I pointed.
“Your father was kind of absent from your early life, too, so busy with his career, his writing, his books. Maybe even his other women.” Jen and I both tried to contain our gasps.
“Yes, I’m not kidding myself,” Mom continued. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this and now, after all these years, I can say maybe we weren’t the best for each other.”
Jen and I tried protesting, but Mom waved us off. “You know things. You see things. You try to ignore things. The Mrs. Clark episode was just the final straw. I’ve been happy without him, and he without me. But as I said, babies put a lot of things in perspective. Rita, honey, I know your father’s leaving was horrible for you, but now that you are having a child of your own, maybe you can forgive him, just a little. He is your father and I wrote him a note about the baby. I expect he’d like a chance to be part of this new family.”
I was shocked to hear her say that and grabbed my stomach as if to protect Rudy from this possibility.
“Just consider it. To speak in your terms, this is a whole new chapter in the book of your life. Can’t you write in another character?”
Jen rubbed my back and nodded her head and I felt outnumbered. I didn’t want to go shopping anymore.
At this point, a horn beeped outside and Jen went to the window. “Ramona’s here.”
My mother knelt down in front of me and put her hands on my belly, at which point Rudy dutifully gave a little thump. Mom kissed my stomach and looked up at my teary face with her teary eyes.
“Just consider it,” she said.
After Mom left, Jen and I sat there in silence.
“What was that?” Jen said.
“Tell me you didn’t know about this.”
“No, really. Honestly. Truly.” She crossed her heart. “She said she wanted to see you and visit Ramona. What am I going to do? Give her the third degree?”
“I guess not.”
“She’s got a point, you know. You’re not considering Dad in this equation. You haven’t said a thing about telling him.”
“Gee, could that be because, of all the things I have to think about, this is one I can do without? And, I sure don’t feel like shopping now,” I added.
“Oh, come on. Shopping always makes us happy, remember?”
She was right, and we got ready to go.
“We’re going to an actual maternity store this time and you are getting at least one good-looking suit or dress for special or business occasions,” she said. “You can’t pin together everything you own until November.”
Jen was like that; everything had to be perfect, and I was glad she was the one with those genes.
At the mall, we strolled from store to store. “Is every maternity store named ‘Mother-to-be’ or ‘Motherhood’?” I asked. I felt petulant and bloated.
“Just about,” Jen said cheerfully. She could still push through clothes on a rack faster than anyone. She was holding up pastel prissy dresses with lace and frills. I was going for the navy, gray, black, even dark green because it was good with my eyes. But it was nearly summer and there weren’t many clothes in my colors. I did find a green jumper, last fall’s for sure, but I grabbed it. There was a black pant suit which would be good for the September interviews and parties. A couple of coordinating tops, short and long sleeve, all solid color, no daisies as Jen kept pushing on me, and I was done.
“I have to buy you this,” Jen said. “A present. People in Europe wear these all the time. I’ve seen it on TV.”
She held up a pair of denim overalls with elastic sides.
“As long as there are no daisies,” I said. She poked me in the stomach and smiled.
We went to lunch like we used to do when we were kids. By that I mean, we ate hot dogs, french fries and cokes, not the salad and low fat, or no fat dressing that had become our staple now. It felt good being with Jen. As we ate and chatted, I noticed there was ketchup on the side of her mouth and a little mustard in her short, bobbed, recently-colored blonde hair. She’s a woman who likes tailored things and always looked well put together. Coordinates, suits, skirts, capri pants and tops, she always bought them together, at the same time. They matched. I bought my things relying on my memory of what I already had in the closet.
But all that aside, I noticed there was this family thing I was developing. These people who loved me and whom I had lived far from for the past eight or so years, were now so important to me. Even their foibles were less irritating—well, somewhat less irritating. Maybe Mom’s rose-colored glasses were contagious.
“There’s mustard in your hair,” I said.
“Had you thought about telling Dad about the baby?’ Jen asked. She pulled out a pocket mirror to see where the mustard was.
“Never even considered it.”
“Another grandchild. He should know.”
“Remember, you are the one who always does the right thing.”
“You really should get this chip off. We’re adults now. Can’t you understand when a person needs to move on?”
“When it’s Dad, no.” I was thinking when it’s my child’s father, also, no.
Jen read my mind. “And Fergie, what do you hear from him?”
“Nada.”
“Odd. I gave him more credit.”
“I think there’s something I, we, don’t know. I get the feeling. You know, I blame that goddamned mistletoe for this whole situation. If he hadn’t kissed me that night...”
“None of this would’ve happened,” she finished for me. “Not buying that. You are forgetting the meant-to-be quality in the universe.”
“I’ve been doing some reading,” she continued. “And,” she leaned forward, looking around us. “I had my palm read.”
“And you did this why?”
“Living in my world is boring. Kids, school committees, husband’s work parties, soccer games. Enough is enough. I went to a psychic fair and my eyes were opened. I highly recommend it. Of course, my husband would not agree. Sam’s psyche is closed to all the possibilities. He doesn’t see the colors. His world is drab.”
I sensed trouble here. If you are Jen, your world works better harmoniously, I don’t care what the palmist says.
“So how are things in your family’s world?”
“A bit rocky.”
“Elaborate, please.”
“Sam is clueless and the kids think I am wigging out, as they put it.”
“And?”
“And, I strongly feel it is right now for me to be looking inward. I’ve spent so much time looking out, at what other people need. There is more out there for us, Rita. I feel it.”
“Are you talking like, other worlds, UFOs, things like that?”
“I’m talking more a confluence of time and space, and of events that all lead toward one important realization about one’s place on earth. My place.”
At least she was talking about earth, not space, but she was scaring me because she was using the kind of words I normally use, confluence and the like.
“Just remember, things happen for a reason,” she said, much too mysteriously. I wondered what was in the cola.
Another of life’s ironies was that over this hot dog and french fry extravaganza, I, normally the freer spirit of the two of us, was feeling like the homebody, the caretaker, and Jen was out there.
Derek would say I was nesting.
We finished up at the mall and Jen dropped me off with my packages and something to think about.
I threw my bags on the couch and laid my head back for a minute. Nesting. Theoretically and according to the baby books, it was too early for me to be nesting. I guess that happens closer to the time of delivery. But I already was cleaning up things, moving things around, making room for a crib, changing table and rocking chair in what I had been lovingly referring to as the “black hole” of my second bedroom upstairs.
The next day’s bad news began when the doorbell rang way too early. The good news was it was Dere
k with one decaf latte for me, one double espresso for him and two low-fat blueberry muffins the size of grapefruits. He’d volunteered to help me ready the baby’s room. I let him in and staggered upstairs to exchange my bathrobe for sweats and a stretched out t-shirt.
“Well, you look ready for anything,” he said, with his dry British wit. He had set up the coffees and muffins on the table with napkins and glasses of juice.
“You might be sorry you wore that black polo shirt,” I said. “There’s dust.” I broke off part of the muffin and popped it in my mouth. “Oh, my God, these are good. Not from Gracie’s, right?”
“Found a new place. I was on my way to Gracie’s but I rolled down the car window and smelled muffins, followed the smell and ended up at Leo’s Bakery. These were the smallest two muffins I could find. I figured we’d need fortification.” I was chewing the heavenly crusty muffin top with big chunks of sugar, so he continued. “Honestly, I like things to be neat, but cleaning really isn’t my thing. You’re lucky I like you.”
“Guess I’m one lucky woman,” I said, and I wondered if he knew I really meant that.
“Eat up so we can get cracking.”
“How did all this stuff accumulate?” Derek asked about three hours later. He held up a lava lamp and a poster of Mick Jagger.
“College dorm room stuff I thought I would always want to have around me?”
“And now?” Derek said. He set the lamp down on the table and looked at it with distaste.
“Actually some people still use the lamps for a funky bedroom look or something. I saw one on the home decorating channel the other night.”
“But to you. Does it mean something to you?” Derek asked. “I try to surround myself with items that are significant to me in some way. Otherwise, why bother dragging things around with you from place to place? People should feel guilty keeping things they never see or think about.”
I was emptying a large plastic bin of stuffed animals I hadn’t looked at in years. Their fur or fleece or whatever they were made of was all mashed down and I didn’t really recognize any as friends I couldn’t live without. Except for one. Of course, it was one that my father had given me, a small brown bear in a red polka-dot pinafore, very worn out from receiving toddler hugs, being slept with and cuddled in elementary school arms and thrown across the room in teenage fits of pique. I would never give this to my own child, too germy and used looking, but I knew I could never get rid of it, either. I tried to put it aside and proceeded on to the next animal, a yellow autograph dog. But my thoughts did not proceed.
I grabbed the bear and held it up for Derek to see. “I remember my dad giving me Miss Barbara Bear because I was afraid of the dark,” I said.
“Looks like she’s had a lot of use,” he said. “Can you say ‘dog-eared’ about a bear?”
“I think so. This bear was my caretaker. My dad bought her for me on one of his business trips to Washington. He was a journalist, you know, traveled a lot.”
“Actually, I didn’t know.”
I sat down on the fold-out couch I kept for visitors.
“Go on. I need a break. We both do.” Derek sat down next to me, wiping dust from his hands and shirt.
“Well, anyway, the story went, relayed to me by others because I was too young to remember, that my father had told me she was a girl bear with strong powers and when I hugged her tight, she would scare off bad dreams and things that bumped and creaked in our old house at night. I always would be skittish and afraid when he wasn’t there.”
“Smart of your father to give you a strategy for not being afraid. And a talisman to help as well.”
I nodded my head. I continued looking directly at Miss Barbara Bear.
“What you also don’t know, really no one knew, is that Miss Barbara Bear was the one I would run to whenever he and Mom argued, and again and again after he moved out. And when my mother went to throw away Dad’s purple chair, probably because she couldn’t stand the sight of it, I begged for it with the bear in my arms, tears streaming down my face, and Mom couldn’t deny 12-year-old me anything that would make me stop crying. So now I have the chair, you’ve seen that purple chair, in my office, as a thinking and editing chair, where I can channel the good parts I remember, and things that maybe someday I can appreciate about my father.”
“Well, then. I think Miss Barbara is a no-guilt keeper,” he said. He rubbed my back.
I felt tears welling up.
“Are you going to cry?” he said. “Does this require a hug?”
“Yes. And yes,” I said.
Derek hugged me awkwardly at first, from the side, where he had been rubbing. Then I turned toward him and it became a proper hug, cheek to cheek, body to body.
“Some things don’t go away,” he said.
I sniffled. “Guess not. And when I think about you and your absent father. And now Rudy and her probably absent father. How do we make it?”
“Rita.” Derek gave me one more squeeze and held me away from him. “The point is, we do what we have to do to make it. Don’t feel you are alone. You have family and friends who love you. And then you have me. Look at me. I’m here on a Saturday when I could be doing Lord knows what else, but I choose to be here with you and the person in your belly, readying her world for the day she decides to say hello.”
I looked at him with tears running down my cheeks. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a monogrammed linen handkerchief.
“Who even uses those anymore?” I sniffed, and reached for it.
He wiped my cheek and handed me the hankie.
“Your dedicated admirer.”
“Oh, of course,” I said and kissed him, on impulse, on the lips. We both jumped off the couch and continued with the business at hand—cleaning.
I was thinking about our father situations—all three of us—Rudy, Derek and me, after Derek had left and I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, Miss Barbara Bear beside me.
I googled “father.” For Fergie, there were a few legitimate descriptors and one choice name. Natural father, biological father, birth father all fit. Absent father was the choice name, meaning a father who cannot or will not spend time with his child—my word, his choice. I wouldn’t want him as a present father, I knew that now, but Fergie and I would be connected around things related to our daughter, I knew that, too, and would have to get used to it. Then there was Derek who often was acting like I thought a father-to-be should act, helping me, supporting me, just being with me. For him, there were legitimate descriptors as well, if I wanted to go there, and I found I did want to go there. There was social father, a man who takes defacto responsibility for a child, and there was second father, defined as a non-parent whose contact is frequent enough and of such quality that near parental bonding occurs.
I could see that bonding happening, as Derek and I were spending more and more time together. I looked forward to and found joy being with him, in watching his attitude toward the world, so different than mine. I took things in the world for granted, but he often viewed it as a place of challenge. Everything was too high, too big, too hard, and every day he had to deal with that. Hence the chip, for which he infrequently apologized, and for which I always forgave him, before he even mentioned it. He sometimes stopped by my office, and even Boss was becoming charmed, I could see.
“If only he weren’t so short,” she sighed once, in as close to a swoon as I have seen her, my comp case having been settled to her satisfaction by his law firm.
“It works both ways,” I said.
“But ‘normal’ is the norm, if you don’t mind my defining a word by using the word,” she said. “You know, I’ve seen things about dwarfs having their limbs extended. He could practically be James Bond if he were taller. That accent. Those eyes.”
Yes, Derek’s legs and arms were short. But, in his own way, he was a prize. Now I saw that better than ever before and could have said that, if I wanted to share so much, which I didn’t. When we were toge
ther, the size issue could disappear and often did, until something brought it zooming back to the fore.
For example, one night I talked him into taking me to a chick flick. He preferred independent films at Bridgefield’s only art house theater and I enjoyed those as well, but this time, I really needed mindless drivel, so there we sat watching several sets of actors and actresses at various times make love in various places.
Since the movie lacked a good storyline, I had let my mind wander and I imagined myself one of the actresses and suddenly I imagined Derek as one of the actors. It was dark, thank God, because I knew I was blushing, imagining how it would be, making love with Derek.
Suddenly, he looked over at me.
“What?” he whispered.
I shook my head.
“I’m feeling something from you,” he continued. “Are you okay?”
“It’s all this romance,” I whispered back. “After finding out I was pregnant, I never thought I’d want to make love again. But my hormones must be in high gear because for some reason, it looks compelling.”
“Compelling? Is that what you’d call it?” He glanced around at the people around us. They were looking irritated. “We’ll have to talk later,” he said.
As he always did, he opened the door for me as we left the theater, and I was aware of people looking at us. It had happened many times before and usually I just ignored it, but that night was different. Then we walked over to the ice cream place with the service counter and window and Derek asked me what I wanted. He stepped up to the window and stood on his tiptoes to get the attention of the teenager inside.
“Two waffle cones, one vanilla with sprinkles, one chocolate without,” he said and handed money up to the girl. She giggled but he acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“What?” he asked again, joining me on the bench with our cones. “I’m getting these curious vibes from you tonight.”
“It’s about our sizes,” I said. “People were looking at us again, and usually I don’t even pick up on it, but tonight….”
“Forgive me if I am treading on thin ice, as you Yanks say, but let’s cut to the chase, as you also say. Is this about all the lovemaking in the movie? Is that what’s got you thinking?”
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