“Half an hour then.”
I hung up and cried. Because now I felt unattached. Without any encouragement from “him,” I had many decisions and plans to make, on my own. In my other life, I could do those things—decisions and plans were my everyday sustenance. But with this life in me, this fantastic new life, this Chapter One—I wasn’t sure.
Now I actually did feel tired, but some things had to happen before Derek arrived. Lose the dressing gown and put on something nicer. Throw the underwear in the hamper. Use the dust mop on the dust mites in the corners of the living room. Scoop up the pile of old newspapers and mail and dump it in the recycle box. Hurry with the dishes in the cold greasy water. I was wiping my hands on a dishtowel when the doorbell rang.
He wore black jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He walked in and began to look around in a way that reminded me he really hadn’t been inside my condo before. I was glad I had changed from my favorite, but frumpy, dressing gown into oatmeal-colored capri pants with a drawstring waist, which conveniently I already owned, and a black t-shirt.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “Want some tea? Beer? Wine?” I gestured to the living area.
“Bourbon?”
“Scotch?”
“That’ll do.”
I put the kettle on for more tea water and got the ice for his drink. I reached under the counter for the scotch and was about to wipe the dust off the bottle when I saw he was leaning against the archway watching me.
“What?” I said.
“How are you?” he asked.
Upset. Sad. Floundering. Definitely let down and pissed off was what I wanted to say.
“Okay,” I said.
“Right. I don’t run over here at the drop of a hat, coming to your apartment for the very first time with only 30 minutes notice late on a Friday night because you’re okay.”
“He wasn’t happy. This isn’t the right time for him. His career is taking off. This will be in the way. Plus, I don’t think the email was a good idea.”
“You know, I did have second thoughts about suggesting that,” he said.
“Terrific.”
“Well, in the scheme of things, it seemed like your best option.”
“I’m not sure things would have been different anyway,” I replied. “You know, we hadn’t committed to anything long term. Fergie pointed that out very clearly. I can’t imagine this making that more plausible.”
Derek was just studying me, well, you know how when you say studying, and you mean looking carefully at. No, this was more than that. It was a deep soul-searching look and I wasn’t liking it. I felt he could see everything I wasn’t saying. I handed him his drink, went into the living room and sat on the couch waiting for the whistle of the tea kettle.
“You’ve been crying, so everything can’t be all right,” he said.
“Damn. Do you know everything?”
“A good lawyer reads faces and heeds signs.”
I watched him settle back on his side of the couch, arms folded, his drink in one hand.
“It’s just that you think you know someone. And then you don’t,” I said.
“There’s always another side to the story, you know.”
“Could you just be a friend for a minute? I don’t need a lawyer.”
“Sorry. Now what do you know for sure about Fergie’s reaction?”
“That he was upset. That he is not happy with me or with this situation and I don’t need anyone who isn’t happy right now.”
“How are you?” Derek asked again.
In fact, I was angry and when I get that way, I slam things. I got up to answer the call of the tea kettle, then as my tea steeped I began breaking things. Derek heard me slam the teacup, kettle, spoon and saucer, the saucer breaking into four absolutely even pieces.
“I see.” He came in the kitchen and helped me with the pieces. “I’ll allow this behavior for a few days but then you have to give it up and get on. Whatever you feel about Fergie, you have other responsibilities now.”
And then very gently, and a bit hesitantly, in a gesture I can only describe as sweet, Derek put his hand on my belly.
Chapter Eleven
Everyone Knows
I got a terse email from Fergie the next day saying that he wasn’t coming right home, that he’d been invited to start a shoot the day he was scheduled to leave and that he had accepted the gig. I wasn’t surprised, but I was upset. I truly felt we needed face time.
Over the next few months I had lots to do. The months of May and June contain many wedding events that the newspaper, mostly Boss, felt obligated to cover. This year, doing the usual vast quantity of bride interviews and society columns for daughters and sons of supporters and big wheels in the community was depressing me. Not that I had thought I wanted to be married, but now with a baby in the mix and all, this kind of togetherness looked better. Thinking about Fergie made it worse.
Of all the things I couldn’t have predicted, this was the most surprising—I had not heard a word from him in several weeks now. I know he had said it was our time, but maybe it was becoming more his time now. With each passing day, I got angrier and more resentful, which meant more things broke in my apartment. So far this had not carried over to work.
I had told my mother about the baby the day I felt it move. It was just a hiccup of a movement, just the way the baby books describe it, but my books said this was worth waiting for and they were right. That first movement and feeling of life gave me the impression of the baby all of a sudden waking up, like Snow White, stretching and wondering where she was.
Maybe only mothers-to-be or mothers will understand this, but when I felt the baby move for the first time, I was sure it was a girl and I named her Rudy.
I wasn’t going to trust email with important information again, possibly ever, so I decided to call my mom. She’d be sitting at the kitchen table with her after-dinner coffee, leafing through the Sunday advertisements as was her Sunday evening ritual. I knew she’d wonder what was wrong, since I had not called on Saturday, my normal “call home” night. Or she’d think something was right, like I was telling her I was getting married or something. I knew she was waiting for that. When I told her about the baby, that would be a shocker. She’d take a minute to think about that news. I hoped she would support me and hate Fergie, but I wasn’t sure. Of course, I’d have to tell her about Fergie’s apparent disinterest and then she’d be worried, concerned, but happy at the thought of another grandchild, even potentially a fatherless one. Absent fathers were something we both knew a great deal about.
The phone rang a few times, long enough to get me really nervous, before she picked up.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”
“Honey, why didn’t you call last night? What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s the matter. I have good news.” And now, suddenly, I thought a pre-emptive strike was better, so I rushed ahead and said. “I’m pregnant.”
There was the expected moment of silence, then “Oh, my God,” she shrieked. “Oh, my God. You’re pregnant. You two must be so happy.”
I told her about the baby moving, how far pregnant I was, that I thought it was a girl, that I had named her. And then I told her about Fergie.
“Oh, honey.” Her voice was softer and there was a little pause then, as if she were trying to convince us both. “Oh, he’ll come around. He was just shocked that’s all. He’ll come back from his trip ready to be a father and a husband—you’ll see.”
I wondered where my mother got the rose-colored glasses all of a sudden. She hadn’t had them on for many years now, since I was 12 actually. Since my father took his books and left.
“Who else have you told? Who can I tell?”
“You can tell Jennie.” I figured that her telling my sister was better than me telling her.
“I have yet to tell the people at work. The only other person who knows, besides you and Fergie, is my friend, Derek.”
“And this Derek. Who’s he?”
“Oh someone I met through work. Just a friend.”
“Oh, honey, I expected more from Fergie. He was so great here at Christmas.”
“Yes, but then he was the boyfriend, not the father-to-be.”
“Well, there is a difference. You’re right.” Here was another pause.
“I’ve so been waiting for you to have someone, someone you can trust and love and rely on. Someone different….” She sounded weepy
“Than Dad?”
“Oh, yes. There were times after we were married when I wondered what I had done. All I wanted was someone to love and trust and rely on, but those things were not your father’s strong suit. I mean, he loved you kids, but over time, he and I… Well, now’s not the time for this. It’s all about you and the joy of having Rudy.”
“Yeah, Mom, you’ve never really told us about you and Dad.”
“And it’s not happening now, either. Just know that if Fergie is not going to be there for you, don’t try to force it. It’s the best advice I can give about love.” Her voice had gotten softer and softer yet. Tears were rolling down my cheeks.
“But baby advice? I’ve got lots of that. Oh, we’ll have such fun!” she cooed.
We went on to plan a weekend when we would meet at a mall halfway between us for a shopping spree. In the meantime, she’d hit some garage sales. Mom was always happier when she had a plan.
“Rudy and I both love you, Mom,” I said, feeling warm and loved by her delightful, bubbly laugh. I hung up, happy to share this with her. I also was glad that even though she didn’t hate Fergie, at least she did seem more on my side than his.
The next day, I braved Boss. I asked her to take a break and go for coffee with me. I knew she’d be suspicious because I’d never done that before, but I didn’t want to tell her in front of Felicia and Bill.
“Oh, God. You’re quitting.” She leaned her head dramatically against the wall behind our table in the coffee shop. She actually bumped her head, grimaced, and tried to rub it nonchalantly. “And I can’t offer you any more money right now. Maybe in the fall. Can you hang on until then?”
This would have been a great moment to negotiate for something, but I was focused on Rudy.
“I’m pregnant,” I said. “Due in November.”
“How terrific!” She stopped rubbing her head and grabbed my arm in an uncharacteristic show of, well, something. “Does this mean you are not quitting?”
“It means I’ll need a job to support her and I like it where I am for now.”
“It’s a girl? You know it’s a girl? Great!”
“I just feel like it’s a girl. I supposed I’ll have to have an ultrasound at some point and they will want to tell me. I’m calling her Rudy for now.”
“And Fergie? It is Fergie, isn’t it?”
I gave her a look that made her look sheepish. First time I had ever seen that.
“He must be ecstatic,” Boss said.
“He’s a little less than that,” I said.
Her eyebrows rose a bit and continued to do so as I told her the story of Fergie and it being his time.
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s how he sees it. And I didn’t expect him to be all pissed off. I’ve never even seen him frown, let alone get angry like he was.”
“Men. How the hell can we figure anything out about them?” And she proceeded to expound about what strategies she used.
I tuned out, sipped my decaf coffee and thought about Derek. For the first time, I wondered what his reaction would be in a similar situation.
Chapter Twelve
Fathers
After I told Boss, the word spread. People I worked with and even folks peripheral to work, like the UPS guy, congratulated me. I basked in the glow of good feeling that the world bestows on women who are with child.
Fergie had called me a few times. The first time, I was using my answering machine to screen calls and I screened him out. After two months, I was still hurting from his cool response to our—to my—news.
“Call me back,” he said. “Like to know how you’re doing.”
But I didn’t call him. His voice was different, detached, and I didn’t like it. It was not a voice the father of Rudy should have. If I had picked up the phone, I might have used a voice that the mother of Rudy should not use. It would have been blaming and defensive and distant. And that’s just how I felt.
I was home, sitting on the couch proofreading while absently curling the afghan’s fringes around my fingers, the second time he called. I answered the phone automatically and immediately regretted it.
“It’s me,” he said. “How are you?”
“Okay.”
“Look. I’ve been thinking. There’s no reason why we can’t still be friends.”
“Really,” I said. “I can think of one big and a hundred small ones.”
“Give me a chance here. You’ve got to admit that this all started out wrong. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything. Getting used to the idea of being a father is pretty damn hard here all alone and thousands of miles away from you.”
“Women call their soldier husbands all the time, in the desert, on the submarine, to tell them they’re pregnant. Those men deal,” I said.
“Rita, come on. Husband is the key word. And it doesn’t apply. Told you from the start that I’m not good at that. And now especially with a baby on the way. Jesus, I told you….”
“And I told you this wasn’t in my plan either. But sometimes things just happen. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
“I need more time. I’m so busy and it’s so great here, I….”
“You what? Can’t think about anything else? Can’t get into a head where you might be a husband to me, and a father to the child you helped conceive?”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“You know what? I’ve got to go,” I said. I hung up and grabbed the afghan to wipe my tears.
I hate being conflicted. If only I could just say “good riddance” and move on. But it wasn’t only about me. Fergie was her father. Did I have some obligation to stay with him for her sake? To try to make this work? To give him time? Give him time? The time he needed to what? Decide if he wanted to be involved in his daughter’s life?
The more I thought about him, the more questions I had, and the fewer answers. He said he needed more time, and I hadn’t responded favorably. Maybe I could give him some more time without him knowing it. I could just wait and see what transpired. I could do that for a while, but at some point, we both had to decide. He needed to decide if he could be a present father and I had to decide if I wanted him to be that. I was pretty sure husband was out of the question.
There really was no one I could talk to about this. If I tried to talk to my mom, she used her “Oh, honey, he’ll come around” line. My sister was stuck on, “You’re better off without him.” Derek steered clear of the subject, which I both appreciated and resented. So, I talked to myself just about every afternoon. The thing is, I didn’t know how to counsel myself. Therapy was seeming like a better idea all the time.
It was interesting though, that no one really asked about the father. Even those who knew Fergie weren’t asking. That’s the positive value of gossip, I guess. The word had gotten around that talk of Fergie was off limits. Even people who used to ask me how he was, how the grant was going, stopped mentioning his name.
Fergie didn’t call me often and he never emailed, and during the months we’d been together, we’d seen or talked to each other nearly daily. It was lonely without him, but my growing gut feeling, no pun intended, was that there was something I didn’t know about Fergie that was a big part of this silence. I thought about hiring a detective but I didn’t know a good gumshoe, let’s face it, any gumshoe, and I didn’t have the money, so I gave up on that.
I was feeling pretty good and although Rudy was developing on schedule, I wasn�
��t showing a lot yet. I could get away with some baggy tops and elastic waist pants for everyday, but when I had to get dressed up, I had nothing that fit. All those svelte businesswoman suits with skirts I had accumulated made me feel like a stuffed sausage. There’s this thing I found that you can buy to wrap around your belly so that you can wear your own clothes as long as possible. It’s like a big, wide rubber band and I couldn’t see how that could possibly be comfortable for the little one inside, so at first I rejected that. Finally, my sister insisted on a shopping spree so I could see all the latest maternity jazz.
She drove up from Pennsylvania but she didn’t come alone. She brought my mom.
I gave Jen a look over my mother’s shoulder as we hugged. “She wanted to come,” Jen mouthed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, honey, I just wanted to see you. And feel the baby move. It’s such an exciting time and you have no one…”
“Mom, I do have someone. I have you and Jen and plenty of good friends who care about me,” I said. And I realized I did. And how important that all was. And I got all teary.
Mom put her arm around me and walked me into the condo. “Let’s have some tea,” she said. “Don’t worry. I won’t horn in. I know you want to go shopping together, and I’m planning to visit Aunt Ramona anyway.”
She sat Jen and I down at the kitchen table and filled the tea kettle. She began opening and shutting cupboards looking for tea and mugs.
“I think babies put a lot of things in perspective,” she began in that voice that I knew meant we were going to talk.
“For women, it’s not about ‘me’ anymore, it’s about ‘us.’ I know that sounds old school, but it’s still to some extent true.” She stopped and looked at me. I pointed to the cabinet with the cups in it.
She took out some mugs.
“No matter how much the man says, ‘we’re pregnant,’ it’s not him who gets up three times a night to pee or whose favorite outfits become uncomfortable first, and then unwearable. And, honey, you don’t even have that man to pretend to be in it with you. The teabags are where?”
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