“Bad day?” Flor asked.
Mia turned to see her standing, arms crossed, at the foot of the steps. “This key is worthless,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve been out here for ten minutes and I can’t get it to work.”
“Lemme try.”
Flor took the key, and Mia stepped aside to give her a shot at the stubborn lock. While she worked, Mia noted Flor’s expanding belly, which was finally outside the concealment capabilities of the blue parka.
Flor mumbled something in Spanish, the force of which Mia inferred to mean something Babs wouldn’t like. The next moment, Flor raised her hands and did a mini-dance of triumph.
“Got it,” she said and handed Mia the keys. “You’re lucky I showed up, though, because I had to use all sorts of jacking tricks to get it to work. Nothing too illegal or anything.”
Mia nodded quickly and avoided Flor’s watchful stare. “Thanks for helping me out.”
Flor burst into unfettered, teenaged laughter. “You think I’m serious? Like I could break into anything other than my sister’s piggy bank.” She hooted and Mia felt the blush creep into her cheeks. “Mia, you’re hilarious. I can’t believe you have the job you do and you still believe everything everybody says.”
Mia smiled at her shoes and turned to walk down the office steps. “No offense, Flor, but I think it’s pretty clear that neither of us has a perfect grasp on whom to trust.” She gave a gentle pat to Flor’s belly.
“All right,” Flor said. She nodded in appreciation. “Now I see a bit more sense in you.” She smiled and revealed a row of very white teeth, the front two slightly crooked. “I’m walking with you.”
They fell into a slow amble down streets just beginning to show the changing palette of sunset. A little girl on a pink bicycle careened past, sparkly streamers on her handlebars whipping the sides of her hands. An older woman whom Mia presumed to be the nanny followed at a distance, every other step hurrying her forward in sensible shoes.
“Wait, Chloe! Wait for Nona!” She gave a weary smile to Mia and Flor as she passed.
“A nanny would be nice,” Mia mused aloud. “I could leave my baby with a nanny. Especially if she cooked dinner and had the apartment clean when I got home.”
Flor snickered. “You don’t need a nanny. You need a wife.”
“Flor, a wife does more than domestic duties. She should be a soul mate, a confidante, an equal partner.” Mia heard the beginnings of a persuasive argument she’d considered trying out on Lars.
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t really believe that?”
Mia’s posture straightened. “I do. Marriage has evolved since the days of Leave It To Beaver. We’ve come a long way in this country.” In her head she could hear Lars’s counterarguments increase in volume.
Flor walked in silence for several paces before speaking. “Nope. I can’t think of one couple that cuts things down, fifty-fifty. Even my art teacher, Ms. Humphries-Wyatt? She kept her name and all that. She calls her man ‘my partner’ instead of ‘husband.’” Flor raised her voice in a bad fake British accent. “She says stuff like, ‘My pahdnah and I went bicycling this weekend in the pahk.’”
“Is she from England?”
Flor shrugged. “I think she’s from Missouri. But she has movie posters of Audrey Hepburn all over her office. Anyway, even she and her pahdnah aren’t playing like equals. One day she was really hacked off at him, right? And I heard her by the bike rack, yelling at him on her cell. She was taking a smoke break and laying into him, saying how she was sick of doing all the cooking and cleaning and why couldn’t he pick up their daughter from day care and stay home with her until she got over strep throat?” Flor sighed. “And she even kept her name.”
Mia stopped in front of a sidewalk vendor at the entrance to the park. “Can I buy you a drink?” At Flor’s confusion she added, “Like a lemonade? Or a Coke?”
Flor looked relieved. “Right. Lemonade, please.”
Mia paid for the drinks and they continued on their walk. “Mm,” she said. “This tastes good.”
Flor nodded and slurped at the end of her straw. “They’re better with vodka and cranberry juice.”
Mia stared at Flor as she crunched a piece of ice between her teeth.
Flor laughed when she saw Mia’s face. “Now didn’t we just go over how you can’t believe everything you hear?”
Mia scowled into her cup. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. And you’re not helping.”
“What’s his name?” Flor plopped herself down on a bench and scattered a bevy of annoyed and squawking pigeons.
Mia sighed as she sat down beside the girl. “I wasn’t really referring to him.”
“Yes, you were. What’s his name?”
“Lars. What about you?”
“Rafa. He’s hot.” Flor said this as if passing along a tip on how to remove grass stains from white pants. “Which is why it was never going to work.”
“What do you mean?” Mia’s glass of lemonade had begun to sweat. She rested it on her belly.
“I was the only girl left in my class who hadn’t had sex.” She shrugged and took a long pull of her drink. “It wasn’t like I was saving myself or anything. I just didn’t find anyone that interesting. Rafa, now, he’s interesting all right. But he knows it.”
Mia asked quietly, “How long were you together?”
“Once.” Flor’s voice had gone flat. “I found out later he did it on a dare. Wanted to be the first to have me and bet a bunch of his friends that he could get me to sleep with him before I turned sixteen.”
Mia let a long breath she’d been holding escape slowly from her lungs. “Flor, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She ran her straw around the perimeter of the cup, sucking up with great verve the final drops of her lemonade. “My guidance counselor at school says I’m young, I’ll adjust.”
Mia smirked. “Doesn’t sound like the most empathetic of counselors.”
“He’s at least a hundred years old. I don’t think he likes thinking of kids my age having sex. Makes him nervous.” She turned to Mia. “So what’s the deal with Lars? Is he hot too?”
Mia pondered the question. “Yes, I suppose he is, though that’s probably not what attracted me to him at first.”
“Yeah, right,” Flor said, dismissing the comment with a snort. “You’re not blind, are you?”
“I wonder sometimes,” Mia said, worry etching itself into her brow and her thoughts.
“Really? Do you need contacts or something? Because they have brochures about that at my guidance counselor’s office, if you want me to pick one up for you.”
Mia laughed. “Now who’s believing everything they hear?”
Flor shifted her weight in the bench and crossed her arms. Her lips jutted out in a well-executed pout. “Whatever.”
“Okay, so Lars. Yes, he’s good-looking, but he’s also very smart, which I like. And he’s passionate.”
“All right, now we’re getting somewhere,” Flor said, nodding seriously. “Passion will do a girl in. And get her pregnant, all in the same night.”
“Not exactly the kind of passion I was talking about,” Mia said. She cleared her throat. “I meant he has the passion to make things better in the world. He’s committed to issues, causes.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the environment. Human rights. Politics.”
Flor rolled her eyes. “Is he passionate about you? And the baby?”
Mia’s shoulders slumped within her maternity shirt. “I thought he was. Then I thought he wasn’t. And now I don’t know.”
Flor nodded slowly. “Men are an enigma.”
Mia looked at the girl. “An enigma?”
“I got extra credit for that word on a vocab test last wee
k. I try to drop it in whenever I can.” She grinned at Mia. “Pretty good, right?”
Mia nodded appreciatively. “Very nice. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” the girl said. “I also really like magnanimous, but that’s a little harder to work into conversation.”
“Hmm,” Mia said. “I’ll work on some options and let you know the next time we see each other.”
“Oh, right. That’s why I was stopping by before I had to save you from your front door.”
Flor smiled and Mia noticed a deep dimple in one of her cheeks. She wondered if the baby in Flor’s womb would mirror the face of its mother or if Rafa’s profile would take dominance. She hoped Flor had all the dominant genes, including the dimpled one.
“Are you going to that pregnancy class at the St. Jude’s?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Mia had seen flyers for the prenatal course offerings at the nearest hospital but had chalked them up in her head as information she’d rather glean from books. The idea of being in a room full of happy, expectant couples, their arms and legs all intertwined and supportive while the woman pretended she was in labor, was enough to make Mia run to the frozen section of Gerry’s store and clean him out of the entire line of Häagen-Dazs.
“I think we should go.” Flor spoke with all the authority that came with her sixteen years. “Don’t you freak out when you think about labor?” She shivered. “I’ve watched, like, fifty episodes of A Baby Story on TLC. It’s not going to be pretty.”
Mia had in fact begun to worry about actually having to give birth. The mechanics of it all left her befuddled. She’d never been one to keep tabs on her anatomy with the use of a hand mirror, as had been suggested by her health teacher in junior high. But she knew enough to be concerned about the physics of getting a child through passages that seemed far too small for the event. The idea defied logic. “I think you need a partner for those classes.”
Flor shrugged. “We should probably have a partner for this whole thing, don’t you think? Too late for that.” Her smile was a touch sad, though the dimple still appeared. “Come on. There’s a one-day class coming up for slackers like us. Just one Saturday and we’ll be done. Plus we can sit at the back of the class and heckle all the happy yuppie couples who are wearing Gap Maternity.”
Mia laughed. The image was oddly comforting. “All right. I’ll go.”
Flor did another mini-dance, this time from a seated position on a park bench, which only added to the intrigue.
“Thanks for inviting me.” Mia scooted to the edge of the seat and creaked to a standing position.
“You’re welcome,” Flor said when she joined her. Her eyes shone. “It was magnanimous of me, don’t you think?”
Mia chuckled as she waved good-bye. “Extremely. Enigmatic, but magnanimous nonetheless.”
“Ooooh,” Flor called after her. “Enigmatic! I love it as an adjective!”
Mia’s smile lasted all the way home.
19
Reunion
“I could sing ‘Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.’ That always made time go by faster on car trips.”
“I’ll pass,” Mia said. She balanced the phone on her shoulder while she cut a loaf of ciabatta and placed the slices in a waiting basket. “Frankie, I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.”
“Of course you are,” Frankie said. “You are strong, you are wise, and you are pregnant. This is the dangerous trifecta of female empowerment.”
Mia blew a sigh into the mouthpiece.
“You should move the phone when you do that.”
“Sorry,” Mia said. “I just can’t figure out why he isn’t here yet. And why he hasn’t called.”
“Yes, that is so unlike him,” Frankie said. “Very unusual for him to be thinking of himself first.”
“Frankie, please,” Mia implored. “We’ve been through this.”
Frankie sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s tough for me to remain objective here, Mimi. Men who leave pregnant women to fend for themselves are not at the top of my honor list.”
“I thought I was the trifecta of empowerment.”
“Out of necessity, my dear. I never said Lars was exempt from his reproductive responsibilities.”
Mia didn’t hear the rest of Frankie’s explanation because of the knock at the door. “Oh. He’s here. Someone’s knocking. I think he’s here.” Mia stood with the knife frozen in her right hand. She stared at the door until the knock sounded again.
“You should go.” Frankie’s voice cut through Mia’s paralysis. “You’re ready for this, Mimi. He’s the one who should be sweating right now. You just be yourself and tell the truth.”
“Be myself. Right. Tell the truth.” Mia smoothed her hair with her free hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She snapped the phone shut and walked to the door.
For a moment they stood without speaking, each one drinking in the presence of the other. He looks good, Mia thought, remembering Flor’s musings about hot absentee fathers. His unruly mop of blond had endured a good haircut, an act Mia hadn’t remembered occurring with any frequency when they’d lived together. Brown linen button-down, pressed shorts, leather flip-flops, and two coffees in hand. Seattle personified, and Mia admitted it suited him.
“Hi,” he finally said, smiling shyly and letting his eyes drift downward to Mia’s belly. After lingering there, he looked up at her face. “You look great. You’re all glowy and stuff.”
She blushed. “Come in,” she said and led the way into his former residence.
He moved through the kitchen and set the two coffees on the countertop. “Wow. It smells really good in here,” he said, the words lifted up in surprise. In all of their years together, Mia had cooked a homemade meal perhaps a dozen times and those either because of inclement weather or having to do with a national holiday.
“I hope you’re hungry for pasta.” She reached over casually, stirring the pan of vegetables sautéing on the rear burner. For good measure she tossed in a carefree pinch of kosher salt, arranging her face in an appropriately bored expression.
“So you cook now.” Lars shook his head. “I guess I have been gone for a while.”
Three months, a week, and two days, Mia thought and bit her lips to keep the words safe in her head. “Thanks for bringing coffee.” She nodded toward the cups sitting in wait on the counter.
“Do you still like Costa Rican blend with hazelnut?” He handed her the steaming cup.
“Actually I’ve given up caffeine for the pregnancy,” she said carefully.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I should have thought of that.” Lars shifted on his feet.
“But I’m sure it won’t hurt the baby if I drink just a bit.” She smiled at him. “It was thoughtful of you to remember.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
Reconcile, reconcile, reconcile, Mia thought, taking the cup from Lars and drawing a careful sip. We’ll both have to meet halfway in this, so why not start with a cup of coffee?
Three months could do a number on one’s digestive track, particularly when sharing each calorie with a uterine cohabitant. The idea of her favorite coffee had sounded like such a good idea, but it tasted like warm metal in Mia’s mouth. She stopped stirring the whole-wheat linguini and froze, the liquid steaming up her mouth but fighting its natural exit down her throat. When she could take it no longer, she dropped the wooden spoon into the boiling water and lunged for the kitchen sink, where she spat hot coffee down the drain. She rinsed out her mouth at the sink without looking up. When she finally let herself glance at Lars, she saw him sitting at the kitchen table, head in hands.
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I don’t like coffee anymore.”
He nodded behind his hands. “I should have called first. Apparently three months is long enoug
h for a person to change her eating, drinking, and cooking habits.”
“In normal circumstances it’s probably not that long. But pregnancy can be a real humdinger.” Mia forced a hollow laugh, willing him to at least take his head out of his hands. Levity, levity, reconcile, reconcile, she thought and was relieved when Lars’s phone rang.
He checked the screen and said, “I need to take this.… Hi,” he said into the phone as he left the kitchen and walked toward his former office.
Mia took a series of deep breaths, trying to focus on Delia’s calming yoga instructions to let the good air in, bad air out. She would have worked herself into pigeon pose or even crow, had it not posed a danger to the child, a number of kitchen appliances, and the pasta she needed to drain. Steam billowed out of the colander and into her face and she marveled at how nervous she and Lars both seemed. What used to be our normal? she wondered. How did they act when they were a couple rather than a family-in-the-making? She didn’t feel like it should be so difficult to jump back into their former roles, but the tension between them so far felt deep, almost dangerous, as if one false move could send the whole thing crashing down.
“What’s this about crashing?” Lars stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
Mia offered a blank stare.
Lars pointed to the plates in Mia’s hands, filled and steaming. “You were just saying something to the vegetables about something crashing down.”
Keep inner dialogue inner, Mia chastised herself. She shrugged. “Some people talk to their plants. I talk to my food.” She set the pastas down with a thud.
“The office looks nice,” Lars said when he’d taken the chair opposite her. “Much better, actually, than when I would disappear into its bowels for days.”
Stretch Marks Page 15
