by Glynis Astie
Maya winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
With that cryptic comment, she rose and approached Simone. Hold the phone. Was she speaking French? It was stilted and her accent was fairly rough, but it was French all right. What the heck? To my knowledge, she hadn’t had a French lesson in her life!
Before I knew what was happening, Simone and Maya had adjourned to my bedroom, chatting happily along the way. I was thoroughly confused.
Twenty minutes later, Maya returned to the living room with a triumphant expression. I stared at her while attempting to formulate my thoughts.
Maya smirked. “You got a question, Syd?”
“Perhaps one or two.” I stifled a rogue belch. Everything I ate gave me indigestion these days.
She returned to her perch on the chair next to me. “Shoot.”
“OK, let’s start with your sudden knowledge of French. Is this a recent development or have you been hiding your abilities from me?” It would be so Maya to do such a thing. Her linguistic ability definitely could have gotten us out of a jam or two during our French wedding adventure last year.
Maya shrugged. “I came across a vendor who only speaks French and I had to be able to communicate with him.”
A vendor? Maya was a marketing consultant for a software company. Granted my husband was both French and a programming genius, but the French weren’t really known for their software design. Unless…
“A wedding-related vendor?”
She scoffed. “Of course.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You learned a foreign language to allow you to purchase a wedding-related item?”
Maya seemed irritated. “Yes, I did. What’s the big deal? My newly acquired knowledge got you out of a quite a jam. I can’t imagine your husband would have thought on his feet the way I did.”
What exactly did she say to my mother-in-law?
She smirked at me. “Syd? Would you like to ask me anything else?”
Part of me wanted to smack the Cheshire cat grin off her face, but I had to know. “What did you say to her?”
She rubbed her hands together. “I told her about your fabric allergy.”
“My what?”
She looked at me pointedly. “Your FABRIC allergy.”
I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. “What have you done?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I told Simone that per your doctor, you may only wear garments made from cotton or silk.”
My jaw hit the floor.
She started to laugh. “Which means the rayon and polyester blend, um, let’s call them dresses, she brought are not acceptable.”
“And she believed you?”
She put her hand on her hip. “Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?”
I stared at her. “You’re genius!”
“Duh.”
A sense of relief settled in my chest. Reaching for Maya’s hand, I squeezed it and whispered, “I can’t thank you enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “I told you I had you covered. You must chill, Syd. You can’t always be this high strung.”
Her comment struck a nerve, quickly driving Calm Sydney out in favor of Hopping Mad Sydney. Hit the deck! “You know what, Maya? I’m incredibly grateful for what you did for me, but let’s get one thing straight. I am NOT high strung. I may be a little neurotic, but I’ve been busting my ass for YEARS to get past my insecurities and I think I’m finally getting somewhere. Do you know what it’s been like to deal with the stress of the past year without completely freaking out? Do you have ANY idea how hard it’s been to control the sheer panic I feel about becoming a parent—FAR earlier than planned I might add—for the sake of my unborn child? IT HAS NOT BEEN EASY. And I don’t think that anyone in this situation would be completely calm. I think most people would have LOST THEIR SHIT. With the exception of this moment, I’ve kept it together pretty well for the past few months and I would like a little acknowledgement!”
My impassioned speech left tears in my eyes (and a little guilt for using such colorful language), so it took a minute for me to register the satisfaction on my friend’s face.
Maya opened her mouth to speak when a final thought occurred to me. “And another thing!” I squeaked.
My outburst altered her mood quickly. “What?” she snapped.
I scowled and pointed my finger at her. “You need to…recognize how lucky you are to have a friend like ME. YOU, my friend, are a HANDFUL.”
Maya stared at me for a full minute before giggling with abandon. Once she regained her composure, she exclaimed, “Atta girl! I knew you could do it! You’ve exorcised most of the crazy. And you found a backbone!”
I put my head in my hands. “No thanks to you.” Whatever personality disorder (multiple or otherwise) Maya’s wedding planning had unleased in her was pushing me closer to the brink of insanity—a place I have finally escaped from. I fervently hoped she would return to her regular, if surly, self when this was all over.
She stood up and stretched. “Whatever. As long as you recognize my greatness in this particular situation. I’ll let your erroneous view of me in general go, due to your hormonal…thing.” She waved her hand around haphazardly, evincing an expression of distaste.
I glanced up at her. “It is so recognized.” I grabbed a nearby book and banged it on the coffee table as a sanction of my statement. There was no point in arguing with her about her prickly demeanor. She would never see reason.
She came to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I left omelettes for you and Simone in the kitchen. I’ve got to run, sweetie. I’ll call you later.”
I scanned the apartment quickly. “Where’s Simone?”
Maya shrugged. “Taking a bath, I think.”
“Great. She’s hogging the bathroom again! Doesn’t she know I’m pregnant? I have to pee, like, every twenty minutes.”
Maya grinned. “You’d better get her out then.”
“Easier said than done. She has selective hearing.”
She waved and headed for the door when I realized I still had one more question. “Maya, wait!”
She turned around expectantly. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t get to ask you what amazing purchase prompted you to learn French.”
She winked cheekily at me. “I think you know.” She turned on her heel and breezed out of the apartment.
In truth, I had absolutely no idea. Her dress was vintage Chanel, which had been procured months ago, and as far as I knew all major purchases had been made in a similar time frame. What had she not shared with me? I pondered this puzzle and quickly realized it truly didn’t matter. I had come to accept the idea that you don’t have to know everything to be happy. Thank goodness I reached this conclusion BEFORE becoming a parent. I’m pretty sure it will give me a good head start.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I had been bedridden for two full weeks, a week and a half of which I had spent in the custody of my mother-in-law. At first, the idea of getting to relax all day had held a certain appeal, even if it were under her extremely watchful (read: nosy) eye. I relished being able to sleep late, waking up to find breakfast waiting for me and staying in my pajamas for as long as I wanted to! I surfed the internet to my heart’s content, read Pride and Prejudice repeatedly and caught up on my backlog of TV shows.
Louis’ homemade DVR has the ability to record TWELVE shows at the same time, so I didn’t miss a thing. (There are huge benefits to being married to the biggest nerd on the planet. He has mad computer programming skills!) For the past few days, I had been sleeping in front of the TV more than I had been watching it, so I had some serious catching up to do with Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal and Once Upon a Time. What? I love my drama with a side of fairy tale.
Staying home also provided the side benefits of not having to make myself presentable for the office. (There is only so much one can do with bad skin, bad hair and swollen body parts.) AND not having to deal with the asinine array of employee relat
ions problems thrown my way. I didn’t miss Paul and his nonsense one little bit. Yes, the freedom I felt in this regard was undeniable.
Honestly, hanging out with your mother-in-law could be a lot worse. She cleaned up the apartment while I slept in, tucked a napkin under my chin when I sat down to breakfast and settled me into the couch for my reading/TV time. Then she sat with me and flipped through the gigantic stack of French gossip magazines she had brought with her. She looked over and smiled at me at least every five minutes. It was both comforting and disconcerting, but what could I do?
After ten days of this routine, I started to go a little crazy. And no, I don’t mean the old Sydney version of crazy. (The days of unbridled insecurity are a thing of the past. Well, for the most part.) I’m talking the new, even-keeled Sydney going a little stir crazy, thank you very much. And it wasn’t only me! It would appear my faithful companion had a raging case of cabin fever as well. Need I remind you this is a woman who spends eighty percent of her time outside? She gathers eggs, works in her garden, walks into town to gossip and attends parties with her friends.
Being trapped in the apartment with me meant she was currently in her version of hell. I’m ashamed to admit I took a smidgen of satisfaction in her misery. She had, after all, forced her way into our tiny apartment in an extremely deceitful manner, with no regard for our wishes. Although it had become painfully obvious she hadn’t thought the whole thing through—which was classic Simone—and was now left to deal with the result of her capriciousness. Complete and total boredom.
Today, she finally cracked. We had just finished lunch when Simone told me she was going for a walk. I was understandably concerned, since during her last visit she got lost following Louis back from the mailroom. I cannot even begin to explain to you how this happened, but can tell you it took Louis twenty minutes to locate her. How she ended up in the basement of the building next door is anyone’s guess.
While I was pleased to have a few moments without her glued to my side, I was starting to get nervous. It had now been forty-five minutes and she hadn’t returned. What had happened to her? Had she gotten herself lost again? Louis was going to kill me!
Think, Sydney, think! How can you possibly look for her without leaving the couch? Hey! Doctor’s orders. I’m not going to endanger my son’s life by traipsing around town trying to find my mother-in-law. She got herself into this mess in the first place. The best I could do was solve this problem from a distance.
Lloyd! Lloyd can help me. I picked up the phone and called our apartment manager. After five rings, he finally picked up.
“Lloyd!” I yelled. Oops. Tone down the volume, Sydney. You don’t want to scare the man. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, Lloyd. I didn’t mean to shout.”
He chuckled. “No worries, Syd. What’s up?” Lloyd’s nonchalance actually came in handy in this instance. He was used to my, um, sometimes excitable personality. I had been working on getting him used to the new, serene Sydney, but pregnancy and my missing mother-in-law was making this task a bit challenging.
“Um, Lloyd, have you seen my mother-in-law by any chance?” Please say yes, please, please!
“Hmmm…” I could easily picture him tapping on his forehead the way he always did when asked a question. It was as though he was trying to knock the answer loose from the depths of his brain.
I waited another minute before gently prompting him. “Lloyd? You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry. I was trying to remember who I’ve seen today.” He coughed. “I went on a bit of bender last night.”
Fabulous. On a good day it was hard to get information out of him. Now I was screwed. While I debated my chances of coaxing even a modicum of useful information out of him without having a total meltdown, he said, “She’s the short, old, blond chick who wears the mini-skirts and high heels, right?”
I clenched my hand into a fist. Not the most flattering description, but he had correctly identified her. I tried to focus on the positive.
“Yup. That’s her, Lloyd.” I paused, willing myself not to comment on his tactless description of her. “Have you seen her recently?”
“I think so.”
I waited, hoping he would add to his noncommittal answer. No luck.
Breathe, Sydney. “OK, so you MAY have seen her?”
He was silent for a moment. Remaining calm was becoming almost impossible. To quote a very wise man, Lloyd was “cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” (You know you love Kenicke too.) It was a good thing for both of us that we were separated by three floors and my doctor’s strict instructions.
“Yeah! I did see her. She left about an hour ago. Hasn’t been back yet. Do you want me to give her a message when she comes back?”
I exhaled slowly. “Will you please do me a favor, Lloyd? My doctor has put me on bed rest, so I can’t look for her myself, but I’m starting to get worried. Could you—”
He guffawed. “That’s right! Louis came by and told me if I ever saw you in the lobby, I had to call him right away. He’s got you under lock and key, baby.”
I’m pretty sure steam was coming out of my ears. Louis had Lloyd watching for me? Did he honestly think I would put our child in danger? And what the hell is up with Lloyd calling me “baby”?
I closed my eyes to focus my thoughts. “Yes, Lloyd, I have to stay in the apartment. Dr. Bauer reinforced this for me during my office visit yesterday. Thank you for the reminder.” Cut the sarcasm, woman! I softened my voice. “Would you be a dear and pop your head outside the lobby door? My mother-in-law gets lost easily, but I doubt she’s gone very far.” Interesting word choice, Sydney. So glad you’ve been able to channel your inner old lady.
Lloyd happily agreed and told me he would call as soon as he knew anything. A very long ten minutes later, Lloyd called back with the unfortunate news that he hadn’t been able to find her. I thanked him, hung up the phone and contemplated my next move. There simply was no other choice. I had to call my husband. I cringed, thinking about how angry he would be. Here goes nothing.
“Hello, mon coeur! How are you and the baby this fine afternoon?”
Great. I was going to ruin his stellar mood.
I hesitated.
Before I even had the chance to recover, he said, “What has my mother done this time?”
This gave me pause. There had only been one or two minor incidents thus far, but we had worked through them. (When you are staying with a pregnant woman in an apartment with one bathroom, you do NOT take an hour-long bath. It is just rude.) Why would he immediately assume his mother had done something?
“Well, Bluey, she, um, went for a walk.”
I heard his sharp intake of breath. “She left you ALONE?”
Damn it! “Please don’t worry; I’m fine. I’m concerned about her.”
“Concerned about her? Why?”
I took a deep breath. “Because she’s been gone for an hour.”
“OK, Syd, I am going to call Lloyd—”
I cut him off. “Don’t bother. I’ve already done that. He couldn’t find her.”
I heard keys tapping furiously on the other end of the line. This couldn’t be good.
“I’m leaving work now. Please call me if she comes back to the apartment. And whatever you do, do NOT go looking for her. Understood?”
I grumbled. “Understood.”
He adopted a stern tone. “Sydney Julia Durand. I am deadly serious.”
That was new. He had never used my full name before, other than during our wedding ceremonies. (It still amuses me to discuss this in the plural form.) This type of behavior was usually reserved for Kate. He must mean business.
“Calm down, Louis! I won’t move from the couch.” I fumed, but had to add, “Unless I have to pee.” I stuck my tongue out at him for good measure.
“I am glad we understand each other. I love you.”
I rolled my eyes at his first statement, but answered his second. “I love you too.”
I hung up the phone
with a ball of worry growing in my chest. Tears formed in my eyes as I rubbed my stomach and murmured, “Little man, where has your crazy grandmother gone?”
Two minutes later, the phone rang. Convinced it was my husband calling back to add a few more points to his lecture, I lunged for the phone, forgetting the continual shift of my center of gravity and nearly toppling myself off the couch.
Once I righted myself, I snapped, “Enough already! I promised I wouldn’t get up! And no, I haven’t found her yet! I would have called you!”
“Pardon me? What are you talking about Sydney? Who haven’t you found yet?”
Oh God. It was my mother. Way to check the caller ID before you had your outburst, Sydney. You are about to have a fun conversation.
I sighed. “Well, Mom, Simone decided to take a walk.” I deliberated how to relate the rest of the story.
Equipped with the same level of patience as her youngest daughter, she wasted no time in saying, “And?”
I decided to get it over with quickly. “It’s been an over an hour and she hasn’t returned.”
“Oh, Sydney! You have to tell Louis! You have to start a search party! Who knows where she could be by now?”
I interrupted her frantic babbling. “Mom! I’m on it. What do you think I’ve been doing for the last twenty minutes?”
She was still having difficulty controlling her errant thoughts. “But have you called the police? Have you filed a missing person’s report? She could be in real trouble! She could’ve been kidnapped, mugged…”
I shook my head at the idea that I was the one with the reputation for being crazy, yet I was the one who was remaining calm. Thank you, little guy, for forcing your mother into a better frame of mind.
My mother was still rattling off possible dramatic scenarios when my dad’s voice came on the line. “Oy vey! What is all the yelling about?” His high-volume question finally put a stop to my mother’s rant.
