Our Netflix queue was getting quite a work out these days as I felt movies were a great escape. Jen did not approve of my constant escaping—she was still bugging me to Make A Plan—but I was so pathetic and sick all the time I was able to convince her I deserved it.
When I finally got home that Friday, Annie and I both curled up on the couch to watch Sex and the City. It was, by far, Our-Favorite-Show-Of-All-Time, and I found it was very easy to tune out those worried voices in my head when I was watching it. Jen had bought me the entire series on DVD the previous Christmas and it was one of my most prized possessions.
Annie and I had been working our way through the series over the last few weeks, and we now found ourselves on the episode where Carrie gets mad at her boyfriend, Aidan, for never wanting to go out on the town. Deeply engrossed, I found myself laughing. “God, Josh and I had this fight all the time. That boy would not leave the house for an entire weekend and be perfectly happy about it.”
There was silence for a moment, as I realized what I had said. I hadn’t talked about, or even really thought about, Josh in that way in so long. When was the last time I thought about him without desperation and pain? When was the last time I had told a story about him, or remembered something about him, in a completely casual and fond way? I had no idea.
“Ginny.” I didn’t like the tone of Annie’s voice. “Why haven’t you called him yet?”
“I can’t, Ann,” I said flatly.
“I don’t understand,” she said, picking up the remote to turn down the volume. “Josh isn’t just some random bastard that doesn’t deserve to know—I mean, he’s totally an ass, dumping you and everything. But you guys were really in love.” I closed my eyes. She didn’t have to remind me of that. “I mean, not like some first-love, crush thing that most of us had in high school. You really, actually, loved him. Right?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I really, actually did. And he’s not an ass, Ann. I know I let you guys think that, but really, he isn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Things got bad, that last year of school. It wasn’t all his fault, honest. He was… he was always good to me.” Thinking about Josh like this was physically painful, but it was important to me that she not think he was just some jerk guy.
“Virginia McKensie,” she said sternly, “he came here, after dumping you, and slept with you, even though he had no intention of getting back with you. Right?”
“It’s not that simple.” How could I make her get it? “He loved me, Ann. The break-up was just as hard for him as it was for me.”
“Well, if he’s actually this good guy, then I really don’t understand why you can’t tell him.”
I didn’t answer, and eventually Annie turned the volume of the TV back up. Lost in my thoughts, I couldn’t concentrate on the show anymore. How could I explain it to her? To make her understand I would have to tell her everything, tell her what I had done. Tell her how Josh had felt about me in the end, and why. I had never told anyone. And I wasn’t ready to start now.
Chapter Seven
Thirteen Weeks: At last!! You are now out of the dreaded first trimester. You’ll be feeling much better in no time! Right now your baby is developing at a phenomenal rate and actually looks very much like he or she will at birth—just a much tinier version! Eyes, nose, mouth, even tiny elbows have formed at this point. As for Mommy, you’re probably feeling great as morning sickness decreases, energy increases, and your adorable baby bump becomes more prominent. Aren’t you cute? While you may still fit in your baggier regular clothes, use this time as an excuse to go shopping with some girlfriends for your brand new fabulous maternity wardrobe!—Dr. Rebecca Carr, A Gal’s Guide to a Fabulous First Pregnancy!
“I refuse to wear this,” I told Annie firmly, pushing the offending garment back at her.
“Why not?” she asked. “I think it’s cute!”
“Annie, it’s practically a muumuu!” I said. And I wasn’t exaggerating: voluminous, shapeless, and covered in orange flowers, it was one of the most disgusting pieces of clothing I had ever seen.
“Well what did you expect? It’s maternity clothes, not Michael Kors’ spring line.”
“Annie, Gin is right, that thing is hideous and you know it. If you’re not going to be helpful, go look at shoes.” Jen briskly put the muumuu back on the rack and steered me over to where she had been looking. It was late January and the three of us were shopping at a consignment maternity shop. Have you ever heard anything more depressing? They couldn’t even give it a cute name to hide the depressingness—it was literally called the Consignment Maternity Shop. Gag.
“Cheer up!” Jen chided me. “There’s some cute stuff in here!”
I looked at her levelly. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Ginny, you have entirely the wrong attitude about this. We shop at vintage and resale shops all the time. Isn’t your favorite jacket that corduroy blazer we found at that resale place in Royal Oak?”
“Yeah, but that jacket was BCBG! It’s designer, it was a great find! This place is totally different.”
“How do you know?” she asked. “You’re not even trying. Look at this the same way you would any other clearance sale you’ve ever shopped. You love challenges when it comes to shopping!”
I grudgingly admitted that she had a point. I was, in fact, quite an expert at finding the diamond in the rough when it came to fashion. In addition to my BCBG jacket, I was the proud owner of a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, a DKNY cashmere cardigan, and, the pièce de résistance, a pair of Manolo Blahnik high heel sandals. I would not have been able to afford any of these things at retail prices, but hard work at trunk shows and good luck at resale stores had been my fashion allies for years.
It wasn’t like I had much choice, anyhow. My waistline was expanding at an alarming rate, much faster than my baby book (which I had finally started to read—or rather, to skim) warned would happen. I had been getting by okay so far on baggier clothes, but I had never owned many of those. I had always felt that jeans should be tight and skirts even tighter—my legs were my favorite assets, and I was a member of the “play it up” school of thought. My collection of yoga pants and baggy shirts could only be stretched so far, so it was definitely imperative that I walked away from here with some clothes. But was it too much to ask that they be at least somewhat cute?
“Here, try this,” Jen said, pushing something at me as she continued to rifle through the racks. “And these too...”
I decided to follow her lead, so I started seriously looking through the clothing on offer. Even Annie seemed to get into it, returning with several pieces that had potential. Once we had a large pile, I found a dressing room and got to work.
I was surprised to find that many of the outfits we had cobbled together were, in fact, pretty cute. Some accentuated the growing baby bump, but in a nice sort of way, while others minimized and disguised it. Soon, I was feeling that familiar rush I got when clothes shopping, the thrill of finding good deals. I was even persuaded to come out and model some things for the girls.
While I had been in the dressing room, Annie had taken it upon herself to find the most hideous pieces the store had to offer. She met me in front of the mirror wearing that first disgusting flowered muumuu. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind about this one?” she asked seriously. I couldn’t help laughing. It really was one of the worst things I had ever seen and it looked even more heinous on, if that was possible.
For the rest of the afternoon, every serious, cute outfit I came out to model was met by one of the girls in something ridiculous. There were plaid stretchy pants, orange knit dresses, and ginormous, polka-dotted, shapeless blouses. We were quickly in hysterics as each girl tried to top the last outfit.
“This one has shoulder pads!” Annie squealed, as she appeared in a neon green silk blouse.
“Stop!” I begged, holding onto Jen for support as I laughed. “You can’t make me pee
my pants at the Consignment Maternity Shop!”
“She’s right, Ann,” Jen gasped. “This place is far too classy for peeing your pants!” That, of course, set us right off laughing again.
It wasn’t lost on me that I was having fun—actually, I was having a fabulous time. I hadn’t been able to say that since finding out about the pregnancy. I looked at my friends, happy and flushed, helping me to get through an afternoon that would have been otherwise unbearable, and I began to wonder if it might be possible to do this after all.
* * *
We left the consignment shop laden with three bulging bags of fairly cute, and very cheap, maternity clothes. We had left the silly pieces behind, though Annie had made a final push for me to take the flowered muumuu for its comedy value. The girls insisted on taking me out to lunch when we finished. I had worked an extra weekend night the previous week so I would have some cash for the clothes, but they knew money was only getting tighter for me.
I demanded we go to a diner for lunch—though so many foods were making me sick, greasy fried things never lost their appeal. As we waited for our food, I rubbed my belly. “Those baby books are full of crap,” I muttered. “Everything says I’m supposed to start feeling better now, but I still feel awful.”
“My cousin had morning sickness until she was eight months pregnant,” Annie said, taking a slurp of her pop. “Maybe you’ll be like her.”
I glared at her.
“You’ve only just started your second trimester,” Jen soothed. “Give yourself some time.”
Suddenly, I felt a wave of tiredness wash over me. What had I been thinking? One fun afternoon with my girlfriends and magically I thought things would be fine? How stupid could you get?
“You okay?” Annie asked.
I shook my head, afraid I would start crying if I tried to talk.
“Ginny, it’s going to be okay,” Jen said, reaching across the table for my hand. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you’ll feel a lot better about things if you sit down and look at your options. I’ve been doing some research and there are programs that can help you with the expenses of the baby. Why don’t you sit down with me when we get home and we can take a look.”
I nodded, wiping at my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s just…it’s just a lot to deal with. And I really, really miss Josh.” My voice broke on his name, and the tears were definitely leaking out now.
“You need to call him,” Jen said. “It’s getting ridiculous that you’ve waited this long.”
The waitress saved me from having to answer, showing up with our food at that moment. She looked at me strangely, but didn’t say anything about the tears. After she left, Jen started again. “Ginny, come on. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He’s going to find out sooner or later, and he’s only gonna be more pissed the longer you wait.”
I cleared my throat. “There are things you guys don’t know, stuff I never told you— about the break-up, I mean. I just…I just need some more time. Please, please try to understand.”
Annie looked at me closely. I knew she was thinking about our discussion during Sex and the City. “Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll give you some more time. Come on, you need to eat.”
Quietly, we started on our lunch. I couldn’t have felt any more different from the way I had felt earlier in the dressing room. All the happiness and calm was gone, and I was left feeling as scared, and as lonely, as ever.
Chapter Eight
From the night of Amanda Doweger’s fateful party on, my entire world became Josh. We were already in most of the same classes and Annie, Jen, and my other friends promptly made room for him at our lunch table. I was so pleased to see how well he fit in with our group.
Josh was quiet—or at least, more quiet than me. So much of my life before him had been loud: music, parties, laughter. I still loved those things, but I knew I used them, too often, to cover up the loneliness, the silence that had been the mainstays of my childhood. Josh saw me in a way that was different than anyone else. He saw through my bullshit and gave me the ability to be different, to be real, even if only when we were alone. With Josh, for the first time, I could be quiet. I could be still.
My parents disapproved, which I found hilarious. To them, Josh was too artsy, too hippie. I tried to point out that he was the first boyfriend I ever had that respected me, that didn’t expect me to put out, but that mattered less to them than his image.
Josh’s parents, on the other hand, absolutely hated me. They knew my reputation, they could see what everyone else could see, and they did not think I was worthy of their son.
There was a time when I would have agreed with them, a time I would have characterized myself as unworthy of someone as amazing as Josh. But the crazy thing about being with Josh was that I started to see myself through his eyes. He adored me, and I respected his opinion enough to feel really and truly good about myself for the first time in my life. To Josh I was vibrant, caring, funny, sexy, intelligent, intuitive. To me, he was everything.
We were inseparable through high school. I pulled him along to my parties, to my friends’ houses, to dances. Because he was with me, he enjoyed himself, he came out of his shell. As his personality came out, his sense of humor, my friends soon accepted him for him, and not just as my boyfriend—and I was so happy.
Because Josh wrote for the school’s creative writing magazine, I joined the staff as well. I had always loved to read and write fiction, but outside of my writing classes I had never been comfortable sharing my work with people. But the fear of judgment could never compete with the feeling of Josh sitting next to me, encouraging and praising me. I loved working on the magazine, I loved the friends I made there. Mostly I loved the feeling of fierce pride it would give me to see how the people there regarded Josh. He was good, very good, and within the walls of the magazine office, he was revered. And he was mine.
When it was time to choose colleges, I never even considered anywhere but where Josh would be. He got a scholarship to State, and although he would have preferred a smaller liberal arts school, the money was too good to pass up. I, of course, followed him. We got an apartment together, to the very strong objection of both of our parents, and I was in heaven. I pictured that, at State, our life would continue along the same trajectory we had started in high school.
For the first three years, it was exactly the way I imagined it. I went to classes, and when I came home, Josh was there. We made our tiny apartment cozy. Josh hung Christmas tree lights around the ceiling and we filled the space with books and photographs. It felt like us—it felt like the first home I had ever really had.
I joined the track team and made friends with the other girls and some kids in my classes. Josh and I both joined StateInk, the college’s creative writing magazine. We went to parties, hung out with friends, but always, at the end of the night, it was Josh and me, alone in the space we had created together. We cooked together, spent hours reading in contented silence. We talked for ages about nothing, we listened to music, we made love in our small bed. I felt like my life was complete, and I never wanted it to end.
So when everything started to change, it’s no surprise that I didn’t handle it very well.
Chapter Nine
Sixteen Weeks: As you move more firmly into your second trimester I hope you are feeling much better. Most women enjoy this stage of pregnancy the most. You’ll continue seeing the physical changes in your body, but you’ll also more than likely feel more energetic and comfortable. You may even notice an increase in your desire for your husband (wink, wink). Enjoy this time with him, ladies, before a crying newborn starts taking up so much of your time!—Dr. Rebecca Carr, A Gal’s Guide to a Fabulous First Pregnancy!
I was late for work. Again. Despite what Dr. Rebecca Carr kept assuring me in the baby book, I was no closer to feeling energetic. In fact, I was still having morning sickness most days of the week, and my bladder continued to wake me up througho
ut the night. Moreover, a constant fog of exhaustion surrounded me, no matter how hard I tried to rouse myself. The grey dreariness of February in Michigan probably wasn’t helping matters much.
The other desires she kept hinting at were popping up constantly, but as there was virtually nothing I could do about that (short of watching more Colin Firth movies than was generally considered healthy), I tried hard to not think about my loneliness.
Snow had fallen the night before, but now it was melting into a slushy grey mess. I finally pulled into the Conrad’s driveway and slipped my way up the walk and into the house. I was less than ten minutes late, but I had been ten minutes late the day before, and five the day before that, so my stomach was churning with nerves, as well as the omnipresent nausea.
I was surprised to find the house quiet. Taking my shoes off in the foyer I listened for sounds of morning chaos, but I heard nothing. I walked into the kitchen, and found it empty. Where was everyone? I heard someone clear her throat behind me, and I spun to see Kelsie standing in the doorway. One look at her face and I knew a bad morning was about to get much, much worse.
* * *
Thirty minutes later I was sitting on the couch in our living room. I felt mostly shock, but under that was a rising sense of panic. What the hell was I going to do now? Annie came back from the kitchen with a cup of tea, which she handed to me as she sat down on my left side. “Jen’s on her way home,” she told me. “She told them she was feeling sick and left.”
I nodded numbly, although it didn’t seem to matter much either way. What could Jen do? “We’ll figure something out,” Annie promised, though she sounded less than sure. I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, trying to drown out the ever increasing panic building inside me. Annie sat with me, not saying a word, which I appreciated. Platitudes would probably send me over the edge right then.
Three Girls and a Baby Page 4
