The big animals were restless and I swear they were looking at the sky, too. They were trumpeting wildly and rearing up as though they weighed much less.
“The gestation period for an elephant is twenty-two months,” I said.
“Fascinating,” Derek said with his dry commentary voice. “How would you know that?”
“Researching a recent article I wrote. But, you know, it’s one of those things you pick up that doesn’t leave you, I guess. Twenty-two months is quite a long time. I guess men would be less awed by that, being as they do not bear the major responsibility for procreating.”
“Au contraire, some men have a great deal of respect for the contribution of women to the species.”
“Would you be one of them? And what’s with the ‘au contraire’?”
“I was watching a French film last night and there was a lot of ‘au contraire.’ It sounds so much better than what you Yankees say, ‘on the other hand’, even ‘on the contrary’. Sorry if that sounded affected, which you probably think it did, which is why you brought it up. And yes, I’m one of those who believes that women in pregnancy are beautiful and vibrant, nurturing, carrying new life within them. I’m less sure about the beauty and vibrancy of elephants.”
Derek had a certain sensibility when he cared to show it. And today it made me cry.
“Rita, for God’s sake. What’s the matter?” He led me over to a bench by the monkey cage and we sat down. He looked at me for a moment or so as though considering something, then put his arm around me. We sat there staring at the elephants. Tears were running down my face, and a sob or two escaped. I reached in my pocket hoping for tissues and finding one, wiped my eyes, my cheeks and blew my nose. I turned to him.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out.
“Well, then.” His voice contained surprise, even though his words did not. He began to rub my shoulder.
“You are the first person I’ve told,” I said. “It’s a secret. It just slipped out. Don’t say anything to anyone.”
“I’m the first?” Derek said. His voice was disbelieving.
“I know, I know. Somehow it just slipped out. All that about women and pregnancy and beauty—your fault. I need to tell Fergie but…”
“But what? He’s the father. He gets to know.”
“But, I don’t want him…”
“No. No. You tell him and you do not tell him he’s not the first to know. Got it?” Not only did Derek stop rubbing my shoulder, but he also got up and began to pace.
“I was going to say I don’t want him to feel obligated.”
“My God, woman. He’s obligated, no matter what you want.”
“You know, I’ve never been through this before. I don’t know how to do these things. And I don’t like not knowing how to do things. But I don’t need you telling me what to do, either. I have to figure it out myself.”
“Nothing to figure out. You tell him.”
“Why are you so hot about this? You’re my friend, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be comforting me and helping me work through this.”
Derek stopped for a moment and glared at me.
“All right.” He resumed pacing. “My father left when I was born, and I never saw him, not until I got old enough to look for him, that is. I was conceived before the days of being able to see what kind of baby you were getting.”
A bitterness I had not heard before was in his voice.
“My parents were normal-sized people, Londoners, college students at the time, and my mother giving birth to me, to a dwarf, was more than my father could take. I always thought he’d rather not have known about me, than to know someplace in the world is a, well, someone like me with his genetic material, a son, a less than perfect son.” He stopped in front of me to hand me his handkerchief.
“Five years ago, at thirty-three years old, I found him and confronted him. I just needed him to know that I was a person. Then I left and I thought that was it. He left me all his money and possessions when he died, a very wealthy man. No other children or family.”
“And your mother?”
“The money helped me afford finally to make life easy for her.”
“You know,” I sniffled. “You’re right. And this is not about not telling Fergie. It’s about how to do it. This is the most meaningful thing I have ever had to tell someone and I don’t know how.”
“I just want to make sure you tell him soon. It’s eating you up and you don’t know it. You need to be healthy for the baby.”
That was the first time I had heard that word used out loud to describe the person who was starting to give me such heartburn. I rubbed my stomach.
“You must call him.”
“I told you, I don’t know what to say. No, I don’t know how to say it.” I started crying again. Derek stopped pacing and looked at me.
“Look here. Do you have an email address for him?”
“I do.”
“You’re a writer.”
“Don’t you think that’s an odd way to tell a person he’s going to be a father?”
“Better than waiting around wondering how to do it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“You’ll at least think about it?”
“He’ll be back next week.”
“My point, which you seem to be missing is, what if he doesn’t come back? What if something happens? Doesn’t he deserve at least the same pleasure as you have in knowing about this new life? And the same right to make decisions?”
“You can be quite eloquent and compelling. I’d like to see you in court sometime.”
Derek held out his hand for me and I took it. We walked up toward the big cats. He didn’t let go of my hand, and I didn’t pull it away. The clouds continued to gather and the sky got darker and darker still. The wind picked up and the animals all seemed to grow louder, as though they were energized by the clean air and the cool wind. Derek and I were quieter, possibly both weighed down by my confession. Derek commented on the yellow python as being Harry Potter-like as we walked into the reptile house. The snake seemed to be asleep but opened his big green eyes and flicked his tongue in our direction. We went into the newly dedicated bird enclosure, another story I had covered, but I had forgotten that birds in that area were allowed to fly free, so we both dodged small diving birds as we scurried out. But I don’t think we really were paying attention to the animals. I was thinking about Derek, not Fergie. For the first time, some of Derek’s past was available to me. Maybe it was the maternal hormones, but I wanted to make him happier somehow. And Derek, what was he thinking about? Our friendship? When we heard the first rumble of thunder, we raced to the car and ended up at a steakhouse.
All of a sudden, babyworld was everywhere. We walked in and were met by several high chairs lined up against the wall. I stared at them. Derek was looking at me. We were seated and across the room from us was a young couple with a baby in a high chair. I tried to concentrate on the menu, but Cheerios were flying in the air and making a circle around the feet of the high chair.
“What’re you having? I recommend red meat for pregnant women. Especially pale ones. Sure you’re not anemic?” Derek said.
“Well, Cheerios don’t look so good,” I said, nodding in the direction of the baby. “Actually I’m quite hungry. Telling you my horrible secret must’ve boosted my appetite.”
“Glad I could be of service. Would you like the eight or sixteen ounce?”
“I’ll go with the bigger one and take some home.”
We ordered and I passed on Derek’s offer of a beer. I remembered the baby book about mommy nutrition that I was reading and dutifully ordered milk. However, I quickly found out that milk, which I knew I should drink more of now, and steak didn’t go well.
“Think I could have a ginger ale?” I asked. “I know that colas have too much caffeine, so I have to be careful how much I drink.”
Derek hailed the waiter. “There’s a lot to know about being pre
gnant, isn’t there? I suppose I’ll have to get up to speed as well. Never experienced an up close and personal pregnancy before. Usually I just show up for the christening and a party.”
“There has to be a christening? Now I have to worry about that? Could we talk about something else?”
“We can try, but now there will always be the elephant in the room.” Derek looked at me and grinned.
I burst out laughing, happy for the first time in several weeks.
Chapter Ten
Strange Happenings
Later that night I wrote the email and sat there for an hour looking at it.
Hi, Fergie. Hope Australia is all you dreamed it would be. Here, spring is on the way. Is it summer there? I forget which season is which and where.
It’s pretty expensive to call down under and I thought about it, but instead thought I’d tell you my news via email. I guess there’s no clever or easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just out with it. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father. The baby is due in November. I’ll give you a minute to absorb this.
This is why I wasn’t so excited when you announced your good fortune and went on about how we could travel the world together, just you and me.
I’m sorry to be telling you now this way, but I just couldn’t tell anyone for a long time. Only recently have I been able to say those words. For a planner like me, someone who likes to act, not react, I’ve been doing a lot of reacting lately. I wish you were here so we could talk about this and I could see your face.
We’ll talk when you get home but in the meantime, I thought you should know. I miss you. Love, Rita
Reading it over and over again had helped me delete some of my snide Rita remarks and sarcastic asides, because my gut was saying not to go there. Humor doesn’t solve everything, Rita, my gut was saying, you need to be careful with this. This is not all about you, Rita. I proofed it several times and actually, I wanted to wait until morning to proof it once more, but it wasn’t going to say anything different and I kept hearing Derek’s plea. It was ten o’clock in the evening my time, and God knows what time it was there. I clicked send.
I had time to make the coffee for the next morning, let a teabag steep for three minutes, turn out the kitchen light, turn the furnace down and start up the stairs before my cell phone rang.
I don’t know what planet I was living on, but I hadn’t anticipated anger. In fact, I’d never experienced Fergie angry. I’d never considered we wouldn’t share this experience. As far I was concerned, we were bonded now.
“What were you thinking?” was not what I expected. There was a coldness in his voice that frightened me
“What was I thinking? Oh, and it’s good to hear your voice, too.” I felt hot and clammy at the same time. I sat down on the top step.
“You’re pregnant? You said you were using something. And you knew this when I told you my news and you didn’t tell me? And what man wants to get an email saying he is going to be a father? I’ll tell you I thought you were joking. Or maybe it was a typo, maybe that I was going to be farther is what you meant. But I know how you proofread everything.”
Now I was firmly on the defensive, a place I abhor. So I was getting angry back.
My voice sounded surprisingly cold as well. “I was using something but….”
“We’re not even long-term committed.”
“I know. But….”
“Rita.”
“Fergie. This isn’t something I intended to happen. But now we have to decide how we are going to deal with this.”
“Rita. They’re talking about a year abroad. Photo essays in national publications and coffee table books, for Christ’s sake. This is my time. And I hoped it would be our time.”
I didn’t say anything, so he continued.
“I’m disappointed. I thought we’d be together and have this great adventure and you’d write about it and I’d take the photos and we’d be together.”
I still said nothing.
“Okay, put yourself in my place. What if you were on the verge of getting an agent and publishing the novel you had worked on for years?” he continued. “What would your reaction be if I announced something like this? Say something.”
The “something like this” got to me. I felt the lump in my throat growing as I tried not to cry. “This is not a novel. This is a life,” I said.
“I can’t talk about this now. I thought I could, but I can’t,” Fergie said in a quiet controlled voice, the way he talked when he was trying to hold it together.
“Tell me you believe that I didn’t plan this. Sometimes things just happen and you have to look for the ‘why’ of that. Like you getting this grant. Derek says...”
“Oh. Oh. The dwarf knows before the father knows?’ he said, not so quietly. “What does that say?”
Oh, no. Oh, my God. How stupid could I be? What was I thinking? How could I have let that slip out? My cheeks were burning with embarrassment and I said something that I never would have said under more sane circumstances.
“Just tell me, what do you expect me to do?”
Then I feared what he would say. That maybe I should have an—no, I can’t even say it. Or give it up for—no, not that either. I realized then I had only one option, with or without Fergie.
“I’ve got to go,” Fergie said and he hung up. Slammed the phone down might be a more descriptive way of saying it. His voice echoed across the satellite beams, or whatever they are called, and faded into silence.
I was left sitting on the top step, holding a cup of cold herbal tea and cursing first Derek for suggesting the email, then myself for following his stupid advice. Okay, so maybe all this boiled down to “not a good time” for Fergie. At least now I’d made up my mind. It was the “something like this” that did it. “Something like this” was a miracle. I surprised myself by not delving into the “why me” closet in my brain and instead moving to the “meant to be” area. It was an area of my brain that used to shut down in self defense when my more mystical friends irritatingly attributed many events to the configuration of the sun, moon and stars, or the lines on their palms, or the leaves left in their morning cups of fresh-brewed, not bagged, tea.
I wasn’t tired anymore and was too upset to go to bed. I went back downstairs, put on some water for some fresh tea and filled the tea-infuser with some anti-stress concoction Boss had given me for my birthday. I usually drank wine while evaluating my options, but now I was approximately six and a half months from my next glass.
Leaning on the kitchen counter, I thought, “Well, okay.” I could tell people now. I was having it regardless of “him,” which was the way I would now refer to Fergie. I could tell my mother. My sister. Not sure of the reaction there. Boss. Before I told her I would have to have a plan for dealing with the work angle during and after, because I would have to work. I was counting on Fergie for nothing. It was possible I would never see him again.
I poured the water in the cup and watched it slowly color with the brownish green of the tea.
The two of us. Fergie and Rita. He had seen us as a couple. Maybe he would come around to the idea of us as parents. Still, after that phone call I didn’t have any inkling that would happen. And now I didn’t care. How could I have thought I loved a man who wouldn’t want his baby, who wouldn’t think about it tenderly or think about me in a caring way? Didn’t ask about how I was feeling, mentally or physically? I wasn’t there alone when this happened. It takes two, baby, I thought.
“I don’t love you and I don’t want you,” I said out loud. “Stay in Australia. Stay there and cuddle with your stupid genius grant.”
And then I wondered what the consequences would be. What would that mean for me and the baby?
What if there is not both a husband and a father, at least at the start? Well, I guess there always is a father, the sperm part of the equation, but the husband? When does the father become a husband? Is it when the two of you are sitting in your suburban breakfast nook lo
oking out at your deck, smiling at each other? Is that when you realize you want to have a life together? Or is it when you, the woman, realize you are pregnant, and you have the guts to tell the man in person, not with an email? I knew one thing as I sipped the tea and rubbed the small leaf bits that escaped the infuser from my lips. As of now, I was not including Fergie in my life, my baby’s life, or in any of my plans, whatever they ended up being.
If I were writing my novel, the Prologue is where I was before Fergie knew. Now I’m into Chapter One, with the acknowledgments and the rest of the book left to be written.
I was energized by my decision making and even though it was nearly eleven o’clock, I called Derek. He didn’t answer and I was in his voice mail before I knew it. Being now technology shy, having goofed admirably with emailing Fergie, I equivocated about leaving a message at all. Then I was thinking about what message I should leave. Then I heard the beep indicating that option was no longer available. I hung up thinking that life was much easier when communication was face-to-face. The phone rang.
“Caller ID,” said Derek, “is a wonderful thing.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, now caught somewhat off guard.
“I could use some company,” I said, trying not to sound as pathetic as I felt.
“You’ve told him then.”
“Uh, huh,” I had that lump again and could only make faint unintelligible sounds or I would be sorry.
“I’ll be right over?” It was half a question and half a statement. I made a sound which he took for yes, I guess.
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