“I left Dave because I didn’t want to have kids. Why do you think any of that would change now?” I stared at my friend, incredulous at what she was suggesting
“Because you’re pregnant,” Zoë stated, very matter of fact. “You weren’t pregnant when you left him.”
“What on earth does that have to do with anything? It’s not even his baby? How do you think that would pan out?”
Zoë frowned and tilted her head. She opened her mouth and then closed it, carefully contemplating her words before she actually spoke. “Don’t you feel any different, knowing there’s a life inside of you? Don’t you even have an inkling of feeling for the tiny baby that’s half of you?”
I swallowed hard. I knew Zoë wasn’t trying to make it harder for me than it already was. I knew she was just trying to make sense of my impossible situation, but I couldn’t explain it to her; not to someone who had babies and who had loved them from the second the stick had told her she would be a mommy.
“I don’t. I hope you don’t think I’m a terrible person, but I really don’t have any feelings for this baby other than terror and resentment.”
Zoë’s frown deepened. “But you can’t feel that way towards a baby. It’s not the baby’s fault.”
There was no digging out of this pit. There was no way of making Zoë understand. All I could do was beg for her support. “I know it’s not the baby’s fault,” I stumbled on even the word baby, it was such a foreign concept. “But I can’t do this, I just can’t.” I dropped my eyes. “What I really need right now is a friend, Zoë. Believe me, I’ve hashed this all out over and over and this is the only way. Will you go with me?” I swallowed past the growing lump in my throat.
“Of course I will, Vicky. You are my best friend. I may not get why you’re doing it, but you know I’m always there for you. You know that, right?”
I smiled as best I could. “I know that.”
“But I’d keep this from Kendra if I were you. I don’t think she’d be quite as mellow about this.”
Never having any intention of telling Kendra about the pregnancy, I nodded. “Although, seems you blabbed to Jen already last night.”
Zoë cringed. “I know, I’m really sorry. Clearly you shouldn’t mix secrets and alcohol. You’d better make sure Jen keeps her mouth shut.”
I smirked, “Already done. I threatened her this morning with withholding the Tylenol if she dared say a word to Kendra about it.”
“God help her, not the Tylenol!”
“Yeah, but you know, I don’t think she would have said anything to Kendra anyway. She’s so sensitive with this whole baby thing; I think Jen knows it would just hurt her more if she found out.”
“I agree.” Zoë nodded and took a sip of her coffee before changing gears. “Okay, so please tell me what the deal was with your brother.”
* * *
“So spill,” Jen said the second I walked in the door from breakfast. I was surprised she was conscious, but as I looked at where she sat, wrapped up in my blanket on what, by night, was my bed, topped by Bacco the purring paperweight, I realized that ‘conscious’ was a very loose term. Her bedhead would have garnered a laugh or snippy comment on any other day, but not today. Today was for serious issues, no matter that I was already weary of talking about my issues. There was no avoiding it.
I unceremoniously dumped my purse on the chair by the door. “Spill what?” I said, buying some time to will myself not to cry. I kicked off my shoes and turned to hang my coat in the closet, having to force it in among the rest of my clothes.
She sat up and clicked the remote to mute the TV, amid Bacco’s protests against her sudden movement. “You know what I’m talking about. First off, how could you tell Zoë and not me and second off, if Zoë hadn’t told me last night, when were you going to?”
“Please, Jen.” I took a deep breath and reached for the Kleenex in preparation for what I knew was going to be a teary conversation. “I wasn’t even going to tell Zoë, but she guessed.”
Jen glanced down at my midsection. “How the hell could she guess? How far along are you?”
I shook my head. “Not very but she’s been privy to my untimely bouts of nausea and vomiting.” My partially digested fried eggs made a timely protest.
“Wow, really?” she patted the couch beside her, inviting me to sit. She was apparently as thrown by the news as I had been in Dr. Foster’s office. “Does Dave know?”
I shook my head again, wondering how many times I was going to have to explain this most embarrassing part of the story. “Hey, remember that young guy in the bar?”
Jen’s hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. “No. Oh my God, really?”
I nodded, amazed that my self-loathing hadn’t dissipated at all since the last time I told the story.
“Wow, I’m so sorry,” Jen said, her face beginning to screw up into a frown as two perfectly formed tears escaped her narrowing eyes.
Automatically handing her the Kleenex, I began to console her, not missing the irony in doing so. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I made you drink, I made you go out.”
I shook my head, “Don’t be ridiculous. It was my mistake, I’ll just have to deal with it.” Never before had the words ‘deal with it’ been so heavy with meaning.
Jen sniffed as she dabbed at her eyes with the Kleenex. “What are you going to do?”
“I can’t have this baby,” was the most I could bring myself to say. But as the words fell from my lips, my decision solidified. I was still in denial about saying the A word, but it was my only option. There was no choice. There was no way I could have a baby.
Jen nodded, her eyes deep pools of sympathy and understanding. She was probably the best friend to tell this to since she counseled people on unwanted pregnancies every day. Sometimes, like when she was dancing on a table in a crowded nightclub, it was easy to forget she was a nurse, but when you really needed her, she was right there with a sympathetic shoulder and a big warm heart.
“Do you have your appointment yet?” she asked.
“I go back to my family doctor on Tuesday; I’m guessing I’ll have to get a referral.”
“Yeah, you will. I’ll take you,” she said, very matter of fact. “I know the doctors at the general, they’re really good. We’ll get you through this.” She patted my hand.
“Yeah, I know.”
Dabbing at my eyes with the Kleenex, I smiled at my friend and was just about to get up.
“Have you ever thought of, well…you know, adoption?”
I took a deep breath. It was a question that I knew would come up sooner or later, and yes, I had given a lot of thought to adoption. I had given a lot of thought to every one of my options. Adoption was the only one that gave me pause, though. To be able to give a family a baby they so desperately wanted seemed like the biggest gift, the most selfless act that a person could ever do. I thought of Kendra and how she and her husband had put themselves on adoption lists when they first started their fertility treatments (just in case, Kendra had whispered, still desperately hoping the treatments would work out), but they still waited and waited for a baby. The wait could be endless, their adoption caseworker told them; there just weren’t that many babies around.
But I had quickly decided I would not be one of those gift-giving selfless women who would be having their baby and giving it up for adoption. And there was one humiliating, yet compelling reason why.
“I’m nowhere near strong enough to have a baby and give it away.”
Jen nodded, but her face screwed up as she tilted her head to consider my words.
“I need a glass of water, you want one?” I got up off the couch.
“You know, that’s bullshit.”
I opened my mouth to berate her for admonishing my thirst but realized that wasn’t what she was talking about. “Um, excuse me?”
“That’s bullshit, about you not being strong enough. Vicky, you are the strongest person I know. I don’t know
anyone else who would have left their perfect life because there was a fundamental disconnect in their marriage. Most people would have sat in their misery and rotted until death do you part.”
I shook my head. “That’s different, you can’t compare…”
“It’s not that different. You’ve got balls, Vicky. So whatever your reason for not considering adoption is your business, but please don’t try to tell me that you’re not a strong person because I won’t buy it. You’re just kidding yourself.”
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I considered my words carefully. What I wanted to say was “Fuck right off.” But I was a guest in her house, and friendship and candidness aside, some nuts you had to take. “Well, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and although I admit it’s a very admirable thing to do, it’s not for me. Please, can we be done talking about it, now?” I was begging; I was cried out and so emotionally drained that I needed a break.
“Yeah, Vic, listen, I’m sorry to be like this but it’s a huge decision and I just want to make sure you do what’s best for you. Sounds like you’ve really made up your mind and I support you no matter what it is. I can’t imagine being single and pregnant, either.” She shivered at the thought, echoing my own feelings. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to the clinic and make sure they take good care of you.” She even attempted a smile.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already asked Zoë to take me, but then I figured in a case like this three’s company. It would be good to have Jen there since she had probably taken dozens of pregnant teens to the hospital for the same thing.
Yeah, it would be good to have my friends there.
“Thanks,” I said, resisting the urge to lean over and hug her; I was on the edge of tears and another hug would put me over. I had never been one predisposed to crying and now it seemed like it was all I ever did.
Jen dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, whatever, now go get me that glass of water, I’m SO dehydrated. I swear I gave your brother all my saliva last night.”
I couldn’t, in good conscience blame the morning sickness for the sudden wave of nausea that washed over me.
Chapter 21
Work, Jen’s incessant complaining about Seth The Asshole (his new moniker) and back pain became about the only constants in my life, although the back pain and complaining were daily occurrences, unlike the three or four days I worked at the real estate office.
The job was good and nothing overly strenuous: reception, answering phones and typing up paperwork for the agents like Zoë, who worked out of the office. It was also nice not to be the office manager, deferring to someone else when big issues came up. This part of my life, at least, was uncomplicated.
But moving day was fast approaching and I awoke with a sudden wave of panic one snowy Thursday morning in December: I had nothing with which to furnish my new home.
A trip to the mall to Sears was in order, but it wasn’t something I would dare do on my own.
“You up for some shopping?” I asked in my cheeriest voice when Zoë finally answered her cell.
“Shit, Vic, I wish, but there’re multiple offers on my William Road listing and this is going to take me probably most of the day to deal with. Sorry, hon.”
Dejected, I hung up the phone. Bacco jumped up onto the couch beside me, having only vacated a moment before to noisily consume some kibble in the kitchen. He perched beside me and proceeded to clean his paws without regard for my distaste at his poor manners.
“Do you mind, Tobacco?”
He didn’t. In spite of his unapologetic and shameless attitude, he was a good cat and I would miss him once I left. Maybe a cat was something else I could add to the bungalow. Dave had always been terribly allergic so it had never been an option, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of having someone warm and fuzzy to spend my solitary evenings with. I gave Bacco a scratch and he sealed the deal by flopping heavily down on the couch, exposing his belly for me to rub. I obliged for several minutes then decided I’d better get moving.
I didn’t relish the thought of shopping on my own; buying furniture demanded more than one opinion. These were big items I would be purchasing: living room couches and tables, dining room table, bed. As I stood in the shower under the thankfully endless supply of hot water, I contemplated calling my mother, then decided against it; I wanted some light, breezy company, someone who wouldn’t judge but was there only to validate my choices. I needed a friend.
Once I emerged from the tiny bathroom which had been rendered a steam bath by my overly hot, overly long shower, I picked up the cordless phone and dialed Kendra’s number.
An hour later we were walking through the mall to the Sears store. “I’m glad you called,” Kendra said, turning to smile at me as we walked side by side.
I smiled back.
“I’m kind of having a crappy day so I’m glad for the company. Paul’s had to fly out to San Diego.”
“Everything okay?” I asked, automatically.
She didn’t answer but turned away from me to look into a store window. The maternity store window. The same place she’d been standing when I had dodged her on my last trip to the mall (I still hadn’t worn those shoes yet, either).
“Kendra?” I said when her steps slowed and then stopped, allowing her to stare wistfully through the window.
“Someday, maybe.” She turned to look at me, her eyes glossy.
I swallowed past the huge ball of dread which had lodged itself in my throat. “For sure, you’ll get pregnant, I just know it,” I lied as I patted her back, hoping to God I sounded comforting and not phony and pathetically wrapped up in my own bullshit, which was exactly what I was.
“Can we go in and try on stuff?” Kendra asked, her eyes suddenly alight with hope.
“I don’t know, Kendra. Are you sure it’s a good idea?” I don’t know what kind of justification I would have had for it being a bad idea for Kendra to try on maternity clothes, but I knew exactly why it was for me. My maternity, which was still a secret from Kendra, was going to be over very soon, and I didn’t need a huge reminder in the way of pants with a stretchy front panel of what I was going to do in only a few short days.
There was only so much I could take before I was going to crack.
“Please?” Kendra’s eyes were huge pleading saucers. “Just for a few minutes. Of course, you don’t have to try on anything if you don’t want to, but it’ll be fun.”
Unwilling to give her my real reason for not wanting to go in and unable to come up with anything else that was plausible, I nodded my defeat and followed Kendra into the store.
As I sat in the chair intended for expectant husbands and watched Kendra come out of the dressing room in myriad outfits showing different stages of her wishful pregnancy (thanks to the dummy bellies helpfully supplied by the store), I wondered if she wanted the pregnancy more than the end result.
“Are you and Paul still on the adoption lists?” I asked her discreetly when the saleslady had gone to get another pair of jeans she thought would make Kendra’s ass look less wide when she inevitably filled out.
The smile Kendra had been wearing since we had entered the store dissolved as she frantically looked towards the front. God help us if the saleslady knew she wasn’t actually pregnant. “Shhh, and yes we are.”
“So you’d be okay if you can never have your own baby as long as you get one somehow?”
“Somehow, Vicky?” Kendra clucked. “I’m not going to buy a crack baby off the street, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course not, you know what I mean. As long as you get A baby, it’s okay if it’s not your baby?”
The smile returned, wider than before as Kendra’s eyes became glossy with emotion again. She nodded. “Yes, any baby. Any baby that comes into our life, oh we will be so blessed. Just because it doesn’t have our DNA doesn’t mean we would love him or her any less.”
Any baby. Like even the unwanted baby of one of your
best friends?
The saleslady returned with the jeans and a cute jumper that looked like it would fit Kendra and a thirty-pound turkey comfortably.
“Oh that is so cute,” Kendra cooed as she took the jumper, suddenly forgetting the jeans. “I need to try that on. Right back.”
As she disappeared again behind the curtain, my gears began to turn. Maybe I could give her my baby. Maybe I could make all of Kendra’s dreams come true. I mean, my baby wouldn’t be a crack baby off the street. She would know where it was coming from; okay, well, at least she would know half of the baby’s pedigree. Half was a lot more than if you got one from an agency.
But before I said anything to Kendra, even giving her the whisper of a hint that I might be pregnant, I figured I’d better think about what I would be getting into. I’d be forever tied to her, not that I ever thought I wouldn’t be her friend, but it would be different. She would be raising my baby. But it wouldn’t be mine anymore. Could I deal with that? What if she wasn’t a good mother? What if she gave the baby a bad name? What if the baby came out and my hormones kicked in and I decided I couldn’t give it up anymore?
What if? What if?
“What if I got the jeans and the dress?” Kendra said as she erupted from the change room, her belly artificially swollen under the jumper.
“Sure,” I nodded absently, regarding her in a new way. Would she be a good mother to my baby?
“Really?” she asked, her voice a hopeful whisper as she tilted her head to look at me sideways. “You think I should get this stuff?”
I shrugged, “Why not?”
She glanced towards the cash register where the two salesladies were chatting. “Uh, because I’m not pregnant?”
I rolled my eyes, frustrated that I was going to have to state the obvious. “You’re in here, aren’t you? So you know what, if you’re crazy enough to be in here trying on the clothes, how much of a leap is it to actually buy them?” I uncrossed my legs and recrossed them the other way.
Kendra frowned, looking like she was going to cry. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
Life, Sideways Page 12
