She told Olivia about her classroom filled with twenty-three five-year-olds. About some of the things kids had said that made her laugh. Or taught her about life. She talked about her own seven-year-old. About getting her son through his terrible twos, a phase that he’d apparently carried with him into his threes. And when they both declined dessert but asked for more tea—one decaffeinated, one not—Beth finally quieted.
“My babbling isn’t helping, is it?” she asked, her ponytail completely still as she glanced at Olivia across from her.
Olivia smiled, a real smile. “To the contrary,” she said. “You’re giving me a vivid picture of a lovely life.” A life that could be her baby’s first exposure. Studies had proven that fetuses took in voices and sounds around them, were affected by a mother’s emotions, as they grew in the womb.
“I think it’s a great thing you’re doing,” Beth said then, leaning forward. “Most women, myself included, would probably have opted just to take the pill if they suspected the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy. And with you not being able to carry the child yourself, if the pregnancy did occur, you’ve got even more reason to just ensure that there’d be no chance of a living embryo.”
The cranberry and walnut salad Olivia had had for lunch sat like rocks in her stomach; she struggled to loosen her muscles enough to draw air into her lungs. She could do this.
Hoping the tight expression on her face resembled a smile, she gave the best response she could master. A nod.
“I was thinking maybe we could talk about plans...in the event that the test comes back positive,” Beth continued, seemingly undeterred. “I’m assuming you’ll want to be at all my doctor’s appointments and such, but I’d be happy to make myself available other times, too, so that the baby can get to know your voice. My family has already offered to have you over to share dinners with us, or movie night—we do that every Friday night, with pizza—you know, so you’re part of the baby’s first environment...”
Lips trembling, Olivia nodded again. “Can we, um, wait until we know?” she asked softly. She didn’t want to tamp down one iota of Beth’s outgoing enthusiasm. She just couldn’t...plan yet.
Didn’t know if she had anything to plan for.
“I...don’t...” She bowed her head briefly. “I just want you to know that I don’t engage in unprotected sex. As a general rule. Never actually. Except this once. I’m generally so careful.”
She owed Beth Applegate nothing but money—with a load of gratitude thrown in—but she suddenly wanted Beth to know her. To know that the embryo she was trying to carry wasn’t the result of an irresponsible person out for a good time. That Beth’s family wasn’t dedicating themselves to something in vain. That that embryo was special.
“The father—”
Beth shook her head. “You don’t need to do this,” she interrupted. “I’m not here to judge. I don’t need to know...”
“He’s my ex-husband,” Olivia explained. “It was a night of recklessness, of trying to hold on to something long gone. It was stupid and reckless, but it wasn’t with just any guy.”
Her mouth open, Beth stared at her. And then asked, “Does he know?” She glanced around, as though she’d find Martin sitting at a table close by. Ready to swoop in.
Olivia took a sip of tea. Felt another pang of the guilt that had been plaguing her for not telling Martin what she’d done before they’d said their final goodbyes. Shook her head. “If there’s no pregnancy, there’s no...” She broke off, shaking her head again.
It all sounded so sordid. So dramatic. When her life, in reality, was lived in a well of practicality.
“We’ve been divorced nine years,” she blurted. And then, before Beth could respond, found herself saying even more. “We...lost a baby...” She, whose own mother and best friend knew better than to ask for confidences from her, was spilling her insides out to a virtual stranger.
But how could you call a woman who’d allowed you to put your embryo inside her—a stranger? Even if the implantation hadn’t been successful...just the fact that Beth had allowed it...
A phone rang nearby. She almost tipped over her tea glass. Was shaking visibly, and clasped her hands in her lap. Two hours had passed. She’d eaten. Done her job.
How much longer could this waiting go on?
“You had a miscarriage?” Beth’s words brought her away from the fact that they could hear at any moment whether or not her baby had survived the first critical stage of her attempt to save its life.
She shook her head. Thought of Lily. And was strangely calmed. Sad, yes, as always. But calmed, too. In a way she’d never known before. It was like the air coming off the ocean and through the window suspended her there in a cottony wave. She could still feel the booth, hear the mumbles of other conversations, the sounds of silverware and activity. She was fully cognizant. But...held, too.
“She was born prematurely, but was fully viable. Her name was Lily,” she shared, and even smiled. Her sweet little Lily of the valley. Born in a valley she didn’t live long enough to know. “She lived four months...” And that was as far as she could go.
“You said you’ve been divorced nine years?”
“Yeah.” Not an easy topic, but more manageable.
“So you must have been a kid when you had her...”
“Twenty-one.” Ten years had passed since she’d seen Lily. Held her. So hard to believe.
The warm compassion that seemed to encapsulate Beth’s face wrapped over Olivia even as she shied away from it. She wasn’t the victim of the tragedy here. Lily had been.
“Well, I—”
Whatever Beth had been about to say was cut off as her phone rang.
Eyes suddenly wide, alarmed, she glanced at Olivia, as though waiting for her permission to answer.
“It’s okay.” This time it was Olivia reaching out to touch. With a squeeze of Beth’s hand on the table she said, “Answer it. Either way, it’s okay.”
Either way. She’d done everything she could do...
And felt helpless. Weak. And so, so, so scared...
“This is Beth.” Wasn’t sure if Beth had said “hello” first or not.
“Uh-huh...” She was looking at the table.
Beth turned in the booth, facing the room instead of Olivia. “Yes.” And then swung back, glancing toward the ocean. “Okay.”
One thing was clear: Beth was looking anywhere but at Olivia.
Olivia needed her gaze. Had to know if she’d saved her baby’s life. Or at least given the embryo a chance to grow into a healthy fetus.
“Right.” The side view she had of Beth’s face gave her nothing. A straight face. Seemingly focused.
Because she was trying to figure out how to break bad news?
Or because there was important information to take in? Details of more to come?
“Okay.”
What was she agreeing to? Was it Christine on the line? Telling her to have Olivia call her?
She didn’t need to be coddled. She needed to know.
“I will.” What? Take care of herself? Because she was pregnant? Or because that was a common way to say goodbye? Or was she agreeing to pass on information to Olivia? Commiseration, maybe?
Sick to her stomach and clutching the wooden booth so hard she was bruising her fingertips, Olivia forced herself to breathe. Tried to remember that no matter what, she’d handle it.
If there was no baby, there wasn’t. She’d done all she could.
She wouldn’t have to worry about her life being turned upside down. Wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
“Okay, thank you.”
She’d have an absolutely empty gaping hole of a life...
“Bye.”
Beth looked at her and all Olivia could see were the tears in her eyes. And then the hand sliding across the table. She
met it halfway. Held on. Lest she be forever lost in that big black hole of a life.
“It’s positive, Olivia. We are.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard the words correctly. Thought maybe she’d needed them so badly she’d imagined them. Then realized she’d seen Beth’s lips move.
“We are?” she repeated, just to be sure.
Beth’s nod was short and swift. Vigorous. With her free hand she wiped her tears and then placed it atop the hand that was holding Olivia’s. “The test was positive. We’re pregnant!”
We’re pregnant!
We’re...
Oh my God!
The test was positive. Beth was carrying her embryo.
Which meant...
Olivia was going to have a baby!
* * *
There was absolutely no reason for Martin to be standing at the opened door of the washing machine Thursday afternoon, cramming in the comforter from his bed. The thing was relatively new—his housekeeper cleaned it regularly, but apparently regularly wasn’t every week when she did the sheets.
Olivia’s scent on the damned thing was driving him wild. Night after night, he’d climb into bed telling himself he’d had a great day. That he was doing better. He’d look back on all of the hours he’d been gainfully engaged without thinking of her at all. Each day contained something enjoyable. He’d recount it as he lay in the dark.
And he still wasn’t sleeping well.
He’d finally figured it out while sitting in his office at Fishnet headquarters that afternoon. The office had just been cleaned and the slightly antiseptic scent had reminded him of his mother. Of the run-down, tiny home she’d insisted on keeping spotless. Of the Saturdays she’d made him clean the bathroom. They’d always have chocolate ice cream afterward.
And it reminded him of something he’d learned in college—scent elicited the Proust effect, reliving experiences through experiencing stimuli.
He’d wrapped up his last couple of appointments, loaded up his briefcase with work he could tackle at home and driven straight to his condo. Inside he’d barely dropped his keys on the table by the door before heading straight to the master bedroom suite, taking his nose straight to the comforter.
Five minutes later there he was, stuffing it into the washer. He’d checked the tag. Knew the thing was machine washable. He just wasn’t sure how he could be certain that every little epithelial cell Olivia might have left behind would be removed. He could take it to the cleaners. Or call and have it picked up.
He didn’t want to wait.
While he shoved and pondered, his phone rang. Of course.
He only gave that particular cell number out to people he’d want to speak with during nonbusiness hours.
“Martin?” An uncomfortable jolt passed through him. And stuck around, too.
“Olivia?” It was good to hear her voice.
To know she was...there.
“What’s up?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but the fact that she was calling meant things were anything but.
“I need to see you.”
Glancing at the comforter that may or may not be on his bed that night, he took a moment. Feeling a bit better, knowing that she was struggling, too, he figured he was going to have to be strong for both of them.
“We said we aren’t going to do this anymore,” he reminded her gently. But would one more time hurt? Just to ease the transition?
“This isn’t about us.” She sounded different. Olivia, and yet not. Her tone... He couldn’t place it. “At least, not directly,” she added.
She is getting married. Where the thought came from he didn’t know, but the thesis fit. She’d been seeing someone—as she’d been completely free to do, as he’d done many times over the nine years since their divorce, he quickly reminded himself.
That last night together, she’d been different then, too. More the Olivia he’d known in the beginning.
She’d been saying goodbye.
It fit. All the pieces coming together. She’d been struggling, feeling guilty, sad at losing him, but knowing they had to let go.
What must she have thought when he’d told her he wanted to look for a partner? Knowing she’d already found one...
With a one-handed shove he got the comforter in the washer and slammed the door.
“Martin?”
“Yeah.”
“Can we set a time?”
He didn’t want to look her in the eye when she told him she’d met someone else. Probably someone years younger than him. Someone who was at the same stage of life as her. Filled with drive to build a career that would carve craters in the heart. Craters only love could fill.
Except that in Liv’s case, they’d be building the careers simultaneously, sharing the road. She deserved to have that partner.
“Can we do this over the phone?” he asked, not wanting her to see his expression when she delivered the news. He’d smile. He’d wish her well.
But she always saw through him.
That had been part of their problem. She’d known he wasn’t happy even when he’d told her he was fine.
“No. It’s important, Martin. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
He got that. But...they were done. Out of each other’s lives. No more needing to know. No more reason for her to linger in the back of his mind. He was no longer her protector.
If he’d ever been.
Olivia had always been pretty self-sufficient. Capable of taking care of herself. It was him who’d needed to occupy the protector role.
Something her youth had probably brought out in him.
“Do you trust me to know you well?”
“Of course.”
“And to have your back?” she asked.
They weren’t doing that anymore. That was the point. But... “Of course.”
“Then trust me when I say that you’d want me to be making this phone call and for us to talk in person.”
Wow.
He didn’t know what to make of that.
Wasn’t sure how it played with the theory.
“I’ve got a couple of hours,” he told her, more if he needed it, he determined, thinking ahead to the dinner plans that could be rescheduled. Dinner with his college buddy Danny, who had a wife he adored and a kid heading off to college. One who’d only met Olivia once and teased him about the fact that she hadn’t been old enough to legally drink champagne at their wedding. After which Danny had apologized and asked Martin if he was sure about what he was doing by starting a family with a younger woman. The same guy who’d been there a couple of years later when he’d been drinking his way through the death of his daughter and the breakup of said marriage...
“You want me to meet you halfway?” he asked. There was a place in Mission Viejo where they’d met up several times. An upscale, though privately owned, hotel on the beach. It had a nice second-story bar that overlooked the ocean.
“I’m actually already in LA. I was hoping we could meet at your place.”
His place? He looked around. Left the stuffed washing machine just as it was. Paced a circle in the kitchen. Came up with no reason he wanted to give her for not wanting her in his home.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m here now.”
“So am I.”
As she said the words the doorbell rang. He’d forgotten to take her name off the list with the doorman. To change his access code.
Or, now that he thought about it, take back her key.
Chapter Nine
He’d obviously just come home from work. Olivia recognized the tie Martin was wearing with his white dress shirt as he opened the door. It was one hundred percent silk and she’d bought it for him for Christmas. What did it mean that he still had it?
And wore it.
Could mean that he didn’t remember
where he got it, but liked it.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this...” With him still in his perfectly polished wing tips and creased black pants with the handmade leather belt, she felt...underdone. Wished she’d stopped home to change before she’d made the trip to LA.
She hadn’t been thinking about clothes, to say the least. Mostly her thoughts were all over the place. Not staying long in any one place. Flitting from Beth’s words when she hung up the phone, to crib styles, back to future clinic appointment details and over to grandma names for her mother. Shying away from anything that might put a pall on the joy.
Like the fact that the baby’s father would not be happy with her news.
“What’s up?” There was a lot more concern in his voice than when he’d asked the same question just moments ago. Once she was inside, he slid his hands deep into his pockets, as though caging them there.
Because they wouldn’t caress her ever again.
She still hadn’t found a way to get to the reality of that one. To accept it.
And now, even if they went their separate ways, she would still have a lifelong connection to him. A little thrill swept through her. And relief did, too.
She didn’t have to believe she was never, ever going to see him again.
But she was getting ahead of herself.
“Can we sit down?” she asked. Thinking of him—he should be sitting when she broke her news—but thinking of herself, as well. Her wobbly knees felt as though they could give out any moment.
He led the way to the formal living room—a sunken space that was furnished with large, expensive dark couches that she found too big to be comfortable. She perched on the raised marble hearth in front of the fireplace.
She was going to have a baby! They were going to have a baby!
And so much could go wrong before the child even got there. Just because the implantation was successful didn’t guarantee that Beth wouldn’t miscarry.
Or that something wouldn’t go wrong further into the pregnancy.
For a blip there, as she watched Martin settle into a chair that matched the couch and raise his ankle up to rest across the opposite knee, she had second thoughts about telling him. Maybe she should wait.
Her Christmas Future Page 8