Baby: MacAllister-Made

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  “My aunt Margaret is convinced that I’m in love with you?”

  “Well, yes, and I tried to tell her she was wrong,” Brenda said, waving one hand dismissively in the air. “She said she could see it in your ever-famous MacAllister eyes, or whatever, and she wouldn’t listen to me when I—forget it. You are not in love with me.”

  “Oh?” Richard said, raising his eyebrows. “Just how does one know when one is in love? Hmm? Tell me that, so wise and worldly Brenda.”

  “I’m not having this conversation, again, Richard,” she said, then took a bite of her dinner.

  “Why not?”

  Brenda shook her head and kept chewing.

  “You said that you know that I’m not in love with you,” Richard went on. “I didn’t hear you say that you’re positive that you’re not in love with me.”

  Brenda swallowed, then pointed her fork at Richard.

  “Semantics,” she said. “I meant that we know that we’re not in love with each other. The end. Change the subject. Eat your dinner. Go check the body count of ants in your apartment. I have enough to deal with, Richard, without your muddling my brain any further.”

  “But, Bren—”

  “No.” Brenda dropped her fork onto her plate, got to her feet and stepped backward, wrapping her hands around her elbows. “I’m going to have a baby, Richard, and sometimes I get so scared because I don’t know if I’ll be a proper mother, even though I want to be so very much.

  “And today I wrote a long letter to my parents and told them that I’m pregnant, and somewhere in my heart I know they’ll be supportive, but there’s a niggling little voice in my mind that is so afraid they’ll be disappointed in me because I’m not married and—”

  “Brenda,” Richard said, getting to his feet.

  “Stay over there and just listen to me.”

  “Yes.” Richard raised both hands. “Okay. I won’t move.”

  “Thank you.” Brenda drew a wobbly breath. “I get so tired sometimes, Richard, just weepy exhausted, and when I think about the future, trying to be a mother and continuing to excel at my chosen career and—

  “Oh, yes, my career. I told the crew at work today that I’m pregnant, and they were all smiles and congratulations, but I could see unasked questions on their faces about who the father is and why aren’t I marrying him and—

  “It would be so much easier to just tell myself that I’m in love with you, and we’d get married and buy a house, and you’d be there to help all the time, and I wouldn’t be so alone and terrified and…”

  “Ah, Bren,” Richard said, dragging one hand through his hair.

  “There are times, Richard, when I’m afraid of myself.” Brenda splayed one hand on her breasts. “Of me. What if I did it? What if I convinced myself that I’m in love with you and somehow found a way to…to brainwash you into thinking that you’re in love with me, when we know we’re not because we’re just best friends? What then, Richard? What if I did that horrible thing just because I was so worn-out and… I’d ruin our lives, our daughter’s life and… You and I would be together under false pretenses.

  “Oh, it might be just fine and dandy for years, while our daughter was growing up and we were focused on her. But she’d eventually leave home to find her own path, which is the natural order of things.

  “What then? You and I would look at each other and wonder what on earth we were doing there, sitting across the kitchen table staring at each other. We’d come to resent each other, because we’d have nothing left to go forward with.”

  Tears spilled onto Brenda’s pale cheeks. “We’d have nothing left, and I would have lost my best friend in the bargain.”

  Brenda covered her face with her hands and gave way to her tears.

  Richard closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Brenda, holding her close. He buried his face in Brenda’s silky hair for a long moment, then raised his head again and sighed as Brenda struggled to stop the flow of tears that seemed endless.

  “You’re right, Brenda,” Richard said, his voice flat and low. “The piper would eventually have to be paid, wouldn’t it, if we attempted to base a marriage on just friendship. I really thought that we would be just fine if we— But I was wrong, I can see that now.

  “Ah, hell, it wouldn’t work. We’re not in love with each other, and because we’re not, it isn’t enough. Aunt Margaret misread whatever she thought she saw in my damnable MacAllister eyes, and it was just a fluke that we bought each other the matching books and…and there are no ants.”

  Brenda raised her head, sniffled and frowned in confusion.

  “What about the ants?” she said.

  “I made it all up, Bren,” he said, still holding her close to him. “I truly believed that if I could show you that we could live under the same roof, live together, that you’d come to realize it was enough to base a marriage on—our being best friends who had learned to compromise on our differences.”

  “You lied about the ants?” she said, her tear-filled eyes widening. “There isn’t an army of ants in your apartment?”

  “No,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I saw a ladybug on the leaf of one of my plants, but…no, there aren’t any ants.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you, Brenda, and I hope you’ll forgive me for doing it, but I really believed that I was on the right track and— But I wasn’t. I was very, very wrong. Friendship just isn’t enough to have a…to have a forever.”

  “No, it’s not,” Brenda said, hardly above a whisper. “And, yes, I forgive you for the ant lie. It was actually very sweet of you, Richard, because you had to sleep on my crummy sofa to accomplish what you thought was best for us and our daughter.”

  She managed to produce a small smile. “Your plan wasn’t a total loss,” she said. “I hang up my clothes and put my shoes in the closet every day now, and I haven’t lost a list of what I’m supposed to do.

  “I enjoy baseball, now that I know the rules of the game, and you yelled ‘Stella’ at the top of your lungs right along with Marlon Brando when we watched that movie together.

  “We waltzed around the living room to Strauss and practiced the two-step to country-western music, and I’ve never run out of milk, and I’m going to miss you when I go to sleep at night and know you’re not here and…and I feel so sad that I want to crawl into my pea-soup and cry for a week without stopping.”

  Richard framed Brenda’s face in his hands. “Ah, Bren,” he said, shaking his head. “Why does everything have to be so complicated for us?”

  Brenda sighed. “I don’t know, Richard, but it is, it just is.”

  “Yeah.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, then started to drop his hands from her face. Brenda gripped his wrists to keep his hands in place and looked directly into his eyes.

  “Make love with me, Richard. Please?” she said. “We had one night together and in my mind it belongs to our baby because that was when we created her. I want memories of our lovemaking that are mine, all mine…and yours if you want them. Am I asking too much of you?”

  “Ah, no, Bren, no, you’re not.” Richard brushed his lips over hers. “Flash had her night. This one is ours, yours and mine.”

  Richard’s mouth melted over Brenda’s, and a last, lingering sob caught in her throat. Heartbeats skittered, then settled into a rapid tempo, and the heat of desire rushed through them like a wild current.

  Richard broke the kiss and lifted Brenda into his arms. He carried her to the bedroom, set her on her feet, snapped on the small lamp on the nightstand and flung back the blankets on the bed.

  A sense of urgency suffused them. They were existing for now, in time stolen out of reality, creating a world that wasn’t theirs to keep, nor to linger in.

  They shed their clothes quickly and moved onto the bed, Richard catching his weight on one forearm as he splayed his hand on the rounded slope of Brenda’s stomach.

  “Are you sure we won’t hurt her?” he said, his voice
gritty with passion.

  “She’ll be fine,” Brenda said. “This is our night, Richard.”

  “Yes.”

  He captured her lips with his, parting them, slipping his tongue into the sweet darkness of her mouth. She sank her fingers into his thick hair and returned the kiss, giving as much as she was receiving.

  Richard ended the kiss to move to one of her breasts that was fuller from her pregnancy, more lush and womanly. Her hands fluttered over his back, savoring the feel of the taut muscles, the very strength and power of him.

  They didn’t think, not there in their stolen, private place, they only felt, cherishing every sensual sensation, every heady aroma, every treasure newly found as lips and hands rediscovered what was theirs to have…one last glorious time.

  It was theirs.

  And it was ecstasy.

  The flames of desire within them grew hotter, licking throughout them, burning.

  “Bren,” Richard said.

  “Yes. Oh, yes, Richard.”

  He entered her slowly, holding back, being so very careful, until she was tossing her head restlessly on the pillow, wanting more, needing more, all of him. Brenda raised her hips and he surged within her, filling her, bringing a soft sigh of feminine pleasure whispering from her lips.

  They moved as one in perfect rhythm. It wasn’t a Strauss waltz, nor a Texas two-step, it was a dance they created just for themselves, together. They were caught in the swirl of the heat of desire, flung higher as the crescendo neared, the music theirs alone to hear.

  It thrummed. Higher, hotter, faster. Beating in a wild tempo, carrying them up and away to finally burst into wondrous oblivion while each called the other’s name.

  They drifted, lingered, as the music became dreamy, soothing, quiet and serene.

  Richard moved off Brenda, then gathered her into his arms, holding her close.

  Then they each, so reverently, so tenderly, tucked the precious memories of what they had just shared in treasure chests in their hearts and minds.

  Hearts quieted. Bodies cooled. Reality rose to the fore.

  With an unspoken agreement, knowing it was how it had to be, Richard eased off the bed, pulled on his clothes and left.

  And when the apartment door closed behind him with a click, Brenda wept for all that might have been, but would never be.

  Ten

  Days slid into weeks, then into months, with time passing so quickly that Brenda felt on occasion that the baby would be born before she could possibly be prepared for her arrival.

  Those weepy, panicky moments usually descended upon her when she was extremely tired, and she would share her dismay with Richard, who would whip out the list they had made of what had to be done, show her how many things were already crossed off as completed and tell her that everything was under control.

  Brenda would wipe away her tears with yet another of Richard’s handkerchiefs, allow him to soothe her fears, then her sunny smile would return.

  Brenda’s parents telephoned from Greece the minute they read the letter. They were totally supportive, expressed excitement over being grandparents and offered to fly home immediately to be with Brenda through the remaining months of her pregnancy.

  She assured them that it wasn’t necessary. She felt fine, fat but fine, and was surrounded by the MacAllister family, all of whom were being wonderful to her.

  In her letter she’d said that she had no plans to marry the father of her baby. During the telephone conversation, her folks did not ask, nor did Brenda volunteer, the name of that man.

  Richard and Jack painted the second bedroom in Brenda’s apartment the pale-yellow she selected, then nursery furniture from the MacAllister stash was put into place.

  A baby shower was held in Brenda’s honor, per MacAllister tradition, and Brenda arranged the precious, tiny clothes in the dresser drawers in the nursery. She then proceeded to take everything out again, just so she could see and touch each delicate item.

  Richard enlisted Brenda’s help in decorating the office he had rented for his new company, MacAllister Technical Services.

  She dragged him from store to store to find the perfect furniture for the reception area, and also stated he had to have an impressive desk befitting the oh-so-important owner of a company.

  Richard went to the northern part of California for a week to meet with various computer supply outlets in Silicone Valley, finally reaching an agreement with one that was able to provide the equipment that Richard anticipated needing.

  He was also busy interviewing and hiring computer troubleshooters to make up his crew. Brenda investigated and compared group medical insurance packages, finally presenting her choice to Richard as being the best one for him to offer his employees.

  Richard and Brenda attended a potluck Thanksgiving dinner at Jillian and Forrest’s home. It was a fun day with the noise level, Robert MacAllister declared, probably registering on the Richter scale.

  The large house was overflowing with adults and children, never-ending football games blared from the television with a male audience of well-fed MacAllisters hooting and hollering, and kids were everywhere in every shape, size and temperament.

  Except for a few knowing nods directed at Brenda from Margaret MacAllister, no one behaved any differently toward Brenda, nor did they remark on the fact that she and Richard had arrived at the festivities together. After all, Brenda surmised, she and Richard had attended many family events together in the past.

  The days flew by.

  The nights did not.

  During the quiet hours in the darkness, Brenda found herself, time and again, reliving the exquisitely beautiful lovemaking she had shared with Richard. She would be overcome with desire, then in the next moment she would be consumed with a chilling sense of loneliness as her hand swept over the empty expanse of bed next to her.

  In the light of the new day she would push the images of the previous night from her mind, chalk up the whole nonsense to her pregnant hormones and go blissfully off to work at the travel agency.

  During the first week in December, Brenda had an appointment with Kara. After the examination Brenda eased herself into the chair opposite Kara’s desk in her office and sighed.

  “Kara, I have two months to go and I feel as though I’m going to explode any minute,” Brenda said. “I’m huge. I can’t even remember when I looked like I was smuggling a basketball.” She rested her hands on her stomach. “This is the Good-year blimp that got lost on its way to a football stadium.”

  “Mmm,” Kara said as she wrote some data in Brenda’s chart. She flipped the file closed, folded her hands on the top of it and frowned. “Your blood pressure is up again, Brenda. Are you certain that you’re not sneaking some salt into your diet?”

  “I promise I’m not,” Brenda said, raising one hand. “Everything tastes so bland and… I didn’t realize how much flavor salt added to food, until I couldn’t have it anymore. Blak.”

  “Well, the holidays are coming, and that means all kinds of temptations as far as food goes,” Kara said. “You are set on automatic ‘no.’ No salt…none. That means no baked goods. I also don’t like the degree of swelling in your feet and ankles. You have got to slow down, quit doing so much, spend more time relaxing with your tootsies up.”

  Brenda’s eyes widened. “Slow down? Now? I’m about to start my Christmas shopping.”

  “That’s what mail-order catalogs are for, as well as shopping on the Internet. Brenda,” Kara said, “I’m serious. You come home from work and stay put. There will be no grabbing a bite to eat and heading for the malls to Christmas shop for you. Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes,” Brenda said, nodding. “Kara, you’re not smiling, not even a little. Is something wrong? With me? With the baby?”

  “I’m a little concerned,” Kara said, leaning back in her chair. “The baby has started to turn and drop a bit already and it’s awfully early for that. I don’t want you doing anything that will bring on early labo
r. I’m going to start scheduling you for weekly appointments so I can keep close tabs on you. You’ll probably go full term to February first, but let’s not take any chances.”

  “You’re frightening me, Kara,” Brenda said, the color draining from her face.

  “I’m sorry, but you have to hear this. If I don’t like what I see at any point, I’m going to order complete bed rest. That isn’t necessary yet, but don’t be surprised if I tell you very soon that you can only work half days at the travel agency. I’d rather be overcautious, Brenda, than have that little one come earlier than is best for her.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course, I understand,” Brenda said.

  “With Richard not traveling the way he used to,” Kara said, “he’s right next door and should be able to help you. Right?”

  “He’s putting in very long hours at his new office,” Brenda said. “He’s mapping out advertising campaigns, calling prospective customers, still interviewing candidates to work for him and—”

  “Whoa,” Kara said, raising one hand. “Richard MacAllister is also going to be a father, and there are responsibilities that go along with that role. Would you like me to talk to him, explain that he needs to run your errands for you, cook dinner?”

  “No, no, I’ll tell Richard what you said,” Brenda said. “He wants and loves this baby every bit as much as I do, Kara. He’ll come through for me—” she splayed one hand on her stomach “—for us, I know he will. After all, he’s my—”

  “Yes, I know,” Kara said, shaking her head. “Richard is your best friend.” She paused. “Do you know that the triplets asked Jillian and Forrest why they, the girls, hadn’t been invited to the wedding for Aunt Brenda and Uncle Richard?”

  “What wedding?” Brenda said, confused. “There wasn’t any wedding.”

  “The girls were convinced there had been, and their feelings were hurt because they didn’t get to attend. Jessica said that she was sure there was a wedding, because Aunt Brenda and Uncle Richard smile at each other with warm eyes just like her mommy and daddy do. The girls said all this after seeing you and Richard together on Thanksgiving.”