Conner overhears me as he climbs out of the pool. “You kidding?” he says as he comes over and picks up a towel. “Patrick’s not the dating type.”
Suddenly I wonder if Patrick might be gay. Man, what a waste if he is.
“That’s not true,” says Patrick. “I’ve dated a couple of girls.”
“Yeah, like a total of two or three times each. That’s not saying much, Bro.”
“Just ’cause I don’t go out every night like you,” says Patrick.
“Yeah, I’ve heard Conner’s quite the ladies’ man,” I tease. “Jenny told me he leaves a trail of broken hearts behind him everywhere he goes.”
Conner smiles proudly. “Jenny said that about me? Man, I knew I should’ve gotten that girl a better wedding gift.”
“I’d probably date more,” continues Patrick, looking directly at me now, “if I ever found the right girl.”
Okay, is it just my imagination, or is Patrick coming on to me? Probably just hopeful thinking on my part. “Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” I say lightly.
“Maybe. But more and more it seems the good ones are taken.”
I feel my face warming. Is it the sun, or am I actually blushing? I glance at my watch for a diversion. “Man, it’s later than I thought,” I say as I jump to my feet. “I better get moving. Thanks for letting me hang with you guys.”
“Sure thing,” says Patrick. “See ya later.” Okay, does he look slightly disappointed that I’m leaving, or am I blowing this whole little poolside encounter way out of proportion?
“Later,” calls Conner as he flops onto the chaise I just vacated.
As I hurry toward the lodge, I feel totally jazzed. Like something in me just woke up, like I’m so alive. And yet this is so weird. I mean, seriously, what is wrong with me? Why am I getting into Patrick when I’m engaged to Jason? It’s all wrong. But it’s like I can’t help it, like this is bigger than me. Okay, I’ve never considered myself to be a flaky chick before, but suddenly I’m not so sure. Just chill, I tell myself. Focus on the wedding.
As I head into the lodge, I see a familiar blue SUV pull into the parking lot, and I realize Jason has finally arrived. I also realize I’m not the least bit glad he’s here. But I’m halfway in the door, and fortunately, he doesn’t see me, and I don’t hang around to greet him. I know it’s incredibly rude, but I tell myself I’m in a rush and don’t have time to talk to him right now, which isn’t totally untrue. I suspect Lana will be ready to go, and she’ll probably lecture me for taking too long anyway. But I can still grab a quick rinse-off shower and be dressed in plenty of time for the first photos.
Chapter 14
LAURA
After a blissfully long nap, I wake up with that tight hardness in my breasts, and I know it’s feeding time again. I get a drink of water and then begin to pace from the door to the window, then back to the door. It’s funny how much I enjoyed having a break from Amy, but now I can’t wait to see her again. Having a newborn baby is such a mixed bag—with the emotional roller-coaster rides I take. I guess it’s all thanks to hormones. Finally I give in. I go for the phone to call Margaret’s room, but that’s when I see a note from David.
Honey,
Glad to see you’re resting, sweetheart. You deserve it. The baby-sitter is supposed to be here by six so you can get down there early enough for some family photos. I’m going to dress with the other groomsmen. Can’t wait to see you, babe.
Love, David
It’s sweet of him to call me “babe.” It’s as if I’ve almost forgotten we used to be so romantic, so intimate, just the two of us. Babies really do change things. So instead of calling Margaret’s room, I realize this might be my one chance to freshen up before this evening kicks into gear. What am I waiting for? I strip off my clothes, tossing the ruined dress onto the floor, and leap into the shower. I feel a smidgen of guilt for neglecting Amy, but they said they’d bring her by when she got hungry. And once the water is running and I’m enjoying the lavender-scented shower gel that I actually remembered to pack, I am certain I made the right choice.
It’s amazing how luxurious a simple shower can feel when there’s not a baby waiting for you on the other side of the shower curtain. I’ve started putting Amy’s infant seat right on the bathroom floor so I can peek at her or reassure her while I’m taking a two-minute shower. Some mornings I wonder if it’s worth the effort and skip showering altogether.
I’ve just toweled dry and am slipping into my robe when I hear a knock at the door. I hurry to answer it, surprised to discover that it’s Suzette from the luncheon table. “Here’s your bag,” she says as she practically shoves Amy’s diaper bag toward me.
“But where’s—”
“And here’s your little darling,” says Elizabeth, stepping from behind Suzette and holding out my baby “She’s been an absolute angel. Had a diaper change and a nap, but I think she’s hungry now, and that’s where Margaret and I have to bow out.”
I laugh as though I haven’t heard that line before. “Thanks,” I tell her. “I really appreciated the nap, and I even managed to take a shower.”
Elizabeth smiles. “Is there anything else I can do—”
“Come on,” interrupts Suzette as she tugs on Elizabeth’s arm. “She needs to feed the baby now.”
“That’s right,” I say as Amy erupts into her hunger cry—a cry that can’t be ignored for long. I hurry toward the easy chair by the window and get her situated as the two women depart. I watch longingly as they leave. I remember that kind of freedom. How I took for granted the ability to come and go as you please whenever you please. The time to get dressed up and to really look nice—without the threat of milk spilling down your chest and spoiling everything. And, okay, I do feel envious of them. Seriously envious.
I take a moment to pray and actually confess my jealous feelings to God, but I still feel left out. Stuck on the sidelines while everyone else is out having a good time. I know it makes absolutely no sense, but sometimes I feel as if I’ve been robbed of something, like my life is over and nothing will ever be the same again. I know it’s just self-pity and probably the baby blues and getting through this adjustment period. But my feelings are real all the same.
As I switch Amy to the other side, I wonder what those two women are doing right now. Maybe they’re doing something with their husbands, sightseeing or taking a walk. Or maybe they’re mingling with the other guests, enjoying a little prewedding party time or just visiting—whatever adults do these days. Adults who aren’t saddled with newborn, nursing babies.
Oh, I know I sound self-absorbed, having my pity party of one. Make that two. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful for my darling Amy. I look down at her sweet profile, her lashes curved on her soft cheek, the little fingers opening and closing, the way she sucks so intently, like it’s the most important job in the world … and I suppose for her it is. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her … it’s just that I feel like such a prisoner sometimes.
As I burp her, I wonder why I’m getting so stressed over this right now. Good grief, I’m the one who didn’t want to come to this wedding in the first place. Now here I am, feeling sorry for myself because I’m missing out on all the fun. What is wrong with me, anyway?
Seriously, I remind myself, if you were down there right now, you would only feel out of place and uncomfortable! I know I’d feel like one of those ne’er-do-well relatives who are only invited to these social events out of pity or because it’s expected, since, after all, we are family. I’m sure everyone would be just as happy if we stayed home. Well, other than Michael. I think he really did want David for his best man. And that’s something. So maybe that’s why I’m here. For David. And I suppose I can give this my best shot—for David.
Amy is finally full and content, and I can lay her down in the portacrib and finish getting myself ready for the “big event.” As I carefully apply makeup, I imagine I will be the belle of the ball tonight—ha! Even so, I take great
care with my eye shadow and also use eyeliner, which I haven’t worn since I was pregnant. I check on Amy, but she is surprisingly happy, so I continue pampering myself. And to my surprise, it feels rather nice. I can’t believe Amy is being so cooperative. I’ll have to ask Margaret and Elizabeth what they did to her. I even have time to fuss with my hair until I’m almost satisfied with it.
I put on the new perfume David gave me for my birthday last month and remember to insert those nursing pads that I forgot to use this morning. Then I slip into the new dress I bought just for tonight, the one my sister helped me pick out a couple weeks ago. It may not boast some big, fancy designer name, and I actually found it on the markdown rack, but Lisa is the fashion expert in my family, and she assured me that the color, cut, and style were all perfect for me. It had seemed a bit snug when I got it, but to my relief it’s just fine now. Maybe I’m finally losing some of that baby fat after all.
Finally, I put on the single strand of pearls and the pearl stud earrings that Lisa said were just right for the dress, and I think I am actually ready. Amy is starting to fuss a little now, and I pick her up and admire how alert she is. Her eyes are wide and awake, and she seems happy to see my face. Whether experts admit it or not, I am certain she recognizes me. I can see it in the way her eyes twinkle. And as I hold her, she lets out the sweetest little coo, and I actually feel myself melting inside.
“You’re Mommy’s wittle sweet pea,” I tell her in the baby voice I swore I would never use. “And Mommy wuvs you so, so much!”
Another coo and eyes that just light up.
“How can I possibly leave my wittle pumpkin here with a sitter tonight?” I say in the same baby voice. And I am halfway tempted to run into the bathroom, strip off this dress, don my bathrobe, and just call it a night. But then I notice the sweet note from David again, and I know he needs me.
Just then there’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find Jamie, the baby-sitter, standing there with a Pepsi, an MP3 player, and a couple of fashion magazines in her hands. “You ready to take off?” she asks in a cheerful voice that shows me she must’ve recovered from Amy’s fussiness earlier this afternoon.
“I guess so.” I look longingly at Amy as Jamie sets her provisions aside, then reaches out for my baby. I feel a small stab of regret as I hand Amy over. “There’s a bottle of breast milk in the little refrigerator,” I tell Jamie. “But I’ll probably check back after the wedding ceremony to see how she’s doing.”
“No problem.”
“And you’ll call someone to get me if anything should—”
“Don’t worry,” Jamie assures me. “I do this all the time. And I know to call the front desk and have them find you.”
I smile at her. “Well, thanks. I know Amy’s in good hands.”
Jamie looks down at Amy, who is still surprisingly content. Honestly, this has been one of her least fussy days, and I wonder if we might be turning a corner here. “Hey there, little cutie pie,” says Jamie. “What’s up?”
And with that, I kiss my baby, tell Jamie good night, and walk out of my room, feeling a bit lost.
Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I am … But suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter as much. Why was I so upset about being left out of things earlier? Really, does it matter? Oh, I am a hopelessly fickle woman!
Chapter 15
MARGARET
I feel that familiar fluttering within my chest. Palpitations I’m sure. I lie still for a few minutes, waiting to see if they will go away. Finally I sit up and take one of those little pills the doctor prescribed for me. I rinse it down with the lukewarm water sitting on the bedside table and then lie back down and wait.
It’s not easy getting old. Oh, I try my best to make it seem that it’s nothing. I tell my family that everything is fine, and I try to go about life in much the way I always have. When my friends complain about old age, I remind them of the alternative. Not that I’m afraid to die, mind you, but I suppose there is something unsettling about leaving this earthly home, something a bit unnerving about exiting the body I’ve inhabited for all these years. And yet this body is fading and deteriorating. I see it more and more each day. A bit more stiffness in my back when I bend down, catching my breath as I go up the front porch steps.
Well, at least I’m still continent. Not like my dear friend Betty. She has to wear those granny diapers. That’s what she calls them. One day she ran out and asked her daughter Geneva to pick some up for her on her way home from work. Well, if you know Geneva, you know she hates having to purchase anything of a personal nature. Betty told me that Geneva’s husband called her on her cell phone while she was at the drugstore. He asked what she’d stopped for, and in a lowered voice she told him, “Depends.” Of course, he didn’t understand what she meant. “Depends on what?” he kept asking her, clearly confused. Finally she got so exasperated that she told him she was getting her mother “some Depends diapers, for Pete’s sake!” Betty and I still chuckle over that one.
Even so, it’s not easy watching your body slowly give out on you. You remember how it used to be, how you were able to run and go, and how you swore you’d never get old. Why, just last week I stooped to pull a dandelion weed from between the cracks of my footpath and—wham! My back gave the sharpest pain, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t stand upright. Thank goodness, my neighbor Mr. Gillespie was outside getting his mail. “You okay?” he yelled from across the street when he saw me bent over like an oversize pretzel.
“I don’t think so,” I called back. So he came over and helped me waddle into my house, where I lay down on the sofa. Then the good man unearthed my heating pad and gave me some Advil tablets, and in a couple of hours, other than some stiffness, I was pretty much back to normal. Oh, except I don’t bend over to pull weeds anymore. I’ll get someone else to do that from now on.
I suppose this gradual deterioration of the body is simply God’s gentle reminder that our physical selves are not designed to go on forever and ever. Not that I’d want to live on earth forever. No, thank you very much.
I remember when my Calvin was in the hospital before he passed on. Every day I came to see him. I brought my knitting and my books, and I would get as comfortable as possible right next to his bed. I would give him sips of water and hold his hand, stroke his nearly bald head. But his old body—mainly his heart—was so worn out I could literally see him fading right before my very eyes. The doctor said he wouldn’t be able to do anything surgically until Calvin grew stronger and that would take a week or so, but that turned out to be more time than Calvin had left.
The hospital had been very busy getting all the medical staff on some new sort of computer system, which kept the nurses fairly distracted, and as a result no one called to tell me about my Calvin’s demise. But I awakened about two in the morning with the strongest sense that someone had just tapped me on the shoulder. “Calvin?” I whispered into the dark, turning in the bed to see what he needed. Then I remembered my Calvin wasn’t there, that he was at the hospital. So I turned back over, prayed a little prayer for him, and went to sleep.
As usual, I went to the hospital that morning, my book and knitting in hand, only to find out that he had indeed passed away during the night. “Around two or three in the morning,” said the head nurse, “as best we can tell.” To this day I am certain it was Calvin tapping my shoulder that night, just letting me know he’d slipped into the next world, assuring me he’d meet me on the other side.
And although I was deeply saddened to lose him, for his sake I was glad. Pushing an old body to keep on going is like staying at a party too long. Best to leave when it’s time.
I glance at the clock and figure I’d better get up and start getting dressed. I know Jeannette wants the family down there for some photographs before the big event. Now, as much as I love Jenny, I just don’t understand why she wants Michael to see her in her wedding gown before the actual wedding. In my day that would be considered bad luck, but I suppose
it was just a silly superstition. Still, I think it would be more exciting for Michael to first see Jenny as she comes down the aisle. Seems a sad waste to me.
“It’s so we can go straight to the dinner reception,” she informed me when I mentioned this. “We get to be with our guests and have fun with them. Instead of standing around waiting for the photographer to get all the right shots, we’ll be out there eating and dancing and whooping it up.”
Well, I suppose that does make some sense. And Jenny is a sensible girl. So far, all has gone pretty much as she and her mother planned. Or so Jeannette assured me when she called to check on me just before I took my little nap.
I slowly unzip the garment bag that contains the dress Jenny picked out for me to wear. It’s a soft shade of rose. “Perfect with your complexion,” she told me. And I expect it will go nicely with her mothers darker shade of rose, and then there are the bridesmaids in their pale pink dresses. Leave it to Jenny to coordinate her entire wedding party as well as the relatives for this event.
“I’ve waited forever for my wedding day,” Jenny told me yesterday when she and I had tea together. “I can’t believe it’s almost here.”
“Our only granddaughter getting married,” I said with a trace of sadness. “How quickly you and your brothers and cousins grew up. But I’m so glad that I get to be here to share in this with you.”
“I wish Grandpa was here too.” Her sparkling eyes got a little dimmer.
“He is here in spirit, Jenny. You know that. You were always his favorite.”
She gave me her impish grin. “Yeah, there were some pretty good perks in being the only girl.”
“And Grandpa must be so happy to know that you’re marrying a good Christian man. It’s what he always hoped for.”
“I wouldn’t settle for less.”
“And what about the money, Jenny? Does it intimidate you that his parents are so wealthy?”
On This Day Page 8
