A Pact For Life

by Elliot, Graham

  The two left the room, and the receptionist said, “I'm sorry about that. For some reason, new mothers come here instead of a pediatrician. Now where were we? Oh yes, how is February fifteenth at two?”

  Diana stood there bewildered at what had just happened. The receptionist asked again, snapping Diana out of shock. After a glance at her phone, Diana replied, “That's fine. That woman... do you see emergencies like that often? You were so calm.”

  “I've gotten used to it. Usually once a week some panicked mother comes in screaming about some non-emergency.”

  “They really get that worked up over such little things?”

  The receptionist shrugged and said, “At least this one involved blood. ”

  “Huh, well, that's good to know. Thanks, thanks a lot.” Diana said as she headed toward the door with her mind running full speed.

  She got into her car with a list as long as long can be. Childproof lids, movie ratings, the FCC, every warning sign at amusement parks and sporting events, the seven second delay for all televised live events, stop signs, prohibition, and the War on Drugs just to name a few. Every time someone criticizes that we live in a nanny state, they can thank overprotective mothers or lawsuits for it. Actually, it's usually a combination of the two that spurs such overkill.

  More than that, it was the snowflake theory. The 'My child is better than everyone else' corollary. The reason for participant ribbons and trophies for all. They say every crow thinks his feathers are the blackest, well so does every mother think her child is the greatest.

  Diana vowed she would not become one of those mothers. There would be no hysterics and no coddling, but a realistic view on her daughter's looks and ability. Of course she would help her be the best she could be, but as far as blind encouragement went, that would be Cale's responsibility.

  Cale and Diana were lying in bed following their nightly sex routine. Their first as a couple living together instead of two people with constant sleepovers. It would be redundant to say they were lying in post-coital bliss because if it's consensual and not a drunk mistake, then isn't all coitus blissful afterward?27

  Rolling off Cale and onto the cool, sex-free side of the bed, Diana asked, “You want to hear something weird? When I was in the bathroom earlier, I saw your toothbrush next to mine and it felt important for some reason. This is the first time I've ever had two toothbrushes in one holder.”

  This reminded Cale of the night he told Diana he loved her. “So is that another sexual handshake type of thing?”

  “I know I should say no because it's stupid to place so much meaning into a toothbrush, but it really does feel like it.” Diana started to laugh at the absurdness of this statement. “Jesus, look at me, equating love with two toothbrushes.”

  Under the blankets, Cale grabbed for Diana's hand, missed, and settled on the consolation prize of her thigh. “You're onto something with the toothbrushes. Think about it, from the first thing you do in the morning till the last act of night, it's a reminder that you aren't alone. Just think what will happen when there are three toothbrushes.”

  The three toothbrush comment pushed Diana's thoughts in an entirely new direction. “This condo isn't going to work for the three of us. We should start looking at houses.”

  “You want to leave here?”

  “It's not big enough for a child. We need a yard for her to play in and a neighborhood full of other kids she can be friends with. She won't get that here.”

  “We can start looking tomorrow.” Cale lazily replied as his eyes started to feel heavy. The up and down strumming he had been doing to Diana's thigh stopped, and his hand slid onto the sheets.

  “Cale, we also should start thinking about...” She wanted to say marriage, but couldn't. “Girl's names.”

  “I'll leave that up to you if you want to name her.”

  Both had given it plenty of thought, but they never shared their baby names with each other. Cale wanted something unique – Quorie, Cleopatra, that sort of thing. Diana meanwhile wanted a traditional name for their daughter. Something regal that seemed to bring out a British accent when spoken like Catherine or Sophie.

  “What do you think of Sophie?” Diana asked.

  There was no response from Cale, he had fallen asleep. Little by little, Cale was growing tame.

  PROTECTION

  The sun was just rising, and so was Diana. It wasn't her alarm that awoke her though, but rather a physical sensation stemming from her stomach. It was a jostling she never felt before, yet knew exactly what it was. Her daughter was kicking.

  She looked over at a smiling, sleeping Cale, and excitedly called out, “Hey...hey Cale.”

  “Whaaaaa...” Was the closest way to describe his response in English.

  “You have to feel this. She's kicking.”

  She grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. It took Cale a moment to register what he was feeling. Once it clicked however, Cale was wide awake.

  “Holy shit! How does it feel?”

  “I've never felt anything like this before. It's like a gentle patter inside. Like bubbles bursting.”

  With one hand on her stomach, Diana got up, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the shower while Cale went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

  Shortly thereafter, a pancake smell from the kitchen slowly made its way into the bathroom and forced Diana to cut her shower short. She was a victim to her cravings as this aroma led to a desire for strawberry topped pancakes which progressed into strawberry topped pancakes with chocolate chips.

  Before going to the kitchen, she proceeded to get dressed. It was a rushed job as the smell caused her to miss a button on her exceedingly tight, black blouse. The blouse was actually too tight, so she took it off, and went to the bedroom to find something of a better fit. Each item she held up in front of her looked too small for her current size and she knew one of the bigger pregnancy milestones Diana was dreading had finally come. She needed maternity clothes.

  In the back of the closet next to the floor to ceiling shoe rack was a black maternity dress her mother had bought in preparation for this day. She slipped it over her head and it felt like she was wrapped in loose fitting bed sheets. It was hardly flattering for a beautiful woman, let alone a menacing lawyer. She vowed later that day she would go out and find better maternity clothes. 'Better' being the term to describe anything she could wear that didn't make her despise her reflection.

  “Ah!” Diana cried out as an intense kick scared her. She looked down at her stomach and said, “Well you definitely have my strength.”

  Her daughter answered in the form of calmness.

  Diana glanced in the mirror one last time before going to the kitchen. The pancake smell was all consuming now, and she was powerless to refuse its call. She did wonder however if there was any peanut butter she could add to the meal.

  It was one of those bright, sunny days that follows a night of intense snow. The yards and trees glistened, the sidewalks scraped and strewn with de-icing pebbles, and the roads a slushy mess of knee-high, muddy snow left behind by the snow plows.

  Parallel parked outside the Cherry Creek Grill was a red Porsche SUV covered in the remnants of whatever the car in front sprayed up. The doors opened and out stepped Diana and Andrew on their first lunch as friends rather than lawyer and client.

  Diana never told Cale about the lunch. It was no use to worry him over nothing.

  The Cherry Creek Grill was your typical high end steakhouse. The servers wore white collared shirts and black ties, the lighting was dim enough to mask the aged features of the rich clientele, and the value of the wine selection was equal to the GDP of a small, third world country.

  Inside the restaurant, they were seated in a back corner booth that looked specifically made for a couple. Their server, a middle aged, obviously gay man came over and asked for their drink orders.

  Andrew looked up, smiled, and asked, “Can I get a decaf coffee and a water without a lemon please?”
<
br />   They couldn't tell by the dim lighting, but the server blushed and said, “Certainly,” before turning to Diana.

  Her flabber was gasted from Andrew's order. It was the same thing she was going to get, including the non-lemon exemption. She didn't want him to think she was ordering the same thing, so she said, “Can I get a Sprite?”

  When the server left, Andrew leaned forward in the booth and said, “Thanks again for coming to lunch. What're the odds we both finally have the same day off?”

  Since neither of them were statisticians nor autistic, this question was simply rhetorical, but if you really want the answer...

  Per month, the odds of a renowned cardiologist and a prestigious lawyer both having the same day off were one out of every fifteen days. If you include holidays and the occasional sick day, this increases to one day out of ten.28

  “It's nice to finally have lunch with someone intelligent,” Diana stupidly said. “I mean, I usually have lunch with my assistant and we mostly talk about women stuff. You know, hair and clothes.”

  “What about your boyfriend? Jamie said he was an artist or something?”

  The last thing Diana wanted to talk about with Andrew was Cale. She wished he had brought up hair or clothes. At least then it wouldn't have felt so awkward. “Ahhhh, Cale. He's... umm, yes, he's an artist, but he hasn't done much lately. He's actually changed a lot these past few weeks. Like he's bottling up all the wild energy he used to have, and...”

  Too much information. She shuffled a bit and franticly thought of something to save herself when something brushed against her butt. She reached behind her and felt a paper, pulled it out, and discovered a New York Times' crossword puzzle. “Hah, look at what was jammed into the seat. It's last Sunday's crossword.”

  “Oh, I love crosswords.”

  “Me too!” Diana shouted and immediately thought it made her look like a fool.

  “Well, if it's alright with you, would you like to work on it until our food comes?”

  Diana smiled and laid the paper down on the table so they both could see it. Andrew got out a pen and said, “Here, go ahead and turn it toward you, I'll come over to your side.”

  Diana slid over as Andrew joined her side of the booth. As he sat down, his cologne washed over her, and she felt like melting out of the booth and onto the floor. Cale never wore cologne, and now she realized what she had been missing.

  Sitting on the same side in a booth was one of those things that friends don't do, and both realized it right away, but Andrew had already done the deed. To leave now would only bring that embarrassment out in the open.

  Andrew's method for doing crosswords was identical to how Diana and her Father solved them. It was a flat out race to see who could get the most right.

  After the initial rush of answers, Diana turned her attention away from the crossword and onto the baby kicking. It had been two days since the last, first, and only time the baby had kicked. She tried not to worry over it, but every hour that went by without a kick meant every hour she wondered why.

  While they struggled with rest of puzzle, Andrew asked, “Oh, by the way. What would you like to eat? Their spinach enchiladas are pretty good, but you could really say that about everything on their lunch menu.”

  There was a conflict whether she should order something flattering, a caesar salad, or something true to her pregnant impulse, a heavily garlicked filet mignon with a melted cheese baked potato. She looked over the menu as her stomach screamed for the filet mignon. Calmly, she said, “I think I'll get a caesar salad.”

  “Interesting, I thought the pregnancy would cause some weird cravings.”

  Diana grew red as she lied, “I guess that hasn't happened to me yet.”

  The gay server smiled at Andrew as he walked from the kitchen all the way to their table. Without the menu in front of him, Andrew began to order, “Can I please get a swordfish steak, medium, and a cup of vegetable soup.” The server nodded enthusiastically and Andrew continued, “And she'll have a caesar salad, and...I'm sorry Diana, do you want caesar dressing?”

  “Umm, sure. That's fine.”

  Any feminist leanings Diana had were too confused to tell her how to react at someone ordering her food. Sure, it was old school chivalrous, but then again, it was patronizing. She liked it, but didn't.

  The server left and the two returned to their crossword. Although it was really just Andrew who returned. Diana was stuck in mental limbo. Was she falling for Andrew? Why hadn't the baby kicked? What was Cale doing? Was she happy with the tame Cale? Why hadn't the baby kicked? Why did Andrew seem so perfect? Why hadn't the baby kicked?

  In his once warehouse studio apartment that was now just his warehouse studio, Cale had rows and rows of house listings arranged on the floor. He tried to organize them by price, size, and location, but nothing stuck. He didn't even know which listings to keep and which to toss. How big was too big? Too expensive? What makes a house wrong?

  Next to the rows of paper were some copper wire, wood planks, and steel geometric shapes - the raw material for his latest commission of abstract nothingness. Between the house listings, and the pseudo sculpting, Cale wanted to choose death.

  What if this was the rest of his life? Bullshit creations and husband-father stuff? The husband-father stuff had its share of moments that he was looking forward to29, and things that were tough at first like cooking and cleaning first had grown easier.

  As for the bullshit creations, there were no perks and it never became easier. Actually, it was the opposite. Every new piece of garbage that he tied to his name was worse than the last.

  He knew that his life was over. Not literally per se, but the freedom he once had was as good as gone. Any decision with his life would now need to be taken with Diana and the baby in mind.

  This loss of life wouldn't be so bad if he still had his art. His real art, not the bullshit that he was forced to do to make money. Cale was now the equivalent of a former sci-fi star relegated to pictures and autographs at conventions.

  He couldn't quit though. For one thing, he needed the money to pay off what he still owed on Diana's wedding ring. A ring that was still missing in some yard down her street.

  After the ring was paid for, then he could quit, and focus solely on being a family man. He had no problem letting Diana bring in all the income. He didn't require much, only a reason to keep going. With Diana and the baby, maybe he had that reason?

  If his future was doomed to the unmagnificent life of the dull, then he was ready to welcome it with talentless arms.

  With two hands full of house listings, Cale stepped into Diana's black Mercedes and off they sped. It was a gray Saturday in February where not an inch of blue would be seen in the sky from 6 AM through 5 PM. Snow was not a threat. The day was destined to be gray, not white.

  “I'm not sure where you want to start, Diana. There is an open house half a mile from your parents' house in Lakewood.” He thumbed through the listings until he found what he was looking for. “Here, take a look.”

  At the red light, Diana looked over a two story house that looked like a mini castle. “They must've built this after I left home. It's a little weird looking. Do you really want to check it out?”

  “We don't have to go, it's up to you.”

  Diana gripped the wheel and answered, “We might as well stop in since we have to meet my parents for brunch anyway.”

  They passed through the city and into the suburbs, the transition happening instantly as they crossed over Interstate 25. It was apparent they reached the suburbs by the families out for bike rides and walks with strollers and dogs.

  Eventually they arrived at the house in question. There were two other vehicles in the driveway, balloons on the mailbox, and a sign in the grass featuring a picture of a realtor with a smile that screamed forced. With spires on each corner, large wooden doors that could serve as a drawbridge, and the subtle gray that was all the rage in the 12th century, the house looked even more like a
mini-castle than the listing let on.

  Cale and Diana walked through the wooden doors into a tall foyer where another couple stood with their backs toward Diana and Cale. From the kitchen a voice called, “Mr. and Mrs. Brancton, would your children like some cookies? They're fresh out of the oven!”

  There was a stampede of footsteps from above that grew louder until two children appeared hopping down the stairs. Diana thought the name Brancton sounded familiar, but wasn't able to remember why.

  The Brancton mom, a round woman with curly, light brown hair turned toward the children and sternly said, “One cookie for each of you, and that's it. Oh, and bring one for me.” The eager looking children nodded and raced for the kitchen as the woman turned toward Diana and Cale. “Oh my God! Diana Young!? Is that you?”

  Diana's heart sank and she realized why the name Brancton sounded familiar. They were her classmates in high school. A sanctimonious pair that ran every Christian and honors club, thumbed their noses at those they considered sinners, talked shit about their friends while smiling to their faces, befriended any teacher that could help them, and mortally hated Diana.

  Patty Brancton, or as she was known back then, Patty Engleman, was the cause of their hatred toward Diana. Diana was her only rival for Valedictorian, a competition they both took seriously. Ultimately, being the Christianiest of Christians prevailed in the secular public school, and Patty was crowned Valedictorian. As for Ron Brancton, her high school boyfriend and now husband, well he was just whipped. His balls were in a jar that Patty kept in her pocket only to hand them back to him when she needed him to treat Diana or any other person deemed unworthy like crap. Because of this, Diana saw him as even more despicable than Patty.

  Diana didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being memorable, so she faked confusion and said, “Ummm... hey”

  “It's Patty, Patty Engleman! Do you remember me and my husband Ron Brancton from high school?”