The Nine Month Plan

by Wendy Markham

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I know. But do you know how long it was after I lost my husband before I could even manage to smile? I had forgotten what it was like to smile, let alone laugh. It feels good.”

  “You know what you need? To go to a comedy club,” Joe says. “I know a great one on the East Side.”

  “That sounds fun, but I have to get home. Maddie’s with a sitter.”

  “And I have to be at the office in the morning,” he says, as reality intrudes. “But how about next weekend? We can go to dinner and then to the comedy club.”

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  They smile at each other.

  This is good, Joe tells himself. This is promising.

  As they say goodnight before he puts Susannah into a cab home, he fully intends to kiss her. After all, she’s beautiful, and appealing, and he’s definitely attracted to her.

  You haven’t kissed a woman since Nina, he realizes, as he leans toward Susannah, who closes her eyes expectantly.

  Nina.

  Nina again.

  Who would have ever imagined that kissing Nina that night would have been so . . . so incredible?

  For Joe, kissing Nina was like being blindfolded, expecting to sip warm milk and downing a flaming shot of bourbon instead.

  Now, as he leans toward Susannah and closes his eyes, it’s Nina’s face he sees before him.

  Dammit, why?

  Go away, Nina, he barks at the maddening mental image.

  Naturally, being Nina, and therefore stubborn as hell, she doesn’t budge.

  At the last moment, he tilts his head so that his kiss lands on Susannah’s cheek.

  He blinks and finds her wearing a surprised—­and maybe a little dismayed—­expression.

  “I had a nice time,” he says, opening the back door of the cab for her.

  “I had a nice time, too . . .” She climbs in and looks slightly reassured when he reminds her of their comedy club date next weekend.

  “I’ll call you when I get back from Chicago.” Joe hands a twenty-­dollar bill to the driver and waves and smiles at her.

  “Great.” She waves and smiles back.

  Good. Let her think he was merely being a gentleman just now, rather than . . .

  Rather than what?

  Utterly skittish?

  Thrown off his pleasantly romantic course by the jarring memory of a few passionate kisses with his best friend?

  His jaw set firmly, Joe watches the cab disappear around the corner.

  He pops a piece of gum in his mouth and turns to walk the few blocks home, telling himself that he shouldn’t be thinking about Nina that way.

  Okay, granted, he’d been caught off guard by the passion that seemed to ignite out of nowhere that night they spent together. And yes, he’d found himself thinking of it every time he caught sight of her since. But he refused to allow himself to develop real feelings for Nina at this late date.

  He isn’t a schoolboy with a crush on the girl next door. Not anymore. They’re both much too mature for that.

  He’s a grown man, for Pete’s sake.

  A grown man who has wasted the past decade of his life obsessed with work and making money so that he doesn’t have to dwell on the path he didn’t take.

  Not that he’s been pining for Minnie—­a.k.a. Sister Margaret Michael—­for all these years. The few times she’s been back to visit, wearing her habit and a perpetual beatific expression, Joe was relieved to find that he was long over her.

  But that doesn’t mean he’s over wanting the things he thought he and Minnie would have together.

  He wants them with somebody else. Somebody he can fall in love with, and marry. Somebody who will have his babies . . . and who isn’t Nina.

  His footsteps heavy, chewing the gum so hard his jaw aches, Joe turns the corner onto Thirty-­third Street. A brisk wind stirs a pile of newly fallen leaves from a solitary tree by the curb. He shivers, turning up the corduroy collar of his khaki barn coat.

  It’s autumn already.

  Only weeks ago, he was thinking he might be married by next summer.

  Joe shakes his head.

  Not likely.

  Not unless . . .

  Well, maybe Susannah is The One.

  She’s everything he wants in a woman—­bright, beautiful, laid back, maternal. There were sparks of attraction, too. Just because he didn’t grab her and kiss her hungrily before saying goodnight doesn’t mean that he won’t do that next time.

  And he’s glad there will be a next time with her. He really is. He wants to give her a chance, to stop feeling compelled to compare her to—­

  To Nina.

  What the hell was that all about?

  Back in the cafe, when he should have been focusing intently on everything Susannah was saying, he was noticing instead how she didn’t wolf down pastries or take a bite of every different kind the way Nina might have.

  And how every hair on her head was neatly in place, unlike Nina, whose errant bangs beg his taming fingers every time he sees her.

  And how when Susannah laughed at his jokes, it was a sweet, quiet ripple of sound, rather than the hearty belly laugh he can usually arouse from Nina.

  Well, maybe Susannah will loosen up a bit on their second date.

  And if not—­that’s okay, too. Not every woman is going to be like Nina. In fact, no other woman he’s ever met is like Nina. And that’s probably a good thing.

  As he passes the Chickalinis’ house, Joe sees a light in her upstairs bedroom window.

  He stops on the sidewalk, looking up.

  A cold breeze stirs windchimes somewhere down the block.

  Sirens wail in the distance.

  Joe shivers, hugging himself.

  He wonders who the burly guy was.

  He wonders if the burly guy knew enough to order extra pastries.

  He wonders if the burly guy wanted to gently push Nina’s bangs out of her eyes, and if she laughed so hard she cried when the burly guy told a joke.

  Joe finds himself hoping that she didn’t.

  You’re jealous, he decides, scowling as he stares up at her lit bedroom window.

  You don’t want Nina to be with anybody else. That’s not fair. Here she is, trying to help you find the perfect woman, and you’re resentful of her going out on a date.

  Then again, Nina didn’t seem all that thrilled to hand over Susannah’s phone number, courtesy of Rosalee, the second time.

  Maybe their night together left Nina feeling a little jealous, too.

  The thought warms him.

  And that’s bad.

  Very bad.

  Because the thing is . . .

  She’s still leaving next summer.

  Joe realizes that a part of him might actually have been holding out hope that if Nina had become pregnant with his child, she might not leave after all.

  That she might stay and help him raise the baby.

  Not as his wife, of course. Not even as his girlfriend. After all, they’re not in love.

  Not that there haven’t been times in his life when he has been a little infatuated with Nina. In grade school, in between his crushes on other girls, he had a crush on her. In junior high, when his hormones stirred to life, he found himself fiercely attracted to her.

  Her, and every other female over twelve and under forty, he reminds himself, remembering what it was like to be an adolescent boy.

  When he fell in love with Minnie, he did his best to extinguish his attraction for anyone else, and it worked. Most of the time.

  The thing is, he’s never stopped noticing the things that are captivating about Nina. Maybe he’s never quite let go of that childhood crush.

  But no, he’s not in love with her.

&n
bsp; They’re friends. Best friends. He doesn’t want that to change, ever.

  And you think that if Nina stays, and you have a child with her, maybe things will remain the same?

  Joe realizes that somewhere, in the dim, barely conscious recesses of his mind, he’s had visions of them living next door to each other forever. It’s too easy to imagine their child climbing back and forth over the fence between the two yards, just as he and Nina used to do.

  Easy, but not very practical.

  Not very likely, either.

  As Joe stares wistfully up at Nina’s bedroom window, the light goes out suddenly.

  “ ’Night, Nina,” he whispers, before walking the last remaining steps to his own house.

  LYING IN BED in the darkened room, Nina listens to the sound of sirens fading into the darkness.

  In a few more months, she’ll be falling asleep to the sound of the sea. There will be no more sirens, no more subway trains rattling by at all hours, no more barking dog waking her at dawn.

  No more Ralphie hogging the bathroom.

  No more Pop snoring.

  No more endless shifts at the restaurant.

  She wonders if she’ll miss any of it.

  Sometimes, she’s certain that she will.

  And sometimes, like tonight, when Dominic failed to show up for his shift and she had to stay and close the restaurant, she swears she’ll never look back.

  She rolls onto her side, telling herself that it’s a lucky thing she didn’t wind up pregnant last month. She has a feeling that for all her claiming to Joe that she would be a mere globe-­trotting pen pal to the baby, she might have felt inclined to be a little more attached than that.

  Yes, good thing she isn’t pregnant.

  Still, she went home and cried the night the early pregnancy test came out negative.

  And again a few days later when she found herself staring at toilet paper streaked with faint pink streaks.

  She was overwhelmed by a sense of loss . . .

  But only because she really wanted to make Joey a daddy.

  And because now she’ll never know what it’s like to experience pregnancy and childbirth.

  There’s still time, an irritating little voice protests. It’s not written in stone that you have to leave in July.

  No, but it’s her plan.

  And Nina always sticks to her plans. Always.

  She rolls over again and feels a twinge somewhere low in her belly. A cramping sensation, almost.

  Well, she’s probably getting her period again. Isn’t it due any day now?

  She lost track, actually. Too caught up in housework, and the pizza parlor, and Rosalee’s wedding plans, and helping Ralphie get through his Regents physics course and fill out college applications.

  Then there’s the added stress of dodging Bob’s daily phone calls.

  She should never have agreed to go on a date with him in the first place. But he’s new in the neighborhood, and he seemed nice enough when she met him in the park one afternoon a few weeks ago. He is nice, really. Just not her type.

  She’s never been very attracted to stocky guys who look as though they spend the better part of every day lifting weights. And it isn’t just Bob’s looks. It’s his personality. He’s just not very . . . interesting. Or very funny. Though he certainly thinks he is.

  Nina’s face muscles ache as she recalls how difficult it was, that night at George’s cafe with Bob, to pretend she found his jokes incredibly amusing.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have tried so hard.

  One date, and he seems to think she’s his soulmate.

  She wouldn’t have even gone out with him in the first place if it weren’t for Joe.

  Joe and Susannah, that is.

  If Bob hadn’t asked her out on the very afternoon that Rosalee mentioned Joe had finally called Susannah . . .

  Well, Nina doubts she’d have gotten herself into this mess.

  Now Bob keeps calling, and she’s running out of excuses why she can’t see him.

  Meanwhile, she happens to know, thanks to Rosalee the aspiring yenta, that tonight is the night Joe is taking Susannah out on their first date.

  “I’ll bet they’re going to fall madly in love, Nina. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Yeah, great,” Nina told her sister darkly.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “PMS.”

  It was only an excuse when she said it. But now Nina realizes it’s probably true. She’s on the verge of her period, and her hormones are out of whack again.

  No wonder she keeps letting the craziest fantasies slip into her thoughts.

  Fantasies about Joey . . .

  And their night together.

  You’d think she’d be over it by now. You’d think that a roll in the hay with him would have helped her get all that latent lust out of her system, rather than leaving her wanting more . . .

  You’d think she’d be able to keep in mind that their reasons for said roll in the hay were merely practical.

  But no.

  No, here she is, longing for more.

  Which is precisely why it would be wrong—­so very wrong—­to offer to give it another whirl. Getting pregnant with Joey’s baby, that is.

  Her July departure plan aside, she can’t go around trying to get pregnant now. Not only is it too late, but she has the feeling that she wouldn’t be doing it for the right reasons.

  And sleeping with Joe one more time is definitely not the right reason.

  If only it were July.

  She stares at the shadowy ceiling, trying to focus on thoughts of her visit with Minnie. And sailing in the Caribbean. And sunning on the French Riviera.

  But when Nina drifts off to sleep at last, she doesn’t dream about any of that.

  She dreams about Joey, and he’s making passionate love to her.

  It’s so real that when she wakes up, her body is tingling all over and for a moment, she half-­expects to open her eyes and see Joe sleeping beside her.

  Then she hears Yank barking downstairs at the door, ready to be let out.

  Oh.

  Back to grim reality.

  Nina sits up abruptly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and into her waiting slippers.

  As she stands and makes her way to the door, a wave of nausea sweeps over her from out of nowhere.

  Gagging, Nina stumbles into the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time.

  It’s all she can do to hold back her overgrown bangs—­which still haven’t reached a suitable length for ear-­tucking or barrette-­clipping.

  Finally, weak from vomiting, Nina rises shakily.

  Wow.

  That was brutal.

  She turns on the light above the sink. Catching sight of her pale face in the medicine cabinet mirror, she frowns.

  What’s wrong with you?

  What the heck did you eat last night?

  She thinks back. Just a cup of chicken soup and a roll. She wasn’t very hungry after work.

  Okay, so it’s probably not food poisoning.

  Must be a stomach bug.

  Terrific.

  The last thing she needs now is to get sick. She’s supposed to spend the afternoon with Rosalee and Bebe, trying on bridesmaids’ dresses again. They still haven’t managed to find anything they all agree on, and Rosalee’s starting to get panicky.

  Nina bends over the sink and rinses her mouth with cold water. If she isn’t feeling any better later, she’ll have to tell Rosalee and Bebe to go shopping without her.

  Sure. Do that, and you’ll wind up wearing some awful teal taffeta and tulle confection.

  Nina squeezes some Crest onto her toothbrush, sticks it into her mouth, and promptly gags.

  The next thin
g she knows, she’s huddled over the toilet once again.

  She can hear Yank barking urgently downstairs, poor dog.

  “Dominic! Let the dog out!” Nina shouts, not caring if she wakes up the whole house.

  Naturally, none of the slumbering Chickalinis is roused by her voice, let alone by the barking dog . . . or Nina’s next round of vomiting.

  If she didn’t know better, she might think this is morning sickness.

  But she’s not pregnant.

  So it can’t be that.

  The test said she wasn’t pregnant, and her period . . .

  Well, she did get her period . . .

  Sort of.

  She didn’t imagine that she saw streaks of blood on the toilet paper right around the day her period was due. In fact, she distinctly remembers her disappointment. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding out hope that the negative pregnancy test was some kind of mistake, but when she saw the faint pink streaks of blood, the renewed disappointment was bitter, and it lingered.

  It was so bitter and so lingering that she didn’t pay much attention to the fact that she had a lighter period than usual. Lighter, and shorter.

  It’s due again any day now. Maybe that’s why she’s feeling so crummy. Not that nausea is a typical premenstrual symptom for her . . .

  Devouring entire bags of Reese’s peanut butter cups, yes.

  Fighting the urge to leap over the restaurant counter and strangle every last pain-­in-­the-­butt patron, yes.

  But nausea?

  Nope.

  Nor is it normal for her to have a light period like she did last month.

  Pondering her plight, Nina rinses her mouth again. She even manages to brush her teeth without vomiting.

  Then, ignoring Yank’s plaintive yelps at the bottom of the stairs, she returns to her bedroom.

  Rosalee is still out cold, snoring. She must have gotten in late last night from her date with Timmy. Nothing wakes her. Not the racket Yank is making downstairs, and not Nina turning on the desk light and opening the top drawer.

  She takes out her date book. Joe never fails to tease her about the fact that she can organize her life—­pizza parlor schedule, parent-­teacher conferences, high school soccer games, and all—­in the space of one small monthly calendar, but it’s true. She has no use for an iphone. Joe, of course, has both. Plus a secretary.