"Hey, I can think of worse things than marrying you and having a kid."
"But now? Are you ready for that? Are we?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe? Sammy, this is--we'd have to--somebody would have to look after the kid and we'd have so many bills and there's 2 AM feedings and--have I had rubella?"
"You're asking me?" He gave her a squeeze. "Darling, there are times one just has to do what needs to be done. If you get pregnant--whenever--we'll do what we have to. We'll get you your checkups; we'll look after everything. And we'll get married and I'll love you and I'll love the kid too; and you'll love the kid, I know you will."
Rowena closed her eyes, then opened them. "It's a little sooner than I'd intended," Sammy was saying, "but as I said before, I can think of worse things."
"This is--oh, Sammy." She pictured a baby, wrapped neither in pink nor in blue, with Sammy's light hair and--
"You're not going to freak out on me," Sammy said. "We're both reasonably mature. And this is not the end of the world."
Rowena thought, "It might be happening right now." It seemed strange she couldn't be sure.
"You're not ashamed, are you?" Sammy asked.
"Ashamed?"
"That we're making love."
"Oh, no," said Rowena. "Of course not."
"Because the things they tell girls growing up--and I'm sure you got plenty from your mom--"
"I considered the source," Rowena said. She smiled at him, then looked away. "I don't see how it can be wrong, the things we do, or anything else about our relationship, either. I feel dumb about ever having had anything to do with somebody like Neil, but that's--that's different." She gave him a quick smile, then turned a moment to gaze across the room. "I'd feel stupid about `getting caught,' as they used to say--maybe they still say it; I don't know--I know about failure rates and everything but you kind of assume that somebody was careless, if not downright stupid--and I--"
"I love you," Sammy said. "And I don't think that's being stupid."
"And I love you." She took a breath. "But it's been so nice, and we haven't . . . you just don't rush into marriage and children and all that. It's just too important." She stroked his knee with one finger. "Everything involving you is too important."
He turned her face towards him and kissed her, tenderly. Then he held her close; Rowena clung to him. She began to cry; Sammy held her even closer and began to rock her gently.
"What if it's too much, all of a sudden?" Rowena asked. "What if--what if we can't--if you leave me or--"
"Oh, Rowena." He began kissing her neck and shoulder, all the parts he could get to without loosening her. "Rowena. For me to leave you . . ." He kissed her again, then again. "If it turns out you are pregnant, which you probably are not, we will have several months to work everything out. Maybe not as much time as we'd like, but . . . but I think we'll have our eyes open. And I think we'll be okay. I seriously do."
"I hope so."
"I think we're willing to work on it. And I think we can succeed." He drew back a bit and looked at her. "Right?"
She waited a moment for an answer to come to her, to come up from inside. "Right," she said.
"So we're not going to fret," he said. "We'll just be careful--"
"Continue to be careful," said Rowena.
"Well, we'll do what we can and we'll see what happens. And if you get pregnant we'll take care of everything, but right now we'll relax. Okay?"
"I guess."
"And no shame?"
"Not--like that . . . but I hope--I just wouldn't want people to think we only did it--only got married--because of the kid. That we'd just been messing around."
"Nobody who knows us could believe that."
"Yeah . . ."
"So, unless you want to get married right now, just in case . . ."
"Don't be silly."
"Then fuck 'em," said Sammy.
And she had to laugh.
Lying all snug with her head on his chest she felt better. Probably nothing had happened; she knew that usually nothing did. And if it had . . .
Thank God, she thought, that this hadn't happened with Neil. Even if he had been willing to take some sort of responsibility. Especially if he'd been willing to take the sort of responsibility Sammy had offered to take. She found herself remembering Neil, the way he used to shake his hair out of his eyes. Arrogant jerk. She had thought, once, that the opposite of being ignored was having attention paid. She had thought that a few soft touches meant tenderness.
It seemed a very long time ago, Neil and all the frustration, all the tedium. She always thought of Neil's true self as the one he'd ended up showing her, had always wondered how she'd missed seeing it earlier. Certainly her mother had missed it, but that was to be expected. Her mother's advice about almost anything was almost uniformly bad.
But Sammy couldn't end up like Neil, could he? Even if he did change somehow, Sammy could never be like that. Even if her mother did profess to like him, he still couldn't end up like that.
She herself had changed, since Neil. She didn't hope in the same way, for a start. Not that she'd entirely given up; just . . .
Sammy's breathing was so peaceful, so steady. They had turned off the light some time ago, but she knew he was awake. She raised her hand and barely, barely brushed over his chest hairs. He pulled her closer. Rowena, already snuggled along the length of his body, wriggled as though she thought she could wriggle into him. She thought his name: Sammy. Sammy. She wondered, if there was a baby, if they had one now or years from now . . . their own baby . . . would it . . .
Probably nothing had happened. She would get her mother to show her her medical records under some pretext or other, and she would get vaccinated if necessary, and then she would be sure to eat properly, and otherwise she would go on as before, and if she did get pregnant later she'd have that much less to worry about. Of course, she should have done all those things already.
Would she have to give up her job? Not that it was such an exciting job in the first place or anything. She'd have to look after the kid all the time; feed it, clean it, worry about it, bandage it and kiss it better . . . She held tightly to Sammy; he began stroking her hair. It was ridiculous, but she could still see that little person--a toddler now but still of unspecified sex--wailing next to an overturned tricycle.
She felt so sorry. She wanted to comfort the child, but of course the child was not there, could not be comforted. She took a deep breath. Of all the things to worry about. Of all the things in the world.
She woke with a full bladder. She eased herself away from Sammy, who stirred and reached as if to pull her back, and made her way in the darkness to the bathroom. She sat, adjusting her eyes to the light, thinking of little else. Finally she took some toilet paper and--
Red.
There was no mistaking it. Her period had started; her various cells, and Sammy's, were already draining away. There was no pregnancy; there wouldn't even be a mess, with her supplies so close at hand, everything orderly as usual.
She was vaguely surprised that she was crying.
"Something wrong?" Sammy asked.
"Not really," said Rowena. She had come back to bed but could not lie down. "It looks as though I'm not pregnant. How's that for timing?"
Sammy was silent just a moment. "Are you sorry?"
She had to wipe her eyes. "Don't mind me; I'm just being perverse."
"Do you want to--"
"No. No, of course not. It's just--I don't know. If I'd known I already kind of wanted a baby--wanted to have one now, I mean--I could just say, `Oh, well, it'll just be a few years.' But here I put all this energy into worrying and everything without really realizing that I--" She sighed. "It caught me by surprise. That's all." She moved her hand restlessly over the blanket. "So I'm a little confused."
"Mixed feelings," Sammy said. "I have them too." She peered at him in the darkness. He began stroking her back. "There's plenty of time," he said. "We have lots of tim
e, and we can do it properly."
She sighed again. "I know . . ."
"And you've got a wonderful dog to look after, not to mention me . . ."
She almost laughed. "And here I thought you were being serious."
"I am serious," Sammy said. He wasn't so serious that she couldn't tell he was smiling. He raised himself, his weight on one straight arm, leaned over and nibbled her ear. "Are you going to be satisfied for a while?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "Actually, I am."
He moved down to her throat. "Good," he said, between kisses. She put her arm around him.
"Sammy?"
"Mmmm?"
She wasn't sure what she meant to say. What finally came out was, "Do you--did you really mean it?"
"Oh, Rowena," he said. "Oh, my darling." He sat up and pulled her into his lap. "Don't you know, my heart? Don't you know?"
She burrowed up against him. She was crying again. He put his arms around her and she dropped her head to his shoulder. "I shouldn't be crying," she said into his warmth. "It's so stupid." She could feel him shaking his head, no, no, no. She held onto him.
"I love you," she said. She felt as if she was committing herself to something. She took a breath and said it again before he could reply. "I love you."
Rowena Helps Celebrate
Fiction by S. D. Youngren
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Rowena took a deep breath. "Maralynne," she said. "Why do you want to do this at your place?"
"I have to prove to her I'm--that I can do something."
"Do you know how long it'll take to get your place clean enough for Mom? For her birthday party, of all things?" Rowena moved the phone to her other ear. "Why don't you just bring her some cookies or something?"
"Cookies?"
"Well, it wouldn't have to be--"
"Cookies are not gonna cut it. An entire roast turkey wouldn't cut it."
"Maralynne--"
"She thinks I'm living in some kind of Din of Inequity. She thinks I'm lazy and dis-dis . . ."
"Dissolute?"
"Can you imagine? Me?"
Rowena was trying not to imagine. "Even if I do help you, it'll take--"
"You'll help me," Maralynne said. "You have to."
Rowena took another deep breath and shut her eyes. She wished her sister had some other skills besides getting her to do her favors.
"Make any progress?" Sammy asked her.
"We threw away the garbage and junk mail and I dusted as much of her furniture as I could without choking to death. She doesn't have any access to a vacuum cleaner, by the way, so I'll have to bring mine when we're ready for it."
"When you're ready?"
"We figure we'll wash the dishes first. I actually wanted to start with the dishes, but Maralynne's just had her hair done and she doesn't want the steam to take the curl out of it."
"God forbid."
"She has a Special Technique for taking showers."
"Do I want to hear it?"
"All I can tell you," Rowena said, "is that cold water is very healthy." Sammy let out a low groan and then laughed just a bit. "She does give herself steam treatments," Rowena went on, "but they're carefully timed for before she goes to the beauty parlor. I'm told," said Rowena, "that it's all very scientific."
"Glad to hear it."
"And then, of course, there's the food. I've explained to her about foods you can fix ahead of time, and she wanted me to help with some of the things the night before. Unfortunately, instant mashed potatoes are really not in that category. So I'll go there that morning, well before the party begins, help with the appetizers and the main course, clean up a little more, and then go home so that when Mom and Dad arrive Maralynne gets to call me up and yell at me for being late so we'll know to go over. That way Mom can find Maralynne there all alone and obviously doing everything herself."
Sammy sighed. "After all that, I hope she learns something."
"I hope so," Rowena said. "And frankly I hope I'll learn something about not getting suckered again." She paused. "At least it's only one day. The party itself, I mean."
"I hope," said Sammy, "you're not volunteering to clean up again afterwards."
"Me, too," Rowena said. "Actually, I can't imagine that the place will look worse after the party than it did, say, today. Or tomorrow night. Or any day since the last time I helped her clean up for a party."
"This is so exciting!" her mother said, on the phone. "A party for me! Thrown by my own daughters!"
Rowena wondered, just for a moment, whose daughters besides her own would give a party for her mother. "Maralynne's the hostess," she said. "I'm just bringing the cake."
"A birthday cake baked by my own daughter! What kind is it? Is it fattening? Because I've decided to eat healthy things, and--and your father should really be on a diet."
Rowena looked at the ceiling. "I was going to make lemon chiffon," she said.
"Oh, my! Lemon chiffon!" There was a pause; Rowena could almost see her mother reeling, on the other end of the line. "Is lemon chiffon fattening?"
"Well, the cake itself doesn't have any butter in it; you use oil instead . . . and not a huge amount, either . . . but it's got about half a dozen egg yolks in it; I could look it up and see . . ."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself. If it's fattening, I don't want to know."
"The cookbook is right--"
"No, no. Don't bother. I'm sure it'll be just fine. You, uh--have you made a lemon chiffon cake before?"
"Yes. And it came out very nice. Don't worry about it."
"Worry? About a cake? Me?" And her mother laughed gaily. "Now, you be sure and come to the party. Don't forget."
"I won't forget," Rowena said. "I wouldn't miss it." She would be in trouble if she did, she thought; even if she hadn't promised a cake.
"And bring Sammy, and the cake."
"I will bring Sammy and the cake."
"This is so exciting!" her mother said.
"I'm glad you're looking forward to it," Rowena said. She wished she could sound enthusiastic herself, but she was far too tired.
Maralynne opened the door and peered out at her. "Come in," she whispered, looking furtively towards the street.
"Really, Maralynne." She got through the door and into her sister's apartment. Maralynne shut the door behind her.
"I don't want them to know you're here," she said.
"They're not due for hours," Rowena pointed out. She looked around. "Let's see; your windows, your shades, and the bathroom sink, floor, and rug." Rowena had cleaned the toilet the night before, and the bathroom mirror was already spotless; all of Maralynne's mirrors always were.
"And the kitchen sink and the kitchen floor."
"Right. And then we make the deviled eggs and the carrot sticks and then we get the chicken ready for the oven and maybe take one more swipe at the counter." Rowena looked around. "Well, let's get started."
Because Rowena actually wanted the job finished, she set Maralynne to wiping the blinds (the smooth, pull-down type, luckily) and tackled the bathroom herself. She scrubbed and scrubbed at the sink, found some spots on the wall and wiped them off. She scrubbed a bit at the bath enclosure, which wasn't so bad as Maralynne actually cleaned it before each of her pre-hairdresser soaks. She had another look at the toilet, then bundled the towels into the hamper and carried out the rug.
Maralynne was wiping dreamily at the same shade Rowena had started her on.
"Maralynne," Rowena said, and her sister jumped and wiped a little faster. Rowena decided to ignore this. "Could you wash this, please?"
Maralynne turned and looked at her. "You said you were doing the bathroom things."
"I don't know where your laundry room is. Please, Maralynne."
"It's down by the--"
"Maralynne. Please." Maralynne sighed heavily and put down her paper towel.
"God," she said. "I have to do everything." She tru
dged into the kitchen, returned with a bottle of laundry detergent. "Everything," she said. Rowena handed her the rug, which Maralynne tried to take in two fingers and nearly dropped.
"Thank you," Rowena said, and opened the door.
"Geez, get away from there," Maralynne said, suddenly remembering. "You want them to see you?" Rowena moved back without reminding her sister that their parents were not there yet; she was only too happy to play along with Maralynne's paranoia if it meant that both of them would actually get something done.
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