“Fuck, I’ll have to iron another goddamn blouse. I don’t have time for this, I haven’t even done my hair.”
Pushing the blanket to the end of the couch with my feet, I rose up and said what any decent friend would have under the circumstances. “I’ll iron for you. I’ve got to get up anyway, I start at Zoë’s office today.”
Even though I wasn’t scheduled to start until noon, I wanted to get out of my couch-induced rut, and that meant getting up at a decent time and being a real grown up.
Jen stopped dabbing at her blouse with the damp tea towel long enough to look at me. “Oh yeah, sorry I forgot about your new job. That’s cool. Are you sure you don’t mind ironing for me?”
Actually, I was happy to do anything that would get my mind off my incessant first-day jitters. Before I had a chance to answer her, Jen was on her way back to her bedroom, presumably to get a new blouse.
I pulled down the ironing board from its cabinet in the kitchen and plugged the iron into the socket behind the kettle. Giving it a few minutes to heat up, I went back into the living room to turn on the TV so I could get the day’s weather; November had been very unpredictable so far.
Blouse in hand, Jen returned topless, except for her lacy designer bra; the kind I had abandoned long ago for utilitarian support and comfort. Thankfully, Dave had never been the lingerie type. Whatever underwear I was wearing, be it silk, satin or plain old cotton, just proved to be an unfortunate obstacle as far as he was concerned.
“I really appreciate this. Someday I will get this morning thing down. Fuck. I am so useless.” She smirked at me, her voice having returned to a more normal pitch.
I took the blouse and turned towards the kitchen. “Oh, um, by the way, I’m moving out.” I blurted out over my shoulder, the words falling out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying.
Jen followed me into her tiny galley kitchen. “Huh?”
I pulled the blouse taut over the ironing board, using the activity to avoid looking my friend in the eye. “I think I need to settle into my own place. I’m going to start looking for an apartment.”
Jen looked like she’d just been picked last for a team in grade five gym class. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”
By rights Jen should have been relieved; we were tripping over each other and I knew I was totally cramping her style. But we’d done some pretty intense girlfriend bonding and I had never felt so close to her. It was going to be hard for both of us, but it was time. I needed a place of my own.
I shook my head. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…I need to find my own place.”
“Is it because you saw Seth and I doing it the other night?”
I blinked to try to erase the recent and horrific memory of my friend bouncing enthusiastically on top of her sometime boyfriend. No such luck: that image would be forever burned into my memory. Served me right for needing to use the bathroom at two-thirty in the morning.
“No it’s not that, but I do appreciate you closing your bedroom door since then.” I rolled my eyes.
Jen snorted. “It’s the least I can do, especially since you’re such a prude.”
I had never considered myself a prude but some things were just not meant to be seen: a friend having noisy and very animated sex definitely topped the list. The only thing worse would be seeing my parents… Okay, it was time to change the topic and fast. “Anyway, no, it’s not that. I just, you know…I think I should be on my own for a bit and to be honest, my back’s been killing me; no offense, but your couch sucks.”
Jen nodded her acceptance as she took the blouse from my outstretched hand.
“Anyway, I just thought I’d give you the heads up.”
“Thanks. I guess you’re probably right, and yeah, the couch hasn’t been the same since me and Seth…oh shit, is that the time?” Jen was looking over my shoulder at the TV. I turned to see the time and current temperature scrolling across the screen. “I’ve gotta go,” she threw the blouse over her shoulders and jogged back to the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts, wondering what acrobatic position her and Seth had attempted on the sofa. Ew.
I unplugged the iron as I contemplated my sudden decision to leave. It just made sense. I needed to move on and the first step to doing that would be getting a place of my own. I had the money and now a new job, so nothing could stop me. Well, nothing other than the pure terror of living alone for the first time in almost a decade.
Chapter 13
“Thanks again for meeting with me,” I said to Zoë over my latte.
She waved me off. “No worries, I had to come in to do a few things anyways. And shit, it’s the least I can do for you on your first day on the job.”
I had called Zoë in a minor panic, my stomach doing flip-flops over my impending first day. I felt stupid, being as nervous as when, as a teenager, I had started my very first job answering phones at Domino’s pizza. It was a lifetime ago, but the memory was still fresh and painful; I had screwed up a lot of orders that first night and had been quite surprised when I still had a job the next day.
Zoë had agreed to meet me at the Starbucks across from the office a half hour before I was scheduled to start.
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me, I feel like I could puke.”
Zoë smirked. “I think it’s cute that you’re so nervous.”
“Fuck off,” I rolled my eyes, failing to see the cuteness of a thirty-something woman getting nervous over a new job.
“Whatever. So tell me what kind of place you’re looking for. Do you want to rent or should I show you some condos?”
I ripped at the croissant in front of me, popping a tiny piece into my mouth before answering. “Nah, I think I should rent for a bit. Let me and Dave figure out what to do with the house before you get me buying new property.” Even the tiny piece of croissant was sitting like a rock in my churning gut. I pushed the rest of the pastry away.
“You should have something of your own, though. You should sell the house and take the money and put it down on a condo or something. It’s a good time.”
My eyebrows headed for the ceiling. “You’re a real estate agent, to you any time is a good time.”
It was her turn to tell me to fuck off. But she knew I was joking; she would never steer me wrong
But talking to her wasn’t helping calm my nerves one bit. My stomach was doing backflips.
“Without committing to anything at all, what do you think my options would be as far as buying something?”
Zoë’s lips pursed as she put her realtor’s hat on. “If you sold the house?”
“Yeah, what do you think the house would be worth?” I checked my watch, still ten minutes before I would have to make my way across the parking lot to the real estate office.
She gave me a number that surprised me.
“Wow, really?” Dave and I had bought the house only four years before and had paid way less than what she was saying it was worth now. I had no idea property values had risen so much.
Zoë nodded. “It’s a great neighborhood, very hot right now. I wouldn’t be too surprised if we got a bidding war on it…you never know in this market.” She shrugged.
“I’ll mention that to Dave.” I took the last swig of my latte and put the cup on the plate next to the half-eaten croissant.
“Does he want to stay in the house?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think he’s really decided just yet but I guess he’s going to have to soon.”
Concern draped Zoë’s face. “And you’re sure you don’t want it?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t live there without Dave.” The nights he went away for business were tortuous, but living there alone would be a million times worse. “No, I could never live there alone.”
“You won’t always be alone, you know.”
Cringing, I thought about my one night stand. My stomach lurched. “I can’t think about that yet. And anyway, I could certainly never live in
that house with another guy.”
Zoë nodded. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. I couldn’t do that either if something happened to Alf.” She paused to look at her phone, checking for e-mails. “So are you guys okay?”
I stuck my arm into my bag, searching for my lipstick so I had an excuse not to look her in the eye. “Yeah, I think so. Or at least, we will be.” I thought about the kiss and how I’d run from the house. “It’s hard, you know? I thought we’d always be together, I thought we were one of the good couples. You know, like those couples who get old together and stop having to talk out loud because they just know.”
“Yeah, I totally thought you were that couple, Vic.” Zoë sighed, “We all did.”
I swiped the lipstick across my mouth and tossed it back into my bag, trying to look casual. “Yeah, well…Anyway, I should get over there.” I grabbed my purse and stood up, slinging the bag over my shoulder. The nausea refused to subside and now tears were threatening to erupt. Great: nothing like making a good impression on your first day of a new job.
Zoë placed her hand on my forearm, communicating her silent support, but she seemed to get the hint that a subject change was in order. “Yeah, let’s go, I’ll give you the royal tour, maybe if you’re lucky, Jim’s not there today.”
* * *
Zoë took me in through the locked back door of the office so she could show me where I would keep my coat and boots. Beyond the back hallway was a little kitchenette with a table. Jim, the manager, was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the huge catering urn that probably held fifty cups. Glancing over at us, a huge (and slightly creepy) smile crept across his face.
He put his mug down on the counter and strode towards me. “Good to have you here, Vicky,” he said as he pumped my hand up and down with his own. “Normally I’d show you around myself but seeing as this month’s top producer is here, she may as well give you the tour.” He nodded and winked at Zoë. Yuck. Although Zoë didn’t seem to mind, her smile beaming.
“Yeah, I’ll show her around, go back to your coffee, Jim.”
“Thanks, Doll.” Jim turned on his heel and slithered back towards his mug.
“He’s a coffee freak,” Zoë whispered. “He’ll drink like half that fucking urn all to himself. He starts buzzing around ten, so consider yourself warned. Come on, I’ll show you where your desk is with the other girls.” She grabbed my wrist pulling me down the hallway towards the front of the office. She nodded towards a closed door. “Oh, and there’s the bathroom.”
Good thing she pointed it out at that moment; I was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea. “Oh my God,” was all I could get out before I grabbed the door handle, swinging the door open so I could dart into the washroom.
I had enough time and consciousness to be thankful I was alone before I rushed into the closest stall and puked my guts out.
I’m an idiot. I am a complete and utter moron, I thought before heaving again, losing all of the latte and even the bits of croissant.
Zoë, the dutiful friend, had followed me in. “Vic? You okay?”
I pulled a length of toilet paper off the roll and wiped at my face. The nausea was subsiding, but the humiliation was just beginning. “No, I’m not okay. I’m an idiot.”
“Did you eat something…?”
I tossed the crumpled up paper into the toilet and flushed. “No, I think it’s just nerves.”
Emerging from the stall, I headed over to the tap to wash my hands and face.
Zoë looked at me in the mirror. “You look kinda green. Sure you’re okay?”
I felt green but nodded at my friend. I bent down and cupped my hands under the sink drinking some cold water. That definitely helped.
Zoë looked at me, her brow crinkled as her gaze lingered suspiciously. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll take you to the front.” She seemed to be waiting for my protest.
She wasn’t going to get one. Pulling a paper towel from the dispenser, I dried my hands and blotted at my face mindful of my make-up. “Yeah, I’m fine. Look, it’s just been sort of a crazy time and I haven’t been the new girl on the job for a whole long time. I’m just a bit nervous, okay?”
“Okay. I get it: butt out Zoë.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant, just forget this ever happened, I already feel like a moron. Just give me a sec, though, I think I need some more lipstick.”
Zoë leaned in to give her own face a once over in the mirror. “Yeah, no doubt.”
Chapter 14
“Is it E. coli, Dr. Foster?” I asked, eager yet apprehensive to find out the reason for my three days of almost incessant vomiting and nausea. I had made it (though barely) through my first shift at the real estate office but thankfully wasn’t scheduled again until Saturday.
Dr. Foster, my long time physician, and friend of my mother’s, rolled her eyes. “You don’t have E. coli, Victoria.”
“Food poisoning?”
She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head, smirking at me like I was some sort of neurotic hypochondriac. “You’re pregnant.”
All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head, suddenly pounding against my eardrums. Maybe I didn’t hear her right. I was obviously delirious from the E. coli. “I’m WHAT?”
Dr. Foster’s smile disintegrated. “Pregnant. And I’m guessing by the look on your face that this is not a good nor an expected thing.” Dr. Foster’s face clenched, similar to what my insides were doing.
I suddenly became very hot, in spite of the flimsy paper dress I was wearing. I shook my head vehemently; surely the doctor had mixed up my urine with someone else’s or was just smoking crack. “That’s just not possible.”
The doctor’s left eyebrow rose. “You don’t strike me as a religious person Victoria, so I doubt you are trying to tell me it’s an immaculate conception, and anyway, you’re Jewish: that sort of thing just doesn’t happen to us.” She snorted, although I was failing to see the humor in my situation. “When was your last period?”
“I’m going to puke.” I couldn’t believe it. I had come in to see the doctor to get a gastrointestinal remedy for my sudden bout of ‘can’t-keep-food-down-itis’ and she goes and tells me that not only am I not ill but am in fact in a family way.
As if it were the most normal thing on the planet, Dr. Foster handed me a plastic lined garbage can. “Were you and your husband not planning to start a family yet?”
I swallowed the excess saliva in my mouth and waved off the trash can. It seemed the nausea came in waves, often triggering a false alarm. I looked up at her, realizing my mother obviously hadn’t yet spilled the beans about Dave and me. Funny how she seemed to not want to tell anyone about my failed marriage, but I didn’t have time to wonder at her sudden reluctance to gossip. “Um, maybe I should bring you up to speed, Doctor. Me and Dave are split up because I never want to start a family.” I swallowed again, but there was no eradicating the lump in my throat.
Obviously sensing my imminent tears, Dr. Foster handed me a Kleenex. “So this is not a good thing.” She swiveled in her chair so she was right in front of me, staring me in the eye. “Do you want to talk about your options?”
I looked up at her like she was speaking in Russian. “Options?”
“Your options: having the baby, terminating the pregnancy, giving it up for adoption.”
My head began to spin, my vision becoming very blurry.
“Victoria? Vicky?” Dr. Foster sounded very far away, but I knew that I had to somehow not pass out. I forced myself to focus on her face.
“I can’t do this. I can’t be pregnant.”
“You’ll be fine.” Doctor Foster said, very matter of factly.
I willed myself to look into her eyes. “How far along am I?”
“That depends, I need to know when the first day of your last period was.” She turned and grabbed a little desk calendar sporting the logo of Ortho 777 on it. If this were an episode of Sex and the City, the irony would be d
elicious. But it wasn’t.
I frowned at the calendar, trying to think back. I hadn’t had a period since being at Jen’s, but that never occurred to me as being strange since I’d never had regular cycles. “Hmm, I think it was after Dave’s symposium which was the end of September.” I reached out and took the calendar from the very patient Dr. Foster and continued my audible train of thought. “Okay, yeah, it was after that. But when? I can’t remember.” I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to remember where I was when I got my last period. Suddenly, I had a menstrual epiphany. “Oh wait! It was on October twelfth because my mother called and asked me to go to synagogue with her for Simchas Torah and I was crampy and bloated and told her I couldn’t.” I tapped October 12 on the calendar. “Yup, I’m sure it was October twelfth.”
Dr. Foster smiled and took the calendar back from me. “Okay, so…You’re not very far along at all, but it looks like you probably would have conceived around the first of November and your due date is…” she looked up at me. “What? What’s the matter?”
I had left Dave on October twenty-seventh and we hadn’t had sex in the week before I packed my bags and headed for the hills.
I took a deep breath. “How sure are you that it was the first of November?”
Please don’t be accurate, please don’t be accurate, I prayed to all manner of holy fertility Gods that the doctor was wrong; there was no way I could be pregnant with some drunken stranger’s bastard child.
“I said the first week of November. Did you not have sex with your husband in that time frame?”
I shook my head, smoothing the paper dress over my thighs with my hands which just wouldn’t stop fidgeting.
“Did you have sex with someone in that time frame?” Doctor Foster asked, her eyes wide, brows arched.
I wished I could say no, I wished I could take it all back and never have gone to that horrific bar and had all those drinks. I wished I had not been such a stupid, stupid woman who threw all judgment to the wind and got herself hammered and subsequently knocked up in the men’s room of a nightclub. But I couldn’t say no. I had gotten knocked up in the men’s room of a nightclub.
Life, Sideways Page 8
