Because You're the Love of My Life

by Sarah Kleck

  “Do you have a restroom?”

  A faint smile flitted across her face. “Next to the feminine hygiene products to the left,” she answered. “But you’ll need a key. You can get it from the front counter.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her a friendly nod, went straight to the front counter, got the key, then hurriedly walked by the feminine hygiene products. Finally, I was alone—with my three tests, a thankfully clean toilet, and a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

  “OK,” I said to myself, breathing in and out twice. “Keep your cool, Annie.”

  Crouching over the toilet—clean as it was, I didn’t want to sit down—I peed on all three tests at once. I placed the three sticks on the sink, set the timer on my phone, and paced back and forth like a caged tiger. I was startled when the timer beeped.

  It’s real now . . .

  I hesitated in front of the sink.

  Just get it over with my inner voice commanded, so I grabbed the sticks and stared wide-eyed at the three little windows. Two fat pink lines stared back from each one.

  “I have to talk to you,” I said as I walked into our apartment, quietly closed the door behind me, and joined Holden in the living room.

  “Yes,” he said and was instantly by my side. “I’m sorry. I’ll see to it that she takes off her shoes in future. Promise.” He kissed me tenderly on my closed lips. “You’re right. Let’s not argue.”

  “I don’t want to argue either. And I’m sorry, too. I think I overreacted a bit. That’s why . . .” I reached into my purse and pulled out the slim gift box—the only one they had at the drugstore in which all three pregnancy test sticks fit—“I brought you a present.”

  “Thank you,” he mumbled with a puzzled look on his face as he took the box from my hand. He untied the ribbon while repeatedly checking my face. My pulse jumped when he lifted the lid off the little rectangular box.

  He stared at the content for an endless moment. His expression became rigid. He raised his eyes and gazed into mine. Then he looked back into the box. Back at me and down again. Up, down, up down. Suddenly, he froze—the light had dawned.

  “Are you serious?” he asked. His deep blue eyes shone moistly at me.

  “We’re having a baby,” I announced, my lower lip trembling.

  “Oh babe!” he exclaimed. He wrapped his arms around me and twirled me around in the air. “Really?” He carefully put me down again and took my face in both hands.

  I nodded. “You’re gonna be a daddy next summer.”

  Then we laughed and cried. Kissed and loved each other.

  A visit to a gynecologist removed any last doubt. It was still quite early, sixth week, and no more than a small bubble could be seen in the ultrasound—but I was definitely pregnant. Once I knew, I also felt pregnant. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of all the signs I’d ignored so far. Tender breasts, a queasy feeling all day, a level of fatigue I’d never known before, and—not to be forgotten—my ravenous appetite for anything that went straight to my hips. But despite all the little aches and pains, I’d never been happier. Holden was just as happy. As soon as the pregnancy was confirmed by the doctor, we started to think about baby names, leafed in catalogues for baby furniture, set up a savings account to which our child would have access on its eighteenth birthday.

  Because my doctor told us that we couldn’t be sure until the twelfth week that the pregnancy would hold, Holden and I kept our sweet secret to ourselves. We were immensely relieved when we finally could tell family and friends. Though he promised that it didn’t matter to him in the least, I thought Holden hoped for a boy. An heir in a manner of speaking. I leaned just a tiny bit more toward a girl. To keep the suspense going to the end, we decided to wait until the birth to find out and, along with our friends, placed bets on the gender.

  “If it’s a boy,” Grace said beaming, “You can have all of Gabe’s things. I’ve still got so much stuff.”

  “But what if it’s a girl?”

  “Then the two of them will get married someday. Duh.”

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  After our engagement visit to Lakewood and my mother’s performance at the wedding, I decided to relay the happy news over the telephone rather than consider a visit. Her reaction was, let’s say, reserved. An outsider might have concluded I’d just told her I bought a new car—not that she’d soon be a grandmother. I tried not to be too disappointed, but it hurt more than I wanted to admit. If not a baby, what could bring us closer? This woman would never be a real mother to me. It was past time for me to accept this. I thought that it had been settled that Ruby simply had no interest in becoming a grandma. But when the telephone rang several weeks later, I found out otherwise.

  “Jane, what a surprise,” I was delighted to hear my aunt.

  “Hi Annie, how are you? How’s the munchkin?”

  “Swell. I had my latest check-up yesterday. My doctor says everything is fine and the baby already weighs half a pound.”

  I heard the giggle in her voice. “Lovely,” she said. “Are you showing?”

  “I bought my first maternity pants a couple of days ago,” I proudly announced.

  “Nice,” Jane continued, sounding as if she were elsewhere in her thoughts.

  “Have you talked to your mother recently?” It was a failed attempt to sound casual.

  I automatically tensed up. My mother was once again using her sister as the mediator or messenger for what she lacked the spine to deliver herself.

  “Six weeks ago,” I coldly answered. “When I told her I was pregnant. She seemed pretty lukewarm, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

  “And you haven’t called her?”

  “I can’t think of a reason why I should have,” I said, aware I sounded annoyed. Did everything have to revolve around my mother? I was the one having a child, goddammit!

  Jane snorted. “Listen.” She suddenly sounded very serious. “There’s a reason I’m calling.”

  “I was starting to figure that out.”

  She snorted again but didn’t comment on my remark. “Your mother thinks you never wanted to give her a chance from the start to become a good grandma.”

  “Oh yeah?” My voice sounded more pointed than intended. “How so?”

  Jane hesitated as if she were struggling to say it. “She’s convinced your negative feelings about her will be transferred through the umbilical cord to the baby, so it will reject her from the start.”

  “Oh, man” was all I could say.

  “I know how crazy it sounds,” Aunt Jane conceded, “but, well, she’s really suffering from it. And . . .”

  “And what?”

  “And she does happen to be your child’s grandmother.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I know it’s none of my business to ask this of you, but you know your mother. She’d rather bite off her tongue than take the first step. So, please, Annie, can you take it? She . . . she’s really sad.”

  “You’re right,” I answered coldly. “It’s none of your business to ask that of me.”

  “Oh Annie,” Jane said in a hurt tone, “I’m only trying to help.”

  I stayed quiet to avoid becoming abrasive.

  “Life is too short,” she said softly. I thought I heard her choking back a sob.

  “She blames me for everything, Jane,” I answered in a calm voice. “I’m transferring negative feelings to the baby and not giving her a chance from the start? That’s the most absurd and cruel excuse I’ve ever heard.”

  “I understand,” Jane agreed, “but you know—”

  “You know what she’s like,” I interrupted, completing the old tune. “If I only had a dollar for every time I heard that. She doesn’t mean it. You know her. You know what she’s like. I’d like to hear that about myself for a change! Then I could behave like the proverbial bull in the china shop: let her be; you know what Annie is like.”

  I sat down, took a deep breath, and rubbed my forehead.

/>   “I just want to help,” Jane repeated herself. She sounded resigned now.

  “Yes, of course I know that.”

  There was no point in holding my aunt accountable for my mother. She sincerely wanted to help. She’d made a serious effort to make things work out between us for many years. Maybe it mattered so much to her because she had no children herself. She’d been with a man for years who never felt ready to get married or become a father. When the relationship finally fell apart, Jane was almost forty. She never met anyone she could imagine starting a family with. And then it was simply too late for her. What really got under her skin was that her ex got together with another woman only a few weeks after he and Jane had separated, and this woman got pregnant right away.

  In a manner of speaking, I was the only child in the family. At least on the maternal side. Dad had three siblings who all had children, but he had lost touch with his sister and brothers when he was a young man, so I wasn’t just an only child but had also grown up without my cousins. With an unloving mother and an absent father, I felt pretty alone in the world. That’s why Corinne and Grace were so important to me. As it’s so often said—friends are the family you pick yourself.

  Nevertheless, Aunt Jane called a couple of more times over the next few weeks. Every conversation, she tried to get me to take a step toward my mother—that is, to go to Lakewood and have my growing belly patted or something in that vein. When she called the fourth time—I was already in my fifth month—I was wildly determined to give her a piece of my mind. But it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Hello, Annie.” I immediately could tell that she’d been crying. “I’m sorry I have to tell you this,” she continued with a trembling voice.

  I swallowed. “What happened?”

  Jane was silent for a moment as if she didn’t know how to tell me. “It’s about Grandma. She died last night.”

  “What?” My eyes widened, and I clasped my hand over my mouth. “But . . . how?”

  Jane began to cry. “She went to bed last night and never woke up this morning.”

  My eyes burned while tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “Her time had come,” Jane sobbed, and for a while we cried together.

  When Holden came home, I was sitting on the couch in tears.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked as he threw his coat over a chair and rushed to me.

  “Grandma died last night.”

  “Oh babe.” He pulled me into his arms and I cried on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, darling. Was she ill?”

  “No. She fell asleep and didn’t wake up.”

  Holden stroked my hair to comfort me. “When is the funeral?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “That’s in three days,” he said.

  While I slept, he took care of everything. He called his boss and mine to get us a few days off. Then, he booked the flights and, because he correctly assumed I didn’t want to stay with my parents, a hotel room in Tacoma and a rental car. Two days later we flew from Boston to Seattle. After six hours on the plane, we drove the rental to the hotel, where we prepared for the funeral the next day.

  “Did you see my black stockings anywhere?”

  “I put everything in the closet.”

  “Oh, there they are.” I pulled the black fabric over my legs. By now, I had to lean over sideways because my belly would get in the way otherwise.

  “Wait, I’ll help you,” he offered when he saw how much I was struggling.

  “Thank you.” I leaned back to let him take over.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked. His voice was so gentle.

  “I think so.” I was breathing through my nose in gasps. “I’ll miss her.”

  “I know.” Holden gave me a tender, understanding look. If anybody knew how I felt, it was him. We’d gone through the same thing with his grandma two years before. She’d been the anchor of Holden’s life after his mother had left him. Just like with my grandma and me. Although my mother had always been around, at least physically, it was Grandma who’d given me love and comfort as a child.

  At the funeral, I tried not to cry, at least not very much. But I couldn’t hold back when the coffin was lowered. So many memories. I had experienced so much beauty with her, and she’d offered me so much support. I couldn’t believe I’d never see her again or nestle against her shoulder and smell her familiar scent. It was as if my childhood was being buried with my grandma.

  “Annie, Holden, it’s good to see you two again.” Jane hugged us in turn. Her eyes were red and puffy. She tried to smile. “How beautiful you are,” she said, stroking my cheek like Grandma used to. “You wear your pregnancy well.”

  “Thank you,” I answered, smiling back though I felt like crying.

  “We’re having a small wake.” The blood froze in my arteries as Jane spoke those words. “Over at the Long Beach Cafe. I hope you’re up to coming.”

  “Thanks, but, you know, we wanted to—” I started.

  “Please,” Jane interrupted me. “For Mom.” She meant her mother, not mine. Or did she?

  I sighed quietly. “OK.” What else could I have said?

  “Will you do me a favor?” Holden asked in the car.

  “What?”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “Don’t let your mother get under your skin again, OK? Ignore her if she says something stupid.” He took my hand and kissed it. “I don’t want you to feel as rotten as you did after our last visit here.”

  I couldn’t hold that request against him. I cried for days after the last visit, and Holden had his work cut out for him when he tried to piece me back together.

  “I’ll try. Promise.”

  My mother had stood on the other side of Dad from me by the open grave, but when we entered the restaurant, she almost charged me as if she’d never seen me before. She pulled me into her arms.

  “How wonderful you’re here, Annie.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” she sobbed.

  “Yes, it is.” Tears welled up in my eyes again when I thought of Grandma. My mother slowly let go of me and extended her arms. Her hands rested on my shoulders.

  “Let’s have a look at you.” Her look traveled to my belly. There was a twitch around the corners of her mouth.

  “May I?”

  “Um . . . yeah, sure.” That didn’t sound self-assured.

  When my mother placed her hands on my belly, I briefly shrank away. It was unexpected but not unpleasant. “Do you know what it is?” she asked.

  “No. We want it to be a surprise,” Holden answered and hugged my mother.

  “Come, sit down with us,” she pleaded, which we did after greeting a few others. After the meal, which I barely ate a bite of, Holden and I stood in a corner with Gladys, one of Grandma’s oldest friends. She was proudly showing us pictures of her newborn great-grandchild, when my mother stepped beside me.

  “I did something,” she said ominously, and Gladys turned to someone else to repeat her great-grandchild story from the top.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes.” She nodded with a smile. Satisfied and with a touch of smugness even. “I solved a few things.” She inhaled deeply. “It turns out that our . . . problems originated many generations ago.”

  “Oh yeah?” I repeated, wondering how absurd this would become.

  My mother nodded. “The first child of the great-grandmother of my grandmother was stillborn. She never got over it. The pain over this loss was so deep, she was never again able to love with her whole heart. Not even her later children. That pain was carried over the generations to you and me.”

  She looked at me as if this would explain everything. Moreover, it was as if it would excuse everything she’d done to me. As if she had no choice.

  “But you don’t have to be afraid,” she continued. “I’ve solved it. Your baby won’t be affected by it.”

  Rage was boiling under my skin. How easy she made it for herself! No wo
rd of regret, no apology. Just spiritual mumbo jumbo that washed away any guilt and turned her into the heroine of the story.

  “As soon as I solved it”—my mother smiled generously—“let me put it this way: that was the moment you became pregnant.”

  What the fuck?!

  I wanted to scream at her. Ask her if she’d lost her mind. But that was exactly why I didn’t and kept quiet. I really felt like I was talking to a madwoman. And I had promised Holden I wouldn’t let my mother’s babble get to me. That was the exact moment he intervened.

  “Well,” he said with a broad grin, “we owe you one, Ruby.” He looked straight at her. “Thank you for giving us this child.”

  She looked at him, lips curled, her nostrils flared. She opened her mouth as if she were going to tell Holden—or me, or both of us—off. But she closed it again, turned, and stomped off.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He smiled slyly. “For a second I was tempted to tell your mother every grubby little detail of how our child was conceived.”

  I laughed out loud. “I would have liked that.”

  He took my face into his hands. “You can’t take her seriously,” he said in a gentle tone, “I know that’s easier said than done. She’s your mother after all. I’m sorry, but Ruby lives in her own little world.”

  I nodded. Did he know how close to the mark he was? My mother considered herself the victim all her life. Victim of circumstances, victim of her fellow human beings. She found a perpetrator for everything she was dissatisfied with in life. When she was unhappy with her figure, it was the pregnancy—even decades after I was born. When she thought she wasn’t doing anything with her life, it was Dad. When she had no friends, it was her clingy sister . . .

  I was startled when she stood in front of me again a bit later. She looked straight into my eyes and stretched her chin forward.

  “It has become clear to me that I am persona non grata for you and your Boston family,” she started in that prepared-speech tone that I detested so much. “I can accept that and withdraw. But that will never change that I am your mother and the grandmother of this child.”