California Girls

by Susan Mallery

“Any part of that a pity kiss?”

  His dark gaze was steady. “Did it feel like a pity kiss?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It was not a pity kiss.”

  Then what was it? Only she didn’t ask because she honestly didn’t want to know.

  “It’s probably best to pretend that never happened,” she repeated, knowing that was the sensible decision, but secretly hoping he would insist they go directly to his bedroom and close the deal.

  But that wasn’t Daniel’s style. He lightly touched her cheek and said, “Smart and beautiful. I like that in a woman.”

  Which sounded great, but left her slightly squishy girl parts desperately unsatisfied.

  Later, when they’d delivered the cake to the food bank and then gone home, she’d wondered if she was being sensible or cowardly when it came to Daniel. While he obviously liked her enough to kiss her and he’d been so sweet and nice, she couldn’t shake Finola’s warning about him. Getting involved with her ex-fiancé’s brother was dumb and getting involved so quickly was dumb and not knowing how she felt about him and how he felt about her was dumb, so she was making the right decision, wasn’t she?

  Around ten, she wandered into the kitchen to get a snack. There she found a pink bakery box on the counter, with her name scrawled on top. When she opened it, she saw a two-layer chocolate cake with chocolate icing.

  Of course, she thought, fighting a thousand feelings she couldn’t begin to define. The only thing she knew for sure was that when it came to Daniel and Glen, she’d absolutely picked the wrong brother.

  Zennie and Bernie sat across from Dr. McQueen. Dr. McQueen looked at the tablet, then up at them, only to smile.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll admit it. This is a first for me. I’ve had heterosexual couples and lesbian couples, but I’ve never had a surrogate and her friend in here before. It’s going to take a little getting used to.”

  Bernie grabbed Zennie’s hand and squeezed. “I’m only here as long as she’s comfortable. The second she wants me out, I’m gone.”

  A sentiment Zennie appreciated, even if it was strange. Why wouldn’t she want Bernie with her? She was having Bernie’s baby.

  “Your blood work looks excellent and there’s no sugar in your urine, so we’re good there. You’re taking your vitamins?”

  “Every day, and drinking extra water and eating from the list. I haven’t had any alcohol or caffeine.”

  The doctor smiled. “I recognize the wistful tone. I want to tell you it gets easier, but instead I’ll say in a few months, you can eat and drink what you want.”

  Bernie released Zennie’s hand and turned to the doctor. “Hayes and I were thinking about a meal service. Food for Two. Do you know it?”

  “I don’t,” Zennie said. “What is it?”

  “A meal delivery service that specializes in food for pregnant women,” Dr. McQueen said. “Several of my patients find it very helpful. Perfectly balanced meals are delivered every couple of days. All you have to do is heat them up and eat.”

  Bernie smiled at Zennie. “We just want to make things easier for you. Please let us do this.”

  “I can cook my own dinner. It’s no big deal.”

  “No, but shopping and preparing can be. You’re busy at work. This way you don’t have to think about what you’re going to eat. We were thinking of the full package, so three meals and two snacks a day.”

  Zennie wasn’t thrilled with the idea of someone else deciding what she was going to eat, but she didn’t want to disappoint Bernie.

  “Let’s talk about it later,” she said cautiously.

  “Absolutely.”

  Dr. McQueen nodded. “All right, so now let’s discuss exercise. Zennie, I know you’re a runner and you surf. What else do you do?”

  “Yoga every now and then. I lift weights, of course. Go rock climbing. I hike with my friends in Griffith Park. I snowboard, but we’re coming up on summer so that won’t be an issue.”

  “That’s impressive,” the doctor told her. “You already know about avoiding saunas and Jacuzzis. I want you to stay away from hot yoga, as well. For now I’d like you to limit your runs to three miles. You’ll have to back off completely but not for a while. Surfing is also a risk. There are just too many ways you could damage your midsection and holding your breath because you’re underwater is also a problem. The hiking is all right for now. Once you get bigger, you’ll have balance issues. Look at walking more or using the elliptical. Also, let’s stay away from the rock climbing wall. You wouldn’t want to fall.”

  Zennie remembered what had happened on the hike and how scared she’d been. “I can certainly put off rock climbing until after the baby’s born.” As for the rest of it, she did her best to look happy and not as if the doctor was taking away all her fun.

  “You need to start wearing support hose at work,” the doctor continued. “They will make your legs feel less tired and avoid problems with varicose veins later. Get plenty of rest. When you get the chance, get off your feet. You don’t need it now, but you will, so let’s develop the habit.”

  The conversation continued with more restrictions and admonitions. Zennie reminded herself it was natural to feel overwhelmed and the restrictions were temporary. In a few short months, or eight, she would get her life back.

  Eight months! She blinked as she took that in. She was going to be pregnant for another eight months.

  When the appointment was over, she and Bernie walked out together.

  “That was so exciting,” her friend said. “There’s so much to learn.” She linked arms with Zennie. “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to the meal service. I’ll send you the link so you can put in your preferences. They’ll deliver the food right to your door. Oh, and let me know when you want to go shopping for support stockings. Hayes and I will be paying for those, too.”

  “You don’t have to,” Zennie protested, wondering when, exactly, she’d agreed to the meal service.

  “They’re expensive,” Bernie told her. “You’ll need a few pairs because they have to be washed by hand and they need time to hang dry.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  Bernie smiled. “I’ve been reading up on your pregnancy. You can ask me anything.”

  Zennie ignored the image of her small bathroom filled with old-lady stockings and told herself this, too, would pass. She was having a baby. Compromises had to be made. Eight months wasn’t all that long and in the end, when she handed over their happy, healthy baby, she would know she’d done a good thing. Until then, she was going to suck it up and eat her greens. And, apparently, wear support hose.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finola found it more and more painful to check on the house. Every time she drove the familiar streets, she had to admit that she was alone, she’d been chased out of her home and was now living with her mother. Hardly the description of someone at the pinnacle of her success. She lived in fear of being recognized, of having someone point and laugh. Showing up to work had become increasingly difficult and she no longer slept at night.

  She’d done enough shows on mental health topics to guess she was dealing with a bout of depression. She’d read about it but wasn’t prepared for the sense of heaviness that pervaded every part of her day—as if there was suddenly more gravity. She felt sluggish and ugly and sad nearly all the time. And hopeless, she thought as she pulled into the garage and carefully closed the door behind her.

  She walked into the house and stood in the silence. Everything looked as it had the last time she’d been here and the time before that. Mail was neatly piled on the entry table. The housecleaning service kept things clean, and she’d canceled the meal service. The gardener and pool guy kept the outside of the house looking tidy. The only thing missing from this life was her and Nigel, and without him, what was the point?

 
She flipped through the mail. Most of the bills came electronically, so she didn’t have to worry about that. Nigel hadn’t emptied their bank account and she had her own checking account, so money wouldn’t be an issue. Not in the short term. Even her mother wanted her to talk to a lawyer, but Finola couldn’t imagine it. What would she say? The lawyer would ask her what she wanted and she honest to God had no idea.

  She walked through the kitchen, the family room, then down the hall. The pictures still hung where they always had. The cracks from the last 5.0 earthquake looked exactly the same. She touched the textured walls and wished the house could touch her back, that it would tell her all would be well. Only it couldn’t and even if it could, she doubted it would lie.

  She took the stairs to the second floor. After bypassing the master, she walked into what they had always said would be the baby’s room. The walls were a pale yellow and the wood trim was painted white. There was a window seat and a nice-sized closet.

  How many times had they talked about having a baby? How many times had Nigel said he was ready, that he didn’t want to be seventy when his kid graduated from high school, and how many times had she put him off? Soon, she’d promised. Next year for sure. But one year had bled into another until Nigel had stopped asking.

  She looked out onto the backyard. He’d stopped asking, she repeated to herself. When was that? Six months ago? Eight? Why hadn’t she noticed? His silence had been a sign and she’d ignored it. No, not ignored, because that implied she’d recognized it and had deliberately not paid attention. She’d never seen it in the first place. What else had she missed?

  She went back downstairs and walked into her office. Her sleek desk was tidy, as always. She didn’t like clutter in here. The room was entirely hers, with pale pink walls and a beautiful floral carpet that she’d chosen herself. The only visitor’s chair was deliberately uncomfortable. She didn’t want anyone else to linger—when she was working from home, she’d been all about avoiding distractions.

  She looked at the photographs and awards on the walls. There were dozens of each. Pictures of her with various dignitaries and celebrities, along with a few framed magazine covers. There were no photos of her and Nigel, or even just of him. Not on the wall and not on the desk. She’d always told herself she wanted to keep her career separate from her personal life. That was why she’d kept her maiden name after they’d married. Nigel had said he never cared. She used his last name socially, of course, but not for anything legal or important.

  She crossed the hall and went into his office. Here the colors were darker, the decor more masculine. His desk was piled with papers and across from it was a huge black leather sofa. It was the kind of place that invited you to curl up and read, or stretch out and take a nap. More than once they’d had sex on that sofa. She knew the feel of it against her bare skin. They’d talked and laughed and fought on that sofa.

  He had art on his walls. His professional degrees and awards were at his office. Behind his desk was a large photo from their wedding. Several pictures of her littered his desk.

  Without knowing how her brain got there, she thought about the spa she’d visited the previous year. She’d taken a week off and had gone by herself to unwind. She’d read and slept and gotten massages. The time had been heavenly and she hadn’t really missed Nigel. Not enough to invite him to join her.

  What must he have thought of her going away without him? She wasn’t worried he would think she was having an affair, but she’d just gone off, leaving him behind. They weren’t joined at the hip and he went to medical conferences and symposiums, but the spa retreat was different somehow. Not that she couldn’t or shouldn’t do things for herself, but it was more than that, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  She walked back into the hallway, then headed for the kitchen. She checked for water leaks and that the refrigerator was working, all things the cleaning service would have done. She was restless. Afraid to stay and not ready to go. Her father would say it was guilt. That she was being forced to admit that while the affair was all on Nigel, his unhappiness before that was at least partially her fault. She was slowly starting to wonder if maybe she’d taken too much for granted. Had been too involved in herself and not involved enough in her marriage.

  Ali had said she would be hard to live with. Zennie, however misguided, was willing to give up nearly a year of her life to have a baby for a friend. Even her mother used her spare time to work with that ridiculous theater group down by the beach. What did she have beyond her work? Not real friends. She had Rochelle, but her assistant, however loyal, would get a better job offer one day and she would be gone. Not her volunteer work. She didn’t do any. She showed up—she was the face—but she didn’t get involved.

  She’d thought she would have Nigel for always. That they would be happy together. She’d thought they would love each other until they were old and gray and waiting to die. But they weren’t doing any of those things.

  She returned to her car. Before opening the garage door with the remote, she sat in the darkness and wondered if she’d really brought this all on herself. Was she the cause of her unhappiness? Was she really that horrible a human being?

  Terrified the answer was yes, she opened the garage door and started the engine, then turned on the radio so loud, she couldn’t possibly think.

  * * *

  Zennie ached all over. She was hungry, her feet and back hurt and she was desperately thirsty. The ten-hour surgery had been stressful from start to finish. The patient had come through all right in the end, but he was going to have a hell of a recovery.

  She’d managed to change into street clothes, but that had used up the last of her strength. She wanted someone to carry her to her car while offering her some energizing elixir and a big, stacked high pastrami sandwich. Instead she would drink plain water and go home to eat whatever disgusting protein and kale delight was on for this night’s dinner.

  “That’s a face.”

  Zennie turned and saw Gina approaching. She hadn’t seen her friend since their disastrous evening out. Cassie had texted an apology, but Gina had been quiet.

  Now, seeing her, Zennie felt herself stiffen as her hackles went up and she braced for more criticism.

  “Just thinking about the healthy meal waiting for me at home,” she said evenly. “Bernie, the baby’s mother, arranged for a food delivery service that specializes in food for expectant mothers.”

  Gina leaned against the lockers and offered a faint smile. “So no chocolate-covered graham crackers with a tequila chaser?”

  Zennie’s mouth twitched. “Probably not. I’ve been eating plenty of green vegetables, though.”

  “Fried?”

  “No such luck.”

  There was a moment of silence between them. Zennie let herself get her hopes up.

  Her friend drew in a breath. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “Which isn’t the same as apologizing for what you said.”

  “No, it’s not.” Gina worried her lower lip. “Zennie, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but I don’t. I think you’re taking a huge risk. You’re my friend and I love you, but I also think you’re wrong.”

  It wasn’t exactly a kick in the gut, but it was close. “Then we’re going to have to agree to disagree,” she said, opening her locker and pulling out her backpack. “I’m not sure what that means about us being friends.”

  Gina winced. “You can’t let my opinion go?”

  “Not when you can’t keep it to yourself. You’re right—something could go wrong, but you know what? Everything might work out just fine. This time next year, they could have a happy, healthy baby and I’ll be back to my life, having given my friend the most incredible gift ever. Even if there’s a chance for disaster, I want to try. I want to do this and if you can’t support me, then I can’t be around you.”

  She hadn�
�t meant to say all that, but somehow the words came out.

  “This is hard,” she admitted. “Way harder than I’d thought, and from everything I’ve read it’s going to get worse. I have to keep up a brave face for Bernie and her husband, so I really need my other friends to help me through this.” She opened her backpack and dug out a T-shirt that had been left in a bag on her doorstep. She held it up.

  “Do you see this?” She pointed at the ridiculous cartoon stork instructing her to glow and grow. “My self-absorbed older sister left this for me sometime in the night. I’m not asking you to show up twice a week and rub my feet, but I need you to respect my decision. You’ve said you disagree and that’s fine, but if you can’t let that go and get on board, then I can’t have you in my life right now.”

  Even worse than the verbal diarrhea were the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.

  “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, brushing them away. “I swear, I will not get hormonal.”

  Gina stared at her openmouthed. “You’ve never talked to me like that before.”

  “I’ve never talked to anyone like that before. I’m sorry. I want to say I’ll love you no matter what, but apparently my love has conditions.”

  “Okay,” Gina told her. “That’s clear. I’m not ready to make that decision. I guess I’ll see you later.”

  Her friend...her possibly former friend...turned and walked away. Zennie felt the telltale pressure of more tears, but she ignored them. She just had to get home. She would eat, drink water, then go to bed and sleep. Everything would be better in the morning. Zennie tried to tell herself if Gina couldn’t support her, she was better off without her, which sounded very strong and brave, but in truth made her feel completely lost, alone and scared. Just one more thing that was different, now that she was going to have a baby.

  * * *

  Ali woke up early the morning of her wedding-that-wasn’t. She wrapped herself in a blanket and crept silently to the patio off her room to watch the sunrise. She had no idea how she felt about herself or her circumstances or anything else, but she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t sorry she wasn’t marrying Glen.