“I don’t want to be in debt to her,” he’d shouted.
I should have known how he’d react. He’s not a huge fan of Riley under the best of circumstances. He thinks he hides it, but Kevin can’t hide anything. So when he says things like, “Riley thinks she’s the shit, doesn’t she?” or, “You always do what Riley says,” I let it go most of the time. He’s only jealous. He wants to be the most important person in my life—and he is, but Riley’s a very close second, a scenario that doesn’t make either of them happy.
And there was no way I was turning down the money. I made this pretty clear by screaming it at the top of my lungs. I hate what I said to him before storming out of our bedroom. “Maybe we should get a divorce and I’ll have a baby on my own. I’m not the one with the fucking problem.” I can only blame my outburst on the fact that I wanted a child with a longing so desperate and feral it consumed me. It changed me; it was like being possessed. The old Jen, the one who sat in Father Mike’s office wild-eyed with love, would never have said those words.
My whole life there’s been a little voice inside me, reminding me not to want too much. I used to complain to Lou about how unfair it was that I didn’t have a father, or new clothes, or a mother who came to school events. “Life’s not fair. Get used to it,” she’d bark at me. And I accepted that. But a baby—one healthy baby—that felt like a reasonable thing to want. I couldn’t summon a dad, or a new mother, but I could, surely, somehow, make a baby. The more it seemed like Kevin was resigned to it not happening, the more determined I felt. Even if the money from Riley wasn’t enough and I had to open yet another credit card to make up the difference. Even if taking her money made me feel embarrassed, exposed. Even if I didn’t want Riley to think Kevin had failed me somehow. The only thing that mattered was that it gave me one more chance—and that cycle, our Hail Mary, had worked, thank God. But a part of me will always wonder, What if it hadn’t? If we hadn’t gotten pregnant, would our marriage have survived? Would I have?
Kevin stood by me while I was struggling, and he deserves my patience now during the worst time of his life, though it isn’t easy, especially when he’s sullen and withdrawn and drinking too much. There are moments when I want to tell him the same thing Cookie said to me: “You gotta pull it together.” Just last night, a news story in the Inquirer sent him spinning. Tamara had made a statement to the paper, pointedly inviting him and Chris to attend Justin’s funeral next Saturday. “I want them to see what they did.”
“I know what I did!” he yelled. “They think I don’t know?” Then he spun even further the implications of being invited (“Does she mean this to be a publicity stunt?”), then agonized about whether he should go, which was a terrible idea. Then he landed in full self-pity: “I’m so tired of this. I wish I’d been the one who was shot. I wish it had been me.”
I look back down at my phone screen—Riley’s face is frozen in place where I paused the video. How could you? I think. And then, Where are you? I need you. I send the last part like a wish into the air before tucking my phone back into my bag. I peek around the waiting room. For so many years I hated to be around pregnant women, people with kids. The envy ripped me apart. Now I crave their proximity even if I have no desire to interact with them. Look at me. I made it into your club.
But I’m still scared. I start imagining all the terrible possibilities; excruciatingly detailed scenarios play out in my mind on a loop. I picture myself lying down on the scratchy paper stretched thin across the vinyl exam table, bending my knees, the nurse with a big fat smile on her face spreading the cold goo over my stomach and waving that wand that looks like a sex toy. The nurse’s smile droops into a straight line, then further into a worried frown. She busies herself putting away the equipment, tells me to wait while she grabs the doctor. When the doctor enters, she picks up the wand, rubs it against my skin, and then looks at me over my swollen belly.
“There’s no heartbeat. The baby is gone.”
I shake myself out of the dark spiral and stare at the couple holding hands in the opposite corner. The woman’s wearing an elegant wool maxidress from that expensive maternity store that bombards me with ads on Instagram. Her husband has on the shiniest loafers I’ve ever seen, no doubt off to his job at some big-time law firm after this, but even with his demanding job he never misses an appointment with his wife. I start down the road of imagining their perfect lives when I’m startled by a familiar voice booming across the waiting room.
“Would you look at all these big bellies!”
Seriously?
There’s Lou sipping loudly from an oversize plastic Wawa cup, in faded black jeans and a thin black Eagles hoodie even though it’s freezing outside. On her feet are the scuffed Dr. Martens she’s owned since before I was born. When I was twelve, I begged for a pair just like hers, and Lou bought them for me for Christmas that year. I didn’t realize they were knockoffs until the yellow stitching started coming out of the soles after only a couple of weeks.
“What are you doing here, Lou?” I didn’t once think about asking her to come to this appointment. When I went through the list of possibilities, my own mother hadn’t even occurred to me. “How did you know I was going to the doctor today?”
Lou sits down and places her arm around my shoulders in a strange sort of half hug, and I’m smothered by a cloud of stale smells: coffee, cigarette smoke, last night’s perfume. The familiar eau de Lou transports me right back to the floor of her closet. “Kevin called and told me about the appointment.”
It takes only a second to work out why Kevin hadn’t mentioned it—he was sparing me in case she didn’t show.
“I worked an early shift this morning, so it was easy for me to pop by.”
Of course, as long as it was convenient, Lou could make it. She’s been here for approximately two minutes and my jaw is already locked tight from being on edge.
“You worked at the bar this morning? It’s ten thirty a.m.”
“Bar’s been closed for a month. I told you that. Fire. They gotta redo the whole first floor. They’re calling it a grease fire, but you know it could’ve been a case of Jewish lightning….”
“What?”
“You know, when people burn something down for the insurance money.”
I look around to make sure no one else heard her.
“Besides that, that’s offensive, Lou, the bar owners aren’t even Jewish. They’re Irish.”
Lou shrugs. “It’s just what they call it. I hope they open back up at all. Too many of the old-time bars are selling out to the new hipster places. Places that don’t even open at seven in the morning—hell, they don’t open until seven at night. Sometimes people need a drink when they wake up, you know? Anyways, I’m unemployed until they finish fixing things, so I’m driving for Uber! I didn’t tell you? It’s great. You meet so many interesting people. Like I just came from taking this couple to the airport. Indians. From over in India, dots not feathers.” She points to her forehead with her index finger. “They had an arranged marriage and are going thirty years strong. Maybe I should have had one of those. He works in the diamond and ruby business. She runs an orphanage. I told her my daughter was pregnant but wants more babies. I got her email address for you. Maybe you can go over there and pick up one of them brown babies.”
“I don’t understand why they told you all that.”
“Come on, I’ve been a bartender for thirty years. People tell me things.” She pokes my belly with the tip of her index finger.
“Ow!” I make a dramatic show of pulling away, even though it didn’t really hurt.
“You’re getting big.”
“Thanks.” I glare at my mom, taking in the face that has yielded to a film of wrinkles. She’s barely into her fifties, but all the smoking and days down at the shore smothered in baby oil have taken their toll.
She’s jiggling her belly now. “It’s hard to lose the weight. Harder than you think. I gained twenty pounds with you that I’m still try
ing to lose.”
As usual with Lou, I’m mortified. I peek around and am grateful that no one seems to be listening. The golden couple is gone; they must have been called back already. Thank God they’re missing this little spectacle.
“So all’s I’m sayin’ is be careful, you don’t want Kev to go off and find something more like this, do you?” Lou picks up a People, pointing to the cover image of a bikini-clad Kim Kardashian. Lou loves anything Kardashian.
The nurse, Rita, couldn’t have called me back a second sooner. Lou trails behind us on our way to the exam room like a child accompanying her mother on a shopping trip.
“Aw, look at these little boo-boos,” Lou says, taking in the newborn pictures clipped with clothespins to strings that line the entire hallway. “Jesus, all these babies look mixed. I don’t see a single white baby up there. Oh, there’s one.” She points to a smushed-face baby named Maddy, wearing a sparkling pink bow on her bald head to signal she’s a girl. “It’s true what they say, I guess, we’re all going to be one color one day. A lot of little mixed kids. That’ll be nice. Like if you and Riley had ended up being lezzies, you could get you one of these mixed kids and it would look like both of you.” Lou elbows me and cackles loudly.
Rita cringes, but Lou is oblivious.
After quickly taking my blood pressure, Rita leaves us in the exam room to wait for the doctor. I start to change into the itchy gown, weirdly self-conscious about my mother seeing me naked. She sits in the plastic chair in the corner.
“Speaking of Riley, you talk to her?” she asks as I struggle to tie the gown shut.
“A little.”
“You seen her interview?”
“What do you think, Lou?”
“That poor woman, the mother. Riley looked so pretty though. That skin, I swear. I would kill someone for skin like that, wouldn’t you? You should ask her for some tips.” She pats her pasty cheeks.
This is what we’re talking about? This is what’s important? Beauty tips?
“Well, however beautiful Riley looked with her flawless skin, you understand that interview was not good for us, don’t you, Lou? You’re missing the point.” I’m practically yelling; the patient next door can probably hear me through the paper-thin walls.
“But Riley was doing her job. She’s on the TV. She has to act the part. Like Kim and Khloe.”
“Seriously? Riley’s not an actress and neither are the Kardashians.”
“Oh yes they are. Those girls should get an Academy Award for what they do. And Riley’s gotta do what she does with that fancy job of hers, otherwise they’re not gonna pay her a heap of money.”
“She’s my best friend. She should be watching out for me.”
“Look, I love Riley, but you girls ain’t been around each other much in fifteen years. You’re different people now. Rich people don’t think about people like us the same way.”
“Riley isn’t rich! Besides, Lou, maybe you should be focused on me, your daughter. How about maybe asking how I’m doing?” At least Lou looks chastened.
“I already asked you that.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Well. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. I just really wish Kevin could be here today.” Instead of you. And of course it isn’t fine. But I’ve never confided in my mother and I’m not going to start now.
“Where is he anyway?”
“Just… meetings.” I’m vague. There’s no point in bothering to involve Lou in the details, and I can imagine her reaction if I told her he was meeting with a “head shrinker,” as she calls them. The only thing more ridiculous and useless than therapy in Lou’s mind is electronic cigarettes.
“Well, you need a good lawyer, that’s for sure. Get one of those guys from one of the billboards on Ninety-Five. I wish I had some money to give you.” Lou raises one of her thin eyebrows. She’s always plucked them to a fine arched line that looks as if it was drawn by a satanic cartoonist.
“That’s okay. Cookie and Frank are covering it.”
This comment is sure to sting, and I feel a little charge of satisfaction. Ever since Kevin and I got married, Lou’s been in a strange competition with Cookie that plays out in passive-aggressive jabs. Lou doesn’t like losing at a sport, even if she hasn’t bothered trying to be any good at it.
“Well, okay then, great. He’ll get this mess all cleared up, I’m sure.”
The conversation careens into a brick wall, and we both just sit there, listening to the clock tick. What kind of person doesn’t have anything to say to her own mother? Disappointment washes over me. My mom should be gushing with excitement and advice and plans. When I told her I was pregnant last spring, all she said was, “Well, let’s see if it sticks this time, kiddo. Maybe it’s not in the cards for you.”
“These doctors sure take their sweet time, don’t they?” Lou picks up the file Rita left on the counter.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to look at that.” I have no idea if this is an actual rule, but it feels like one.
“Well, I don’t see why not. These are your files. You have a right to know what they’re saying, don’t you? So, let’s see here…” She holds the paper away from her face like she’s having trouble reading. “Baby Boy Murphy. He’s cute.” Lou holds up an ultrasound photo and continues to talk, unfazed. All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.
A boy.
A boy.
A boy.
“Jesus Christ, Lou!”
“Oh, shit.” Lou realizes what she’s done and has the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t remember that we wanted the sex of the baby to be a surprise?”
A pure and perfect rage begins in my gut and rises up to my head with such pressure it might just explode. Of all the shitty things Lou has done, this may be the worst. Leave it to her to ruin what was supposed to be one of the best moments of my life, one of the only happy things I have to hold on to right now.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think….”
I can’t hear another word. I hold up my hand to stop her from talking and fall back onto the table to let the news sink in. I’m having a baby boy.
Riley and I initially liked the name Jackson for a boy, Jack for short. For a girl, Adeline, Addy for short. But Kevin has had only one name in mind for a boy: Chase. Suddenly, in this moment, I can’t imagine my baby being called anything else.
Knowing it’s a boy, that it’s Chase, makes it real in a new and terrifying way, and all the worst-case scenarios come rushing back. Thankfully, there’s a loud knock on the door right then, and Dr. Wu strides in, all warm efficiency and brisk purpose.
“Hello?” she says tentatively. It’s clear she senses the tension. She casts Lou a look, unsure of her relationship to me.
“Hi, Dr. Wu. This is my mom, Louise. Kevin had a meeting.”
There’s no way Dr. Wu doesn’t know what’s going on with Kevin, but her face doesn’t give anything away. She extends her hand to Lou and offers her congratulations.
“Your first grandchild?”
“Yes. Thank God! A boy!”
Dr. Wu looks over at me quizzically. She knows it was supposed to be a surprise.
“My mom looked at the file. She accidentally ruined it.”
“Ruined it? I mean, you’re still having a baby.” Lou sounds like a defensive teenager. “And this way you can plan. Surprises are overrated. You were a surprise, and I cried for three days straight.”
Dr. Wu musters an amicable laugh and then trains all her focus and attention on me like I’m the only thing that matters to her. This is why I love my doctor—she looks you in the eye, talks to you like she has all the time in the world, as if there aren’t forty other women in the waiting room.
“How are you feeling?” she asks now.
Like I want to murder the woman who gave birth to me. But that’s not what I say; what I say is: “I’m having a boy.” As if I’m breaking the news to Dr. Wu.<
br />
“Yep, looks like that cat’s out of the bag. You are.” She sounds genuinely happy for me. “So let’s get everything checked out and see how he’s doing in there.” She pulls out a blood pressure cuff.
“Rita already did my vitals.”
“I know. I just want to check them again.”
I watch Dr. Wu as she clocks the numbers, the cuff on my arm squeezing tighter and tighter. I swear I see a frown when she slowly removes it and pulls out the measuring tape. She opens the paper gown to expose my veiny belly, holds one end of the tape right under my boobs and wraps it down and across my tummy to measure the growth of the uterus, the growth of the baby. Before I got pregnant, I assumed I’d get an ultrasound at every checkup, that I’d be constantly peeking inside my uterus, watching the baby flip and wave, but they are few and far between. I wonder if there would be more if I had better health insurance. It’s pointless to even ask.
“Let’s check the heartbeat.”
There is a frown. I’m sure of it now. Dr. Wu isn’t as upbeat as usual. I move from imagining the worst and start praying for the best. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. I squeeze my eyes shut as the doctor rubs the gel on my belly.
“Is it too cold?” Dr. Wu mistakes my cringe.
“It’s fine.”
There won’t be a heartbeat. This is it. The baby is dead. My baby is dead, and this is exactly what we deserve. Revenge. Karma. Justice.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
The room is silent except for the thunder of my own heartbeat; the clatter of the busy office outside the door fades away.
I look to Lou for reassurance. My mom is tapping away at her phone, oblivious to the signs and signals that something is wrong.
And then there it is: that reassuring whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, the sound of a racehorse galloping across the finish line.
Little Bird’s—Chase’s—heart is strong as ever. I try to focus on the steady rhythm, to pay attention to the moment.
He’s alive.
Dr. Wu looks confused, and I realize that I said this out loud. He’s alive.
We Are Not Like Them Page 14
