” She made a face. “I should have waited until my Dr. Pepper got here.”

  “Holly said the babies scream more when they get older. She swears that by the time they hit six months, we will be dying of embarrassment in public.” Holly started popping out babies at twenty-one, had a litter by twenty-six, and was therefore an expert in my eyes.

  I surveyed the restaurant, taste buds pining for the white cheese dip that belonged in my mouth, pronto.

  “If Emma throws a tantrum during my first taste of life outside the walls of my home, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

  “She won’t, and even if she does, there’s no one around to shoot us dirty looks,” I said confidently, checking to make sure I had extra diapers, just in case. Calla was snoozing and drooling to her heart’s content, but I thought I smelled something.

  Since it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon, Grace and I were the only two people in the restaurant. Crunchy chips littered the floor along with specks of flyaway salsa, courtesy of the lunch hour crowd. The bus boy must not get tips.

  “Thank goodness. I need my sanity. Gavin’s back on nights, so I face this beautiful beast alone.”

  I thanked our teenage waiter as he delivered the coveted cheese dip and drinks. I washed the salt down with two hundred calories of Coke and watched Emma sleep. “I do not believe that sweet face is a little terror.” Grace and Gavin’s sleeping beauty clasped her finger, cooing angelically.

  “Ha! It depends. She already hates strangers, which I guess is good.” Grace grinned. “Jana, I’m in love. Being a mom is exactly what I dreamt it would be.”

  Returning, the waiter peered curiously at flamboyant Grace as he scribbled down our order. Lit up like a candle, she chattered a million miles a minute about the ridiculous cost of mother’s day out, the national account she landed at work, and how a stripper infected Gavin’s partner with herpes when a lap dance made its way to the back room. She’s almost too happy, I thought perceptibly. Was this a “flight of ideas” like Grace’s mom had talked about in high school? Her breathless rambling lasted ten full minutes before I could edge a word in.

  Emma began to stir, the distraction that broke Grace’s excessive conversation.

  “So, Grace, you seem to be feeling good. Are you taking your medicine?”

  “Jana! Shush.” In exaggerated fashion, her eyes peeled the restaurant, which now held maybe six customers. “I don’t want everyone to know I’m nuts.” Taking her first bite of her chicken quesadilla, she shook her head resignedly. “Not while I’m breastfeeding.”

  “How does Gavin feel about that? Isn’t there one you could take while breastfeeding?” I asked cautiously, lifting Calla from her carrier. Ugh. No doubt, she smelled like a sewer. I gathered her diaper bag to do the necessary deed.

  She nibbled at her rice, looking down. “I could not handle the nausea with the new one. Gavin … he knows I’m breastfeeding because it’s best for Emma. Everything is fine. I feel great.”

  “What does your doctor say?”

  “She … she doesn’t exactly know I’m not taking my medicine.”

  Her eyes stayed downcast as I pulled myself from my fajitas to change Calla’s diaper.

  The tension in the air hung as thickly as the humidity. Grace not medicated was not ideal … ever.

  When I returned with clean hands and Calla a clean behind, Grace was buzzing again. “You know, Gavin had someone approach him about recording? Can you believe that? I’m still jealous of all the women who fall over his every move. I’m not sure I can handle it. Can you imagine all the travel he would have? And how nerve-wracking it will
be? And I don’t want to leave Fairhope. I love it here. But, am I crazy to not encourage him to follow his talent?” She ransacked her plate, polishing her lunch like it was her last meal. “I wish he’d jump on me more often. I think he’s bored with me in bed. Maybe he’s freaked out that a tiny human sucks my breasts now instead of him.”

  “You’re going to have to do something to change his mind…” I teased, seductively bringing a finger to my mouth and swirling my tongue around it. “Practice what you preach, eh?”

  Yuck. My hand tasted like diaper rash treatment. I chugged half my second glass of Dr. Pepper.

  “Like what, post a Craigslist ad for a threesome?”

  We both busted out laughing.

  “Or grant him a hall pass, like, one night a month?” I raised my eyebrows, totally kidding.

  “Oh, hell no! No easy temptress can make him squirm like me. He kissed variety goodbye when he slid this diamond on my finger.” She threw her left hand to the light, her impressive ring glittering brilliantly.

  “What about swinging?” I watched her face curiously, wondering her real opinion on that.

  There was a slight pause … or maybe it was a figment of my imagination. “Nah,” she said. “I have no desire to see him screwing another woman.”

  “You don’t have to necessarily watch. There are all different types of setups. You could go in different rooms. Switch homes, that kind of thing. You don’t even necessarily have to have sex. I think it’s called soft swinging?”

  She raised her eyebrows back at me. “How do you know so much about swinging, Jana?”

  I shrugged innocently, ending in a devilish giggle. “I’m a good girl with a dirty mind.”

  As my snicker faded, I noticed something. “Grace! What did you do to your arm?” The jagged cut looked deep, and the scab was gross.

  She appeared taken aback. “Um … um…”

  “Jana? Is that you?” a familiar voice almost sang from behind me.

  I whirled around and immediately felt my face sprawl into a surprised grin at the sight of my redheaded friend excitedly bounding my way. “Sadie Singleton! What are you doing here?”

  “Jana, it is you! How are you?” She hugged me tightly. “My brother is moving to Fairhope, and I am in town helping him get settled.” She gasped at the sight of Calla, who was now awake and analyzing our interaction, wide-eyed. “Look at this little doll. Am I finally meeting Princess Calla? She’s even cuter than on Facebook!”

  “Yes,” I said proudly. “This is Calla.” I stroked Calla’s fragile arm, and she responded with a gurgle.

  “She’s beautiful,” Sadie said, bending down to get a closer look. “I can’t believe my Jana is a mother!” She gazed at my daughter with adoration, and I felt a momentary pang of sadness for her when I remembered she could not have children.

  “Jana can’t either.” I chuckled. “Oh, Sadie—this is my best friend, Grace, and her daughter, Emma.”

  Completely fixated on Sadie, Emma’s angelic features spread into a heartwarming gaze. She reached both hands out to her, her eyes wide as saucers, full of wonder. “Oh my, can I hold her?”

  Grace stared at Emma like she had seen a ghost. “You don’t understand. This child screams at strangers. You must be Mother Teresa.” She paused. “It’s nice to meet you, Sadie. Jana has told me a lot about you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Lovingly, Sadie lifted Emma from her nest, and Emma instinctively laid her head on Sadie’s bare tanned shoulder. “This child is precious!” She smiled genuinely. “I think she just kissed me!”

  “Everybody loves you, Sadie,” I complimented her, smiling. “How could they not? You’re so precious! Maybe you should sing to her.” Toward Grace, I said, “The girl can sing like an angel.”

  “You are a teacher, isn’t that right?” Grace’s eyes darted up and down Sadie’s slender frame, obviously sizing her up.

  Sadie nodded. “Yes! Many think I’m crazy, but I love my kids.”

  “That’s great.” Grace smiled. “I can’t believe we are just now meeting.” She gestured toward me pointedly.

  “Well, I’ve been a bad friend.” I groaned, shooting an apologetic glance Sadie’s way. “We haven’t seen each other in over a year. A text message friendship is unacceptable.”

  Sadie was one of the most forgiving people I’d ever met. “No problem, Jana. I know you’ve had a lot going on…” She didn’t try to hide her sympathy.

  As we gossiped, Grace and Sadie getting to know one another, Emma stayed glued to Sadie. Nestled sweetly in Sadie’s arms, her eyelids fluttered softly, beckoning her back to sleep.

  “Wow, you need to visit before nap time,” Grace said in a tone I couldn’t decipher. Captivated, she cupped her face in her hands and watched their interaction. Was it my imagination, or did a flit of sadness cross her face? “I like you, Sadie. Even if I think my baby might like you better than she likes me!”

  Sadie gushed over Emma for another moment before shifting her attention toward me. Her cheerful expression faded to a picture of sympathy and concern.

  “So…” she began solemnly. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m not completely sure. Andrew loves me staying home, and I’m working on my art, but money is definitely tight. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t devastated about Covington giving me the boot.” I wanted to crawl back in my post-partum bubble and pretend “it” never happened.

  Sadie shook her head in disbelief. “That’s unbelievable. I ran into Chris Broome, and he said they treated you pretty badly. He said it was obvious they were trying to get rid of you once you got pregnant.”

  “It was,” I said, struggling to hold back tears. “It’s done now.”

  “Yeah … and you were convinced that Covington Company was family friendly,” Sadie mused. “I’m glad I went another route and got certified to teach. Jana, you should sue them!”

  “Andrew thinks so, too, but it seems like such a long shot, and it would kill my chances of ever getting back in the device industry. I know I have a case, but who’s going to win against Covington?”

  Sadie’s green eyes glowed with inspiration. “You could,” she said seriously. “My uncle fights discrimination cases against large companies. He practices in Birmingham. You ought to at least talk to him.” She rummaged through her brown leather purse. “Take Uncle Jack’s business card. Keep it just in case you change your mind.”

  Tentatively, I took it from her. “Thanks, Sadie … I will.”

  Jack Singleton, Attorney at Law. Specializing in Gender, Race, and Age Discrimination.

  I stared at the crumpled business card in my lap that night as I waited for Andrew to curl up with me in bed. Fingering it listlessly, I sighed as my stomach fluttered with uncertainty. What could one call hurt?

  One of Mama’s many inspirational musings echoed repeatedly in my mind, drowning out the cheers pounding from the television speakers: “The choices we make today affect the course our future charts for us.”

  As the Braves pitcher struck out the second Cubs player, the crowd roared.

  The thought of striking out terrified me.

  What was the right choice to make?

  Would everyone know?

  Could I handle the gossip?

  Keenly aware of the risks suing posed, I pondered the consequences. Filing a gender discrimination lawsuit meant instant blackballing from the medical device industry. What if Andrew ever lost his job?

  What if I lost the lawsuit?

  God, please give me a sign.

  “Why are you crying again?”

  The next night, as nearly three-month-old Calla wobbled in my arms, I ate a snack of bitter Chap Stick and salty tears. Andrew gaped at me, disheveled from a long day at work, briefcase spilling over with papers. Armed with a slew of Styrofoam boxes that probably contained fried rice and honey chicken, his gesture was greeted with a shower-less, sobbing wife and baby momma. He found me balled up in our recliner that desperately n
eeded the cat hair vacuumed out.

  Whether it was the sleep stolen from me, the confused hormones wreaking havoc in my body, or a lethal combination of the two, I was an emotional wreck, plagued with sadness over … well, everything. The confidence that Holly instilled in me faded with the sadness that overcame me.

  “Jana! Why are you crying again?” Andrew was visibly impatient. “Please, God, don’t tell me you are crying over that job again.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t help it.”

  “You need to see your doctor.” His expression was a mix of helplessness and agitation.

  “You need to come home earlier,” I snapped. Calla startled, and I felt guilty when I noticed she, too, was still in her pajamas.

  “Jana, I am doing everything I can to make a better life for you two. I need your support. The late nights won’t last forever.”

  My sniffles settled a little. “I know. I’m so sorry. She … she’s been so fussy. Changing bottles didn’t work, and her pediatrician might lock me up if he knew how many bottles of Mylicon I’d gone through. When she screamed for hours, I wanted to lose my mind. I felt like … a failure.”

  Andrew’s expression softened and he started to spoon out dinner on paper plates. “You are a wonderful mother.” He paused. “Want me to ask Mom to come over tomorrow and give you a break … at least for a couple hours?”

  Prideful, I was tempted to shake my head “no” and then abruptly changed my mind. “Yes. Thank you.” Before her visit, I’d have to read at least one chapter of the Catholic book that my mother-in-law said saved her soul from the fiery pits of hell. Sounded like a great read for around two in the morning.

  Calla belted out a piercing scream. Choking back tears again, I cuddled her close, sinking into my favorite leather recliner. She slowly quieted, murmuring softly at my gentle touch. She wrestled with a painful stomach ache, her tiny abdomen round and bloated, for several hours before she finally drifted into a troubled sleep.