Cursing the sudden dryness in my mouth I looked up at my doctor and nodded. “This can’t be happening. I can’t do this.”
She pursed her lips and took my hand, squeezing it. “I know this is tough. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go talk in my office?”
Talk about what? The fact that I’m so stupid? No thanks. I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t have this baby. I can’t. Maybe if it was Dave’s…but I can’t.” my voice had a note of hysteria to it, but I couldn’t help it. I was hysterical. “Oh my God, what have I done?”
Dr. Foster tilted her head in a good imitation of my mother when she would tell me I needed to go on a diet. She squeezed my hand again, trying in vain to console the inconsolable. “Why don’t we go talk about it?”
I gently detached my hand from hers, stood up and turned towards my neatly folded clothes. “No, I’m okay. I should get going, though.”
“Vicky, you can’t just go into denial. A baby is not going to go away and if you want to terminate, you only have a certain window…”
I turned back to the doctor, the tears now running freely down my cheeks. “I’m not in denial. I just need a few days to digest this. I have at least a few days before I have to make a decision, don’t I?”
She nodded. “Why don’t you make another appointment for Tuesday, we can talk more then and that gives you the weekend to think on this a little.”
It seemed like a good idea so I nodded my agreement. Looking at her I realized I had another reason to be afraid. “You’re not going to tell my mother about this, are you?” As if I wasn’t feeling like enough of an idiot, having my mother know would be unbearable.
She gave me a weak smile. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I am legally bound not to. You are above the age of consent so who you decide to tell what is completely your business. You’ll be okay. I’ve known you for a long time, Vicky. You’re strong. You’ll get through this.”
I looked down at my feet covered in white sweat socks. “I don’t feel like I’ll be okay. Am I a bad person if I…you know?”
Dr. Foster put her hand on my arm. I had never known her to be so touchy-feely, but then I’d never come to her for anything quite so serious; the odd prescription for allergy medication or yearly checkups had always demanded only her most businesslike attention and the occasional polite question about my mother.
“You are not a bad person no matter what you do, Vicky. Every one of us makes mistakes. You have to find in your heart what’s right for you. Take the weekend and I’ll see you Tuesday.” She reached and pulled a couple more tissues out of the box and handed them to me.
I looked up and smiled my thanks. Dabbing at my eyes with the now ample wad of Kleenex, I nodded.
“If you need me before then, even if it’s after hours, just give the office a call, they’ll know where to find me.”
Knowing I would never take her up on her offer, I was grateful for it, nonetheless. “Okay. I’ll be all right. Thanks for being so awesome, Dr. Foster.”
She squeezed my arm again before she let go and left the room so I could change.
I took a deep breath, holding it in until my lungs ached. “What the fuck have I done?” I said to the plastic model of a baby-filled uterus on the counter. “I can’t have a baby. I can’t do this.”
I suddenly felt the need for some fresh air. I tore off the paper dress and stuffed it into the garbage, projecting my anger and panic on the blue paper as though it had caused my pregnancy. Getting dressed quickly, I spared a moment to check my hair in the mirror beside the door.
I almost strode out the door of the office but then remembered my promise to the doctor that I’d see her on Tuesday. I stopped at the counter and leaned in towards the glass to ask the receptionist for an appointment.
“I just need a follow up with the doctor on Tuesday,” I told her through the tiny hole in the glass, my voice barely above a whisper.
She tapped away at her keyboard, her eyes intent on the screen. “How’s nine?”
“Perfect.”
She scribbled the time and date on an appointment card and handed it to me through the tiny hole. “See you then,” she said, smiling.
Sure, you can smile, you’re not pregnant, I thought, but said nothing as I took my card and my newly discovered microscopic fetus and left the office.
Chapter 15
Pregnant.
How the fuck, did I, of all people, allow myself to get pregnant? The question looped over and over in my mind as I walked aimlessly through the mall.
I had first driven my SUV down to the park to walk through the pretend wilderness of manicured soccer fields and their accompanying ravine. That seemed like an appropriate place to go to wallow in self-pity. But I soon realized it was a bit too cold for such an undertaking and my heeled mules would likely turn a bad situation worse. The last thing I needed was a turned ankle and a trip to the hospital. No thank you; my recent trip to the doctor had provided all the medical drama I could handle.
So instead, I ended up at the mall. I was even heartened by the fact that there was a sidewalk sale going on (a misnomer since there were obviously no sidewalks inside the mall and it was a chilly November). So in between shop windows I pondered my situation.
There was little to ponder. In truth, I was wallowing in self-loathing and disgust. How had I allowed myself to get into this situation? Who the hell gets knocked up by a stranger in a bar? Who is truly that stupid? Surely no one out of their teens.
I stopped to look into the window of a shoe store and allowed myself to be drawn into the shop by the allure of a new pair of shoes. It didn’t take long to find the perfect pair: completely impractical stilettos that no pregnant woman would dare wear for fear of falling and harming her baby. That did it. I smugly tried on and bought the shoes, even paying full price since they were new arrivals, sale be damned. Notwithstanding the fact that I had absolutely nowhere to wear them, I felt buoyed by my defiance. I strode out of the store, smiling as the bag swung merrily from my left hand.
My happiness was short-lived. Only a few strides later I saw something that made me lose my smile and stop dead in my tracks, the swinging bag coming to a sudden halt at my side.
Two stores ahead, looking wistfully into the window of a maternity clothing store was my friend Kendra.
My mouth went dry as I contemplated why she might be there. There could be only one of two reasons: either she was finally pregnant and beginning to shop for inevitable necessities, or she was just desperately wishing she were pregnant. Judging by her slumped shoulders and tilted head, my money was on the latter.
How could I face her? If I were to approach her, she’d probably be embarrassed at being caught pining away in front of the store. But how could I not go and greet my friend? That would just be rude.
But things were different now. I was pregnant.
The one thing missing in her life, the one thing she was willing to spend her life savings on, I had managed to accomplish in one reckless night of torrid, meaningless sex.
No, I couldn’t face her. Not yet.
Before she could spot me, I turned away and walked as fast as I could to the other end of the mall.
Yes, I was a coward. But it was easier to admit to myself that I was a coward than have to admit to my friend that I was pregnant.
Chapter 16
Still unsure as to what I was going to do, and after my near run in with Kendra, I decided not to tell any of my friends about my ‘condition.’ I needed to clear my head and have a solid sense of what I was going to do before I opened myself up to the peanut gallery. Based on the responses I got when I told them Dave and I were splitting up, I knew this bit of news would really cause some controversy and I just wasn’t ready for that drama yet.
It was going to be hard, though, since I was going condo shopping with Zoë. All I wanted to do was spill my guts and get some sympathy and good perspective, the kind only a good friend could provide. I
knew she’d be right there for me with a huge dose of compassion, no matter that I didn’t deserve it. But I just couldn’t yet.
Dave and I still hadn’t discussed what we were going to do with the house, but since I had announced to Jen that I was moving out, my resolve had solidified and I was itching to find my own place. I let Zoë talk me into looking at a few condos after she promised I wasn’t obligated to buy anything. But I had to admit it made sense: if Dave wanted to stay in the house, he could buy my half out and then I would have money to buy something of my own. And if Zoë’s estimate of market value of the house was right, I would have a nice down payment on a condo if not the ability to buy one outright.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked Zoë as I pulled the seat belt across my chest, mindful of my tender breasts: a new and painful reminder of my horrendous conundrum. I had never thought I’d miss PMS.
Zoë looked over and smiled before pulling away. “Well I thought I’d take you to that new building downtown and there’s also a few townhouses available in the west end. I’ve also got a little starter house down there; it’s a cute two bedroom bungalow. It would be perfect for you.”
Yes, perfect: one bedroom for me and another for the bastard love child. I just nodded, biting my lip.
“So did you talk to Dave about the house yet?”
I shook my head. “I’m going to wait and see if there’s something I actually want to buy first.”
“You’re still going to have to do something about the house. You are entitled to half of what it’s worth.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know that Zoë, but there’s no need for me to force him to do that if I’m just moving into an apartment.”
“You’re in denial.” Zoë’s frustration was obvious: she started to drive like a maniac.
If only you knew the kind of denial I was in… “Slow down Zoë,” I scolded, my hand white-knuckled on the door handle. “We’ll look at these properties and then I’ll go talk to Dave, okay? Stop acting like my mother.”
Zoë glanced over at me. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
I couldn’t help but sigh. “I know, but Zoë come on. Dave’s not going to try to screw me over. I have some time to work all this shit out. I’m not in denial; I’m just trying not to rush into any bad decisions.” I sounded much wiser than I felt. But it worked to shut Zoë up.
We pulled up to a huge building and Zoë turned off the car. We both got out, but I knew immediately that high-rise condo living wasn’t for me.
It was a beautiful unit, very new with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances in the kitchen, in-house laundry and a view of the city that was second to none, but I wanted a patch of earth all my own. I had forgotten what downtown apartment living was like. Stepping out onto the balcony, I was hit with sounds of the city: traffic whizzing by, honking, a helicopter flying by overhead. I cringed and ducked back inside.
“I can see by your face that you are just in love with this unit. Should we make an offer?” Zoë laughed.
I snorted and headed towards the door. “Let’s go see that bungalow.”
* * *
I didn’t think it would be so easy to fall in love so quickly after leaving Dave, but it couldn’t be helped: the little bungalow was perfect.
Its front garden needed a little TLC, but other than that, the front façade was very charming: all brick with a big leaded bay window and stone steps leading up to a solid wood arched door.
Zoë opened the lock box and used the key in the front door. We walked into the bright entranceway, greeted by the fresh scent of a recently cleaned house. From the front hall, we could see into the quaint kitchen as we removed our shoes. The wood trim looked original, framing the creamy yellow walls.
I could hardly contain myself. “How cute is this?”
Zoë’s eyes were wide as she nodded her approval. She glanced down at the information sheet she had on her clipboard. “Okay, so let’s look at the living room first. It says here there’s a gas fireplace…” I fell in line behind her as she turned the corner. “Oh, nice.”
I followed and instantly wondered why the people wanted to sell; it was a beautiful room: wide and long, flooded by the light from two skylights, extending into a dining room framed by a whole wall of built-in cabinets. “This is really nice. How much is this place again?”
Zoë glanced down at her paper and told me the very reasonable price.
I nodded, walking over to the gas fireplace. I flipped the switch and whoosh, there was fire. “Nice,” I said as I turned it off.
We headed towards the little kitchen. It was not as new and expensive as the one in the condo but had all the requirements including a built in dishwasher, huge picture window above the sink and a little spot for a table for two, or in my case, for one.
The bathroom was small but adequate for one person; nothing fancy. But as we made our way to the bedrooms, we figured out in a hurry why the family was moving. The master bedroom was crammed with a king-sized bed, a huge wardrobe, a crib, and a changing table. There was barely room to open the closet door or even turn around without walking into something. Piled almost to the ceiling on top of the wardrobe were packages of diapers.
The second room was no better; a room of about ten by ten containing bunk beds, a desk, and toys, toys, toys. There were two framed baby pictures on the wall, each with the baby’s name, birthdate, and weight. Seems Adam and Andrew were twins, born just a few minutes apart; Adam was first at 7:04, but Andrew, born 7:08 had been the larger of the two at almost eight pounds. Wow.
I swallowed and turned away from the pictures, trying to take in more of the room than its current occupants. At least it was tidy: I had to give the people credit for how neat they managed to keep it, but they were clearly busting at the seams.
“Let’s go look at the basement,” Zoë suggested.
I didn’t even have to look at the partially-finished basement and adjoining laundry room with a brand new furnace (which Zoë oohed and ahhed over: how weird is that?) to know the house was for me. I hadn’t known something with so much confidence since I had accepted Dave’s proposal of marriage (although considering how that turned out…). But nonetheless, the house had to be mine.
“I want it.” I said to Zoë as we walked back up the stairs. I wanted another look at the living room.
“Hold on, we haven’t seen everything I want to show you yet. There’s the townhouses…”
“I’ll go look at other stuff, but I want this one. What should I offer?”
Zoë stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to look at me. “You seem very sure.”
I looked her in the eye. “Of this, I am very sure.”
She smiled. “Well for what it’s worth, if you were to ask my opinion as an agent, I would say that this is probably a good investment: solid neighborhood where the houses hold their value. Quiet street, solid brick house, new furnace, new electrical.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “And if I were to ask your opinion as a friend?”
Her smile broadened. “I would say that it’s extremely cute and suits you to a tee. And of course, all of the reasons above.”
“Okay, can we do this conditional on my getting half out of the other house?”
Her brow creased. “You can have a deposit in cash?”
I nodded.
“We’ll make it work. Just humor me and let’s go look at the other properties before we go back to the office to write up an offer.”
“It’s a deal.” My stomach turned and not from my sudden excitement. “I think I just have to use the bathroom. I’m going to check the water pressure while I’m in there. Just give me a minute.” Proud of my ingenious cover story, I headed down the hallway, thankful the homeowners weren’t around. I vomited as quietly as I could, although I was pretty sure Zoë wouldn’t hear me over the sound of both the shower and sink faucet running at the same time.
I flushed, impressed with the almost unnoticeable chang
e in the shower’s water pressure. I pulled the lever to turn it off and shoved my head into the sink, taking a drink right from the tap.
“Well I guess I’ve christened my new house,” I said to myself in the mirror. Wiping my face on my sleeve, I turned and left the bathroom.
Chapter 17
The townhouses were nice enough, although I would have been able to drum up a little more enthusiasm had I not seen the little bungalow first. There was no room for anything else on my list of suitable homes so as Zoë dragged me from room to room, droning on in her agent’s voice about high ceilings and new broadloom (who the hell used the word broadloom anymore?), I was chomping at the bit, wanting to go back to the office to write up an offer.
Finally, we were back in her SUV. And after we sat in the driveway of the last townhouse for five minutes while Zoë checked her e-mail, we were on our way.
“Okay, so what do you think we should go in at?”
Zoë took her eyes off the road long enough to give me an apprehensive look. “Wow, Vic, you’re not even pre-approved for a mortgage yet or anything. Usually, I need my clients to be at least that far along before I’ll write up an offer. That makes things pretty shaky if we have to go in conditional on financing and the sale of another house.”
“I’m not going to lose that house.”
“That’s one thing to say, but you are not the only variable here, Vic. The people selling the house may not see you as giving them a stable offer. This house hasn’t been up very long and you don’t know where they’re going; maybe they can afford to wait for the perfect offer.”
“I need to talk to Dave. I need to get my shit together and fast, huh?”
Zoë nodded. “Yeah.”
Pulling my cell phone out of my purse, I glanced at the clock on the dash: perfect timing. I took a deep breath and dialed the dental office, knowing that unless an emergency had come in, I would catch him eating his lunch.
“Blumenfeld Dental Arts,” Marg answered the phone, making me feel instantly guilty for not having called her since I left.
Life, Sideways Page 9
