It Started in June

by Susan Kietzman

  “I’m fine and I did,” she said. “It was nice to have some downtime and to get a few things done around the house.”

  “I hope you spent some time outside, too. What an incredible weather week. You live by the shore, right?”

  “I do,” said Grace. “In a small house on the beach.”

  “Well, you can’t beat that.”

  “No, sir,” said Bradley, feeling as though he should chime in, become part of the conversation.

  Paul looked at him. “So, what brings you into the office so early today, Bradley? The early bird gets the worm? Turning over a new leaf?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Bradley, smiling to soften his response. He had no intention of being at the office at eight o’clock on anything close to a regular basis. He had forfeited his run that morning to have this time with Grace, this time that Paul was now interrupting. “Grace and I are meeting about the museum account.” He said this as easily and convincingly as if he and Grace had not only been meeting about the museum account, but had also made several key decisions.

  Paul gave Bradley an avuncular clap on the shoulder. “Good. That’s good news,” he said. He turned to Grace. “Include an update on the agenda for our Thursday meeting. I’m anxious to hear what you two have cooked up. I’ve got a few ideas myself.” And then he clapped his hands once, something he routinely did to end meetings. “I’ll let you two get back at it,” he said, heading for the door. “I’m in all day if you need anything.”

  As soon as Paul was gone, Bradley and Grace shared an amused glance. “Shall we continue?” Bradley asked.

  By habit, Grace looked at her watch. “No,” she said. “I mean yes, I do want to have a conversation with you. But it doesn’t seem like the office is the greatest place to have it. So, instead, let’s actually have a meeting about the museum. Do you have time now? I haven’t checked your calendar.”

  Bradley smiled at her. “Since I normally don’t get to work until an hour from now, I’m completely free. Let me run to my office and get my stuff.”

  And for the next hour, time passed as if Grace and Bradley had nothing but business to discuss.

  * * *

  Grace had ice cream plans with Shannon that night. And Bradley had to travel for business, so they didn’t have another chance to have a private, face-to-face talk until after work on Wednesday. Grace had invited him to come to her house for dinner.

  Bradley left the office several minutes after Grace. He reminded himself that she hadn’t asked him to spend the night, and hadn’t even flirted with him in any way lately. Bradley wanted so badly to touch her, to kiss her, to tell her he wanted to make love to her again. But there was something about Grace’s demeanor that cautioned him against it. And then he realized on his way to Grace’s how absurd this suggestion would sound. They were standing on the edge of a cliff together. Either they would walk, hand in hand, away from the precipice, after Bradley agreed to parent their child, or, if he declined, Grace would push him into the abyss. Sex with Grace was a thing of the past, unless he consented to it being a thing of the future.

  She had reminded him to bring his swimsuit. And five minutes after Bradley had parked his car behind hers in her driveway, they walked down Grace’s back steps to the beach. They dove underneath the warm surface of the water to the coolness below, and then they stood, waist deep, facing each other. Her wet hair framed her tanned face, and her green eyes caught the late daylight. Bradley put his hands on her shoulders, and then drew her to him, closing the space between their bodies. The early August sun was still hot, so they lingered, holding each other, rather than retreating to their towels on the beach.

  Grace leaned back and looked into Bradley’s eyes. “So,” she said.

  “So,” said Bradley.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said. He held his breath. “Talking about this is hard for a reason. As we’ve acknowledged, we are facing and making big, life-altering decisions, and such decisions should not be made quickly or lightly.”

  Bradley exhaled. “I agree. Go on.”

  “And even though I think I’ve made my decision, I admit that I made it quickly—and emotionally rather than intellectually—without giving you much time or room to think.” Bradley was nodding. “And so the best thing, the fair thing, is to give you more time to decide what you want to do. This is not something either of us was looking for.” Bradley was still nodding. “I will want to tell Paul and Dana in another month or so, certainly before I start to show. So by then, I’ll need to know whether or not I should include your name in that conversation. Does this sound all right to you?”

  Because Bradley was at that minute convinced he was in love with her, he almost told her that he didn’t need more time, that he was ready to be with her, that he was ready to help raise their child. But instead he simply said, “Okay.” He didn’t know if it was his mother’s voice or his own in his head, but whichever one it was told him to stop there.

  It had been eleven days since Grace had told him she was pregnant. And even though Bradley told her then that he would let her know his decision in a week, he had not decided. In fact, the few times that he had set aside to think about Grace’s pregnancy, he’d ended up doing other things instead. It seemed that he would rather think about almost anything than possible fatherhood. Was this what his mother called decision paralysis? Was he actually paralyzed, unable to decide, or was he avoiding acknowledging the truth?

  And was this because during the brief seconds he paused to consider his options, he kept changing his mind? When Grace had first told him the news, his initial thought had been to break up with her. But he quickly decided this was a reaction to the way Grace had told him—that she was going to have the baby whether or not he was interested in being a part of it. Her words made Bradley feel like she didn’t want him to help her with their baby, that she didn’t want him in her life. Bradley had always felt wanted and was confused by the apparent ease with which she dismissed him. And paradoxically, because she would allow him to go, he wanted to stay.

  When he tried to explain his jumbled thoughts to his parents, his mother made a number of points that Bradley couldn’t argue with. Number one, he didn’t know Grace very well. Their first date, the night they had sex in her car, was less than two months ago. Number two, he was much younger than she was, with his entire life still in front of him. Jumping into fatherhood just to be a nice guy was not a good life decision. Number three, Grace had made the choice to have the baby without consulting him. She hadn’t come to him in tears, looking for comfort and guidance. She had calmly and resolutely, it appeared, decided to have their baby. Her words indicated that Bradley’s involvement didn’t matter to her one way or the other. It was as if she were saying, “If you want to be a dad, fine. If you don’t, fine.” What kind of invitation was that, his mother asked, to participate in this huge responsibility, to spend the rest of their lives together?

  Bradley countered by telling his mother that Grace, in telling him in the manner that she did, was simply trying to be good to him. If she had told him she was in love with him and that she wanted to marry him, in addition to asking him to raise their baby together, it would have been too much; he would have panicked; he would have run.

  A couple of the women Bradley had dated had been like that: demanding, possessive, outspoken. It had been kind of flattering at first, the way they always linked their arms with his in public; the dozens of text messages they sent throughout the day; the plans for the weekend made on Monday mornings; the very steamy sex, complete with special outfits and footwear. How could any guy not be happy with this kind of arrangement? But as soon as Bradley tuned in to the amount of control women like this had over his life—to the fact that they dictated everything, from their time together to their time apart—he started thinking about an exit. Instead of breaking up with them, he would first test them, by not immediately returning texts or phone calls, to gauge their level of control. One woman had gone berserk
within a day and a half, posting nasty comments on social media and sending him pictures of her new man. He had been shocked by how quickly the crazy-hot love had become just crazy.

  Grace was not crazy. She was not demanding. She didn’t appear to be jealous or needy or controlling. No, Grace was the opposite of these things. And because she was sane and amenable and trusting and confident and courteous, Bradley was drawn to her. He also knew that if he let her go, there was a distinct chance that he wouldn’t be lucky enough to meet someone like her again. His mother had given him the old line about there being a lot of fish in the sea. But Bradley had sampled a lot more seafood than his mother had been made aware of.

  Still, committing himself to Grace was not the same thing as committing himself to Grace and a baby—except that it had become the same thing with the pregnancy. The baby, his baby, was growing bigger and stronger every day. And in just over seven months, he or she would come into the world knowing nothing and needing everything, completely reliant on the mother. And the father? Bradley had a healthy imagination, but he was having a hard time picturing himself in this role. Would thirty days clarify the picture?

  “Are you cold?” he asked Grace, pulling her against his chest.

  “Yes,” she said. “And, I’m happy to report, I’m also hungry.”

  “Me too.”

  * * *

  They rinsed off together in Grace’s outdoor shower. The water ran down Bradley’s chest, over his tight abdomen, and onto his wet swim trunks. And Grace was suddenly lit up with sexual desire. She took a step toward Bradley and pushed her breasts into him. He responded by wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her bottom, pulling her even closer. She wanted to have sex with him, in the shower, right now. She reached for his head and pulled his mouth to her mouth. And they kissed under the warm water not breathing, for half a minute. Bradley yanked off his suit while Grace pulled her bikini bottom down to her knees, and they rocked together against the pine plank sides of the shower, her wide-open eyes locked on his.

  CHAPTER 16

  When Bradley told his parents that Grace had suggested the beginning of September as his due date—neither one of them laughed—they booked a flight to see him and to meet Grace. They flew into Hartford the following Friday afternoon, rented a car, and arrived at Bradley’s apartment shortly after five o’clock. Bradley, who had taken a half day from work to clean his place and get a few groceries, greeted them at the door, and then walked with them the few blocks to the Airbnb he had booked for their visit. He suggested they unpack and unwind, and plan on being back at his apartment by six, when Grace would arrive. They would have a cocktail there and then walk to the vegetarian restaurant Bradley had chosen for dinner.

  As soon as Bradley left, Dorrie rolled her bag to the bedroom at the back of the house and began unpacking. Bruce, whose need to unpack, to settle in, was less urgent than Dorrie’s, walked to the living room and called to his wife from there: “I think this Airbnb idea is sheer genius. Tidy up the place before you leave and again when you get back and pocket five hundred dollars.”

  “I don’t know,” shouted Dorrie from the bedroom. “I’m not sure I would like strangers staying in our house, snooping through our drawers, and—who knows—maybe stealing something.” Dorrie hung her dress for dinner in the closet and put the rest of her clothes in one of the vacant drawers in the bureau.

  “That,” Bruce yelled, “is not a very charitable view of humankind.”

  “What?” shouted Dorrie. “Seriously, Bruce, we have got to stop bellowing to each other from different rooms.” They had picked up the bad habit over the years of calling out for or to each other, no matter where the other person was located in the house and no matter what that person was doing. Dorrie was especially peeved by this behavior, which she told Bruce was a sign of laziness as well as rudeness.

  Bruce came down the hallway toward her, pulling his bag behind him. “I said that your view of humankind is not a very charitable one.”

  “I talk to humankind forty hours a week. Fifty percent of them are thieves.”

  Bruce burst out laughing. “That is not true,” he said, smiling at his wife.

  She smiled in return, as she often did. After thirty-four years of marriage, Dorrie was still attracted to her husband. At sixty-two, he still had a youthful face, one that exuded warmth and patience, as well as confidence. He was a respected and revered pediatrician in Michigan, known for his competence as well as his compassion. “No, it’s not,” she said. “But I still wouldn’t want strangers living in my house.”

  “I’ll wait until you’re dead then.”

  “Thank you,” said Dorrie. “In the meantime, why don’t you unpack, and I’ll take a quick shower.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Hey,” she said, “Bradley looks good, doesn’t he? He seems happy, in spite of everything that’s going on.”

  “Yes,” said Bruce. “He does.”

  * * *

  Still at work, Grace was having a hard time concentrating on the e-mail she was composing to a client. In just ten minutes, she would get in her car and drive to Bradley’s apartment, where she would meet his parents. And even though she had known about this evening for a week, she had grown more rather than less anxious as the designated day, and then hour, drew closer. Bradley had assured her that his parents were warm and easygoing individuals—well, his father was, anyway. His mother was intense and very direct, Bradley had told Grace. The boundaries practiced by psychiatrists didn’t necessarily apply to her. She would never betray a patient’s confidence or violate a trust, but she had no trouble pushing those in her care to tears or violent outbursts. She led her patients fairly quickly to the “deep end of the pool,” to the source of the pain, routinely dismissing those who wouldn’t do the work. Her techniques were controversial, but her results were worthy of discussion and analysis at conferences around the country. Psychotherapy, in her mind, was a temporary solution. Her goal had always been to equip her patients with the tools they needed to thrive without her. Yet, Bradley also told Grace, in spite of her hard exterior and tough tactics, she was kindhearted and fair.

  So, Grace was uneasy about this initial meeting with Dorrie. She was also nervous because Bradley’s parents were coming to Connecticut for a reason; they wanted Grace to get an abortion. They were not flying in to gush over their son’s new girlfriend. They were in Connecticut to have a look at the woman who’d had sex in a car on a first date with their son and was now determined to keep the unplanned baby that coupling had produced.

  Grace looked at the lower right corner of her screen; it was time to go. She shut down her computer, stuffed it into her briefcase, and then grabbed her purse before stepping into the hallway and locking her office door behind her. Halfway to the front door, she darted into the bathroom and squatted down in front of the toilet to vomit. This was not morning sickness. Grace wiped her mouth and chin with toilet paper and slowly stood. She stepped over to the sink and looked in the mirror and told herself to get it together! She reached into her purse for the travel toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste zippered into the side pocket. After she brushed and flossed her teeth, she texted Bradley to tell him she was running a few minutes late.

  * * *

  Bradley heard his phone ding as he was setting up the bar in his kitchen. His mother was arranging cheese and crackers on the serving platter she had given Bradley as a gift, and his father was shaking cashews from a can into a ceramic bowl, eating a few as he did. They loved the ceremony of happy hour—the booze, of course, but just as much the hors d’oeuvres. His mother’s favorite dinner was no dinner at all, just a glass or two of wine and several mouthfuls of Brie, Jarlsberg, or cheddar.

  He fished his phone out of his pocket. “It’s Grace,” he said. “She’s running just a few minutes late.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” said his mother. In Bradley’s opinion, the information he had just imparted about Grace was neither bad nor good; it was sim
ply factual. Nonetheless, he let his mother’s pronouncement pass without comment. In his opinion, she offered such commentary simply as a means to fill space. For a psychiatrist, his mother had a surprisingly hard time with silence outside her office. Bradley was the same person in the office as he was outside, with few exceptions. Dorrie had completely different personas for work and for regular life; filter on and filter off.

  “What can I get you to drink?” asked Bradley. “I’ve got just about everything.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Grace?” asked Dorrie.

  “She’ll be here in a minute,” said Bradley. “I thought I’d just get the process started.”

  “Well, in that case, you can work on a gin and tonic for me,” said Bruce. “Do you have any limes?”

  “Yes, I just cut one up,” said Bradley. “They’re in the fridge, Dad, in a blue bowl on the bottom shelf, next to the yogurt, I think. While you’re in there, can you grab the bottle of Pellegrino for Grace.”

  * * *

  Pellegrino! The word brought Grace’s pregnancy to the front of Dorrie’s mind again. It seemed that she could shove it into the corners of her brain for only so long. She had willed herself not to think about it on the trip east, which she had fairly successfully accomplished with the help of a gripping novel and light conversation with Bruce. But it kept returning, like the sound of a new e-mail in her in-box, or the tears of sadness from some of her clients. And here it was again, the reason she and Bruce had flown in, the reason they were all gathered at Bradley’s apartment: Grace was going to drink Pellegrino; she wasn’t going to have a festive cocktail because she was pregnant.

  Five minutes later, the hors d’oeuvres sitting on the coffee table in the living room, and the drinks waiting in the fridge, Bradley’s cell phone rang. “Oh no,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there in five minutes. Hang tight.” Bradley put his phone back into his pocket. “It’s Grace,” he said to Dorrie and Bruce, who were still standing in the kitchen with him. “She’s got a flat tire.”