Stretch Marks

by Kimberly Stuart

  Mia crossed her legs with a huff and was very grateful she still could manage it. “All right, Grocery Sage. So I’m pregnant. Why are you delivering food to my front door?”

  He closed the fridge and stood. A crooked grin accompanied the spark in his eyes. “I like you.” He started folding the paper bags. “Sorry these weren’t the reusable kind. I know you’re into that, but at least they aren’t plastic.”

  Mia shook her head. She’d watched this whole charade, mouth open and mind hopeful, but the time had come to shake it off. She stood. “Adam, thank you very much for your kindness, but I have to at least pay you and your dad for the groceries.” She went in search of her checkbook. “How much do I owe you?”

  He met her in the hallway by the front door. “Absolutely nothing.” He said the words with neither injury nor pride. “You shop at our store every week. Count it as customer appreciation.”

  He smiled down at her.

  Mia thought to brush away a strand of hair that was falling into his eyes but instead she moved a step away from him. “Well, please tell your dad this customer is very grateful for your kindness.”

  “I will.” He opened the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “And the sweatshirt makes no difference either way. You’re a pretty pregnant person.” He crossed over the threshold and headed for the elevator. “Believe me, not every pickle eater can say that about herself,” he said over his shoulder.

  Mia could hear the grin in his voice. She forced herself to close the door before he disappeared from view.

  9

  Guest Appearance

  “How much information did you feed him?” Mia said into her office phone. She kept her head down and her voice low, lest Carl should walk by and check on her. Carl’s job description did not include hall monitor, but he liked to take ownership of their office’s productivity, and talking on the phone to Frankie during business hours would not be looked upon favorably, crush or no crush.

  “What information? What did he say?” Frankie was not trying very hard to sound repentant.

  “All the details about what I’d been eating, my cravings for salty food? He knew my personal food pyramid better than I know it myself.”

  Frankie giggled. “I love it! I merely confirmed his suspicions. He asked me if you were expecting a baby. Just like that, very little small talk to warm me up, I might add. Maybe he thought his time was limited, that you’d skulk out of produce at any moment.”

  “Skulk? I skulk?” Mia moaned, a bit too loudly and had to check her volume. “I do not want to be skulking with halfway to go.” She peeked over her cubicle wall and saw Carl stand to stretch. It was ten minutes to five and time for the office to begin the shutdown procedure. For once Mia had decided to kick off when her colleagues did. She tidied her desk while Frankie gave her an update on Ms. Leiderhosen.

  “… as if a twelve-year-old girl will really be interested in Plato, right? I mean, I’m sure there are exceptions, but this girl was wearing Hollister from head to toe and kept using ‘like’ as a transitional word. I finally caught her eye as Leiderhosen was dragging her toward Renaissance poetry and …”

  “Edelweiss” sounded at the front of the office. Mia hoped it was Flor, the girl who’d asked about free formula. Weeks had passed with no other word from her, but Mia couldn’t shake the feeling she’d meet up with the girl again. She kept the phone and Frankie’s chatter up to her ear and peeked around the side of her cubicle. The phone cord stretched just to where she could see Carl’s back but not the person who’d entered.

  “It’s a sincere pleasure to meet you.” Carl’s words floated back to Mia. When he reached his hand to shake, the new arrival moved into Mia’s view.

  She dropped the phone with a clang on her desktop and stared.

  “This is not happening,” she said aloud. Frankie’s confused chirps came from the receiver lying prone next to her. Mia picked up the phone. “Frank, I’ll need to call you back.”

  “What was that crazy noise just now? Mia, is everything all right?”

  “Most definitely not.” She watched Carl escort the guest back to Mia’s space and whispered into the phone, “Babs is here.”

  Mia stomped along three paces ahead of her mother.

  “I don’t see how you left me much choice,” Babs called from behind. Her leopard-print heels clicked on the sidewalk. “You wouldn’t return my calls.”

  Mia pulled her trench closer around her body. She stopped with a huff to wait for a light to change. Babs caught up, panting.

  “It’s not as if I like being reduced to this kind of surprise visit,” Babs continued. She pulled a tissue from her bag and mopped her forehead. “Most daughters call their dear old mothers every now and again to catch up, you know.”

  Mia snapped her head to the side. “I’ve been busy. And you haven’t exactly earned the right to dictate the terms of this relationship. Those rights were forfeited long about the time you left me and Dad to sail the high seas.” Dr. Finkelstein’s speed dial was burning a hole in Mia’s phone. Be honest, be patient, be myself. Be honest—

  Babs sighed on pitch. “Oh, good gravy, Mia. Must we go over this again? How long will you punish me? For the rest of our lives?”

  The light changed and Mia commenced her near-sprint with Babs clicking behind. When they reached the park, Mia slowed. She lowered herself to a bench and waited for Babs to catch up. When her mother reached the bench, Mia turned.

  “Before we get one step further in your surprise visit, I have something to tell you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it because I have a few things to tell you too.” Babs patted her hair and smiled at a man striding by. “What a well-tailored suit,” she said, not as softly as she should have. “Not enough men wear suits to work anymore.” The man smiled as he passed, incrementally less discreet in his appraisal of Mia’s mother.

  “Mother, focus,” Mia said. She had the urge to take Babs’s face between her hands to lock eyes with her.

  Babs turned to face her daughter. “I’m focusing.” Her expression softened. “I’m just so happy to finally get the chance to see you. You look wonderful.” She smiled, revealing a cruise-appropriate level of charm.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Babs kept smiling. After a moment she blinked and said through her teeth, “Pardon?”

  Mia said the words slowly. “I’m almost five months along. The due date is September 30.”

  Babs blinked in quick succession, her false eyelashes fluttering in the manner of a stunned Snow White. “When will you and Lars get married?” The smile wasn’t completely gone but it had taken a hit.

  Mia shook her head. “He left.”

  “What?” Babs’s voice rose in panic. “I don’t understand.” Her chest heaved as she breathed. “He can’t leave. He—he did this to you.”

  Mia sighed. “No, Mother, we did this. He chose not to stick around, so I’ll have to go through it alone.”

  At this disclosure Babs burst into tears. She was not a quiet crier. With each inhale she made a sound like a deflating accordion. Park users on both sides of the sidewalk began to stare.

  “Mother,” Mia said. She scooted nearer to Babs. “Mother, please.”

  “I’ve failed!” Babs moaned. “I’ve failed as a parent! Oh, my good Lord, help me.” Her breathing became shallow.

  “Take a deep breath.” Mia put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “You’re starting to hyperventilate.” I’m the one who’s pregnant. But please let me comfort you through this difficult time. It was all she could do not to shriek in exasperation.

  “You can’t be pregnant out of wedlock. I’m a board member for American Family Alliance!” Babs said. She let her head drop closer to her lap. “I’ve sent them money every month since the first Bush administration!”

 
; Mia let her arm drop and searched the sky for assistance. “I’m so sorry to have inconvenienced your politics,” she said. “We unwed mothers are such a blight to the party platform.” She stood. “I’m going home.” She started out at a clip. After a few moments she heard Babs’s high heels pecking the pavement again in irregular rhythm.

  “Did you consider adoption?” she called, making a couple turn and stare wide-eyed at Mia as she passed.

  “No,” Mia yelled over her shoulder. She motored ahead, hands thrust in her pockets, allowing the front of her coat to flap in the breeze now that there was no need to hide her shape.

  “But there are so many deserving couples who simply can’t have children.” Babs’s tone was dangerously close to a whine. “People with lots of money and beautiful houses in the suburbs,” she added desperately. “I’m sure they’ll overlook your piercings!”

  “I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” Mia muttered to her ballet flats, watching the puddles roll over the edges of her shoes but barreling right on anyway. When they reached Mia’s block, Silas waved to her from the newsstand on the opposite corner. Mia returned the wave but kept steamrolling ahead. Silas raised his eyebrows at the bleach-blonde woman in heels struggling to keep up with Mia.

  At the door of her building, Mia whirled around. “I suppose you should come in. Where are your bags?”

  Babs had begun to limp slightly. She leaned against the wall for support. “These are the most adorable shoes but I did not realize I’d be running a marathon in them.” She removed one and massaged her arch. “I’d at least have put in a Dr. Scholl’s for extra support.”

  “Mother. Where are your bags?” Mia had a fleeting impulse to take a deep breath and relax but she ignored it in the interests of remaining furious.

  “Oh, they’re already in your apartment.” Her eyes widened innocently. “What? Sam let me in.”

  “Sam? You mean Mr. Lamberti?” Mia rolled her eyes and unlocked the door. She slammed the Up button for the elevator but didn’t wait for it to descend. Four flights later she met Babs waiting outside her door.

  “Climbing four flights of stairs would seem inadvisable for someone in your condition,” Babs said, leaning against the wall with the leopard heels dangling in one hand.

  Mia opened the door to her apartment without a word. She moved through the living room, turning on light switches as she walked. Babs followed her with a running commentary on her choice of décor.

  “How quaint. I had no idea you were so interested in Asian influences, dear. The reds are very … startling.… Really they’re the only color that saves this room from being dismal what with all the gray and black. Lars must have picked these colors, am I right?”

  Mia didn’t answer as she was screaming into the pillow on her bed.

  “This kitchen is cleaner than I remember from last time. Did you finally hire someone to help? You were never a neat freak. It’s always best to acknowledge our weaknesses and move on. I worry about that water spot on the ceiling. Perhaps I should mention something to Sam tomorrow.… Mia? Mia, shall I call something in for dinner?”

  Mia emerged from the bedroom, rumpled and changed into the sweatpant ensemble she’d come to favor.

  “I see we won’t be going out,” her mother finished.

  Mia pointed toward the drawer by the phone. “Takeout menus are in there. I’ll be eating grilled cheese and tomato soup.” She padded to the pantry.

  “That’s not very much for a woman in—”

  “My condition. It will suffice, thank you. I’ve been doing fine thus far.” Mia slammed shut the refrigerator door and rummaged in a nearby drawer for a cheese slicer. She got through two strips of cheddar before laying the slicer on the cutting board and turning to her mother.

  “Listen.” She stopped and sighed. “I need to know why you’re here. And how long you’re staying.”

  “Why I’m here?” Babs affected her best wounded look. “I am here, Mia, to visit my only daughter.”

  Mia shook her head. “But what made you come so suddenly? No advance warning, no fax of your itinerary, no months of calling to warn, I mean, prepare me.”

  Babs found an ancient canister of organic coffee in the cupboard above the sink. She wrinkled her nose but began filling the small pot on the counter. “I’d heard some strange reports from mutual acquaintances.”

  “Very diplomatic. Who were your informants?”

  “Marilyn Hanworth and your brother.”

  “You would crumble in an interrogation room.”

  “True enough.” Babs hummed to herself as she opened the canister and measured out a scoop. “At any rate they called within a week of each other and were sure you were off your rocker.”

  Mia raised her eyebrows. “Off my rocker.”

  “Well, perhaps not quite to that point.” Babs took a long sniff of the coffee and scowled. “When was this purchased?”

  “During college.” Mia flicked on a burner and lobbed a pat of butter into a skillet, unwilling to disclose the packet of freshly ground beans Lars had left in the freezer. She wasn’t in the mood to bestow favors. “So now that you know I’m not off my rocker, just knocked up, what are your plans?”

  Babs was perusing a menu from Lars’s favorite Thai place. “Indefinite.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Babs looked up and smiled a winner. “I told the ship I have family business to attend to. They love me, I have oodles of vacation time saved up, and I have seniority. So I’m here for as long as need be.”

  Mia flipped her sandwich but not before it began to burn on the edges. “Right. So maybe a long weekend?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said breezily and picked up the phone. She punched in a series of numbers and waited. “Yes, King and I Restaurant? Wonderful. This is Barbara Rathbun calling from West Churchill Street. How are you—I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  Mia plated her sandwich, saved the soup for another time when her appetite merited its consumption, and left the room just as Babs was beginning the story of the typhoon she’d endured in Thailand just that summer. Her laughter followed Mia through a closed bedroom door.

  10

  All in the Family

  “Keep pushing, you’re almost there.”

  Mia wiped her forehead with one of the small white towels stacked beside her. She kept pushing, watching the calorie count on the machine flip numbers every twenty seconds or so.

  “Really burning now,” the automaton said. Mia pushed down on the pedals of the ancient elliptical machine housed in the workout room of her apartment building. The man-woman who encouraged her in her sweating voiced no difference in inflection. Thus, “Congratulations, you’ve marked one mile,” sounded just as enthusiastic as “Taking a break? Don’t rest too long.” Mia had looked on every surface of the machine in an effort to silence the voice but to no avail. She’d given up and vowed to remember her iPod the next time she worked out.

  Two minutes to her final goal, Mia’s cell phone rang. She checked the screen and pushed to answer.

  “Hi, John,” she said, panting into the phone.

  “Mia? Is that you?”

  “Yeah,” she said watching the seconds tick off the digital clock on the machine.

  “Your goal is approaching,” man-woman intoned.

  “Who was that? And why are you breathing heavily? Um, do you need me to call back at a better time?”

  “No. Almost done. I’m exercising.” She used her free hand to mop the sweat streaming down her face.

  “What did you just say?” Incredulity spilled out of the earpiece of Mia’s phone. “Certainly you did not just say that you were exercising to the point of breathing hard? My sister?”

  “Excellent job.” The automaton sounded unimpressed. “You have reached y
our goal. Calories burned: two hundred thirty. Time elapsed: twenty minutes.”

  “Not bad,” John said. “But where is the sister I love? The one whose lack of aerobic activity tends to shock people who confuse slender with healthy? Where’s the girl who once lectured me on the punishing effects of women getting gym memberships in order to look a certain way?”

  “She’s gone. You can kiss her and your Christmas presents for the next ten years good-bye.” Mia paced the empty room.

  “What did I do?” John sounded mournful.

  “She’s here.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  Mia took a long swig of water from the cooler in the corner. “I most certainly am not. And you caused this debacle.”

  “Not true! Have you been reading the tabloids, Mia? Don’t get sucked into false information. It might get you rich, but it has its pitfalls.”

  “You told her I sounded weird. I believe the words were off her rocker.” Mia glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Even in a frumpy T-shirt and shorts, she couldn’t hide her pregnancy. The belly, the big boobs, the roundness of her face, the straight lines down her sides where curves had once been—the chunk factor was going nowhere but up.

  “First, there is not one human in our generation who uses the phrase ‘off her rocker,’ so I’m confident you can determine the source of that comment. Secondly, I merely intimated that you sounded a bit strange. I wondered if she’d talked with you.”

  “Well, she has now. She’s upstairs napping. In my apartment.”

  “Hence the sudden desire to purge the toxins through a good workout.”

  “Exactly. I’m thinking of picking up weightlifting. Or kickboxing. I think I’d really benefit from kickboxing.”