“What am I supposed to do?” I repeated. “The baby needs a crib. It needs a diaper changing thing. It needs a closet. It needs all this stuff!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lara said. She roughly snatched back the instruction sheet. “I know you need all this.” Her tone then became softer, and I instantly felt horrible for having exploded like that all of the sudden. “Sorry, Robin,” she apologized.
“Me, too.” I handed her the Allen wrench. “I know my crap’s all over the place. I don’t want to be a pain.”
“Oh, you’re fine.” Lara gave me a smile and started to tinker with the screws. “We’re fine. Hey, Sophie?” Lara looked up at Sophie. “Can you turn up the air conditioner? And Claire?” Claire had started fidgeting with a plastic bag of screws. “How about you turn on some music. Let’s get serious about this and have some fun at the same time.”
The girls hopped off as Lara suggested, and she, once again, gave me a smile. “Sorry, girl. Not easy for either of us, huh?”
I nodded. “So true.”
The sweet, melodic sound of The Beatles poured from the living room’s entertainment system, down the hall, and into my bedroom, where it looked like furniture mart had exploded, boxes strewn all over the place and pieces of fiberboard to the left and right. Once the music started playing and all of us decided to take deep breaths and have fun assembling the furniture properly, we really got the hang of things and the quasi-bedroom, quasi-baby room was starting to look up.
“Robin, you picked out some great pieces,” Claire said, surveying the room, which now contained a completed crib and diaper changing station, and a half-assembled wardrobe not far behind.
“Yeah,” Sophie said. “It’s really coming together. It looks great. And that rocker that you ordered online is going to go perfectly in that corner.”
“Things really are a surprising fit in here. When I first moved in and started rearranging I admit I was a little worried, but everything’s working out.”
“Of course everything’s working out. Here, take some photos and send them to Jack,” Lara said, handing me my cell phone.
“She’s out of town with that stupid new guy of hers, hah?” Claire asked. “What’s his name?”
“Andrew,” I said, snapping photos of the room in its current state—somewhat disarrayed and somewhat complete. “Looks like we’re back on track with Jackie making girl functions only when it’s convenient and doesn’t disagree with her flavor of the month’s schedule.”
“Now, girls,” Lara scolded. “We haven’t even met the man yet. As far as Jackie’s told us, he’s a really nice guy. We shouldn’t be so quick to judge, even if her past can be telling…”
“A real doll,” Claire said, giggling. “Jackie says he’s the best thing she’s ever had.”
Sophie: “In the bedroom.”
Claire: “In and out of the bedroom.”
Me: “Ohh. The real deal now.”
“Whatever ‘deal’ he is, I’m glad Jackie’s happy,” Lara said. “And I’m glad she seems to have met a really good guy.”
“Don’t hold your breath just yet, Lara,” I said. “You know she has a history of picking less than upstanding gentlemen.”
“Let’s at least give her the benefit of the doubt. He’s offered to let her move in—”
“And you don’t think that says anything? Two frickin’ weeks!” I was surprised. Wasn’t anyone else mystified by the whole Jackie and Andrew thing?
“Okay, that is a little fast. But who are we to judge?” Lara said.
“You’re right,” I conceded. I sent the series of photos off to Jackie, with a little note attached that we hoped she’d make it when it came time to pick out some baby clothes. “I do hope he turns out to be a good guy after all. I hate seeing Jackie hurt…all the time.”
The girls voiced their agreement. We’d all been there, done that. More times than we could count on both hands we’d carried a drunken Jackie back to her dorm room. Or consoled her as she cried over some frat guy who was two-timing her. Or tried to cheer her up when she turned out to be wrong about the guy who worked the midnight to five o’ clock shift at the corner mini mart. Or took the cigarette out of her hand or pried the cocktail from her fingers, and drove her to our place to nurse her back to health. And, always, always, we’d tell her that she was much better than she treated herself, and that she deserved more. She needed direction, and not by way of a sleazy man or on the way to the bar.
“I hear Andrew’s helping her out financially,” Claire said. “Jack told me he gave her two different credit cards just last week. Both in her name. His accounts.”
“And he is letting her drive his BMW or Mercedes or whatever she said it was when he’s not in town,” Sophie added.
“Seen all that before,” I sighed.
“Maybe this time he’s not a bad apple.” Lara, always positive and encouraging. “She is with him on some island nearby for a relaxing weekend getaway. She’s being pampered and it doesn’t seem precarious or anything.”
“Hey,” Sophie said, putting the final screws in place in the wardrobe. “If we can’t all be treated like royalty, let’s at least live vicariously through Jackie, who does get fed from a golden spoon now and then.”
We continued building and moving into place the remaining baby furniture. Each and every piece came together without too much of a hitch—save for a few protests of “not there!” and “don’t turn it like that!” All the while we chatted about Jackie and her new life of luxury.
“Oh and his townhouse! Jack says it’s amazing!”
“What does Andrew do? Do any of us know?”
“She says some kind of a banker. Travels a lot. Or maybe it’s a broker? It starts with a ‘b’ and he makes a lot of cash.”
“Something that definitely pays the big bucks. Apparently he drives a couple of blinged out cars.”
“Jackie’s even talking about quitting her job.”
“He is keeping her lifestyle nice and cushy.”
“He’s like forty-something, right?”
“Never been married? Isn’t that peculiar?”
“He must have some serious Freudian issues.”
“You never can tell, can you?”
Chapter Fifteen
The summer heat of August was stifling. Poor Lara was nearly chilled to the bone in the apartment, because I had to crank the air conditioning to the max in order to stay somewhat comfortable. My hormones were out of sorts, and the heat and sticky humidity only exasperated the problem. Fortunately for her, Lara wasn’t around the apartment much lately, as she’d had a lot to do back at the office dealing with the big Spokane client; she’d even pulled a few late-nighters.
With the heavy workload, Lara wasn’t able to come to my second and last ultrasound that day, but Claire pounced on the invitation. She’d never seen an ultrasound before, and she didn’t have a problem getting off work an hour or two early to accompany me.
“This is going to be so much fun!” Claire said as I drove to the familiar medical center, parking at a sign very near Dr. Buschardi’s front doors, which read, For Expectant Mothers Only.
“Oh my gosh—and you get your own private little parking space. How cute!”
I tried to make myself as comfortable as I could with the dressing gown barely covering my bare butt; there was no real way to feel at ease during these kinds of appointments. The only saving grace was the fact that I would most likely find out in a matter of minutes if I was having a boy or a girl.
“So this is the funny little thing that reads the baby?” Claire asked, pointing at the instrument that did, indeed, do just what she said.
Before I could answer, in came the ever-svelte Dr. Jane Buschardi. “Hello, my dear Robin!” Dr. Buschardi shook my hand and smiled brightly.
“Nice to see you again, doctor.”
The doctor turned towards Claire, hand outstretched, and when formalities were exchanged Dr. Buschardi commented on what an amazing and supportive tea
m of girlfriends I had.
“Don’t know what I’d do without them,” I said.
Claire clapped her hands excitedly and said, “I’m so happy to see the baby! We can find out if it’s a boy or a girl today, right doctor?”
“If that’s what Robin wants I’m ninety-nine percent sure we’ll get to find out today. So long as Baby isn’t shy and doesn’t want to hide.”
God, please don’t be a self-conscious thing like your momma, little baby.
I mentally scorned myself for such thoughts. How silly of me. I know kids inherit traits—physical and otherwise—from their parents. But how obviously self-conscious was it to worry about your child being self-conscious?
Don’t be silly, Robin. But come on, baby, don’t be shy. Be bold and show us your stuff today. Please.
Some warm gel, some clicks and taps of the mouse and keyboard, a few revolutions with the instrument and then…the heartbeat. This time much louder and stronger than the first ultrasound. And then an image popped up on screen!
“That’s its head!” I said, delighted it was so defined (and so much larger), and that I could see it without any assistance from Dr. Buschardi.
“That’s right. And here,” the doctor moved the instrument some more, this time pushing against parts of my stomach with her free hand. She then pushed gently with the instrument, saying, “We get Baby to turn a little towards us…wiggle around little baby…ah…there we go.” Click, tap, and then, “Robin is going to have a little girl!”
Claire screeched and I let out a tearful but joyful cry. I was having a girl. A baby girl!
“Congratulations, Robin. It definitely looks like you’re going to have a little sugar and spice and everything nice.” Dr. Buschardi took some photos, made more clicks and taps, then ran the printer so I could have my baby’s new ultrasound photos. My baby girl’s ultrasound photos.
“Your daughter looks healthy and fabulous.”
My daughter. My daughter!
“She’s right on schedule, growth-wise. December seventh still looks like a solid due date. Of course, you never can tell for sure. These little babies have their own schedules.” Dr. Buschardi handed me my photos and Claire and I gawked at them. “Keep on doing the same things you’ve been instructed to in the books and pamphlets I sent you home with. And I’ll give you some more today.”
I smiled at the photos, trying to take in everything Dr. Buschardi was saying, but so overwhelmed with joy and disbelief that I was really going to have a daughter. A baby girl. All my own!
“Congratulations, Robin. Any questions at all, you know how to reach me. Until then, keep up what you’re doing. It looks like you’re doing everything right.” Dr. Buschardi looked to Claire. “With great friends like yours, that’s probably unavoidable.”
I felt as if I were actually glowing during the car ride from the doctor’s office. Everything seemed so surreal, yet so…real. The first ultrasound revealed that I was, without a shadow of a doubt, having a baby. This ultrasound reiterated that point, but loudly! When you’re told that you’re having a boy or a girl it seems to make the baby even more real, if that makes any sense.
“You know what we have to do now?” Claire asked, offering to drive, since I was still in such shock over the news.
“What do we have to do now?” I asked, glowing as I stared at the three new photos of my baby daughter.
“Baby clothes shopping time!”
“You’re right!”
“Now that you know you’re having a girl we obviously have to go pick out some adorable pink and lacy things.”
“Yeah, and we can pick up a Bopee. In pink.”
I discovered that this thing called a Bopee was Mom’s best friend. With the Bopee, I could better nurse and bottle-feed my baby, not to mention let her rest comfortably and near me on the sofa, or even on the floor. It provided head and body support and would be just the piece of baby gear I could use for several months as my little girl grew from infancy to pre-crawling stage. And, when she wasn’t using it, I could, apparently. A little back support? Pillow? I didn’t need to read much more about the Bopee to know that I needed one.
“Obviously, we’ll have to do another baby clothes shopping run with the rest of the girls,” Claire said, as she pulled into the parking lot of one of our favorite local shopping centers. “We can’t have all the fun.”
Whoever said five best friends was better than one must have been a shopper—and a mommy in the making.
***
Almost the instant Claire learned that I was going to have a girl she went to work on the baby shower invitations—pink from top-to-bottom. The theme, we decided, would be all things “sugar and spice and everything nice,” since the phrase stuck when Dr. Buschardi mentioned it during the ultrasound. That meant the grand theme of the baby shower was sweet pastries, cupcakes with cherries on top, little bows, cinnamon sticks, sugar cookies painted in pastel colors and dotted with white sprinkles, and anything that could fit under the heading “and everything nice” (and feminine). Wherever to start planning such a theme as that?
The shower was up to the girls to figure out, thank goodness. Claire was gung-ho about planning the affair and that was fine by me. I didn’t have a knack for throwing parties or organizing fun get-togethers. I could do nachos and TV-on-DVD at home, or a girls’ night at the movies. Or I could coordinate a group trip to a local art gallery. A full-scale party, especially a baby shower, was not my forte. “Martha Claire Stewart” was the queen of handmade crafts, themed parties, anything to which you needed to répondez s'il vous plaît. She agreed that I stay out of the planning details, my only requirements being that I show up and that I give her the addresses of any of the women I wanted at my shower. So I gave her only two, as I wanted an intimate shower with my best girlfriends. One address was that of my sister Kaitlyn, which I gave happily. The other, my mother’s, and whether or not she’d come was another issue. I’d chosen to invite her out of civility, and actually had a brief discussion about it with Kaitlyn one morning before work.
“I invited her, but I don’t know if she’ll bother coming,” I told Kaitlyn over my cell phone’s speaker phone system as I French braided my hair. The Seattle summer heat and humidity were really getting to me, and the only way I could function having long hair was by braiding it.
“You’re the bigger woman. You invited her and now the ball’s in her court,” Kaitlyn said. I had called Kaitlyn that morning because I wanted to share the news that she was expecting a niece. It was rather odd to be reconnecting with my sister after all these years—ten plus at least—and I’d never imagined it would have taken children to bring us together. We agreed that it was nice to have that reconnection nevertheless.
“She won’t see it that way,” I said. “You know Mom. She always finds something to bitch and blame about.”
“You invited her; I’d leave it at that. She knows how to get a hold of you. Until she does, or doesn’t, carry on and go about your business. You know she’ll show up in the end.”
“She better not bring her latest love interest. She tell you about that?”
“The Florida architect thing? Yeah. Who knows how long that’ll last. At least she seems happy. Until her aura changes, that is.” Kaitlyn giggled, and I couldn’t hold back either.
I tied off my French braid and grabbed my cell phone and purse. “Hey girl,” I said. “I’ve got to run to work. Thanks for gabbing. I’ll see you September twenty-second?”
“I wouldn’t miss your baby shower for the world. See you later, sis.”
I grabbed a travel-size bottle of orange juice and the muffin that Sophie had brought over the other night when she came to watch some television with me. I was getting lonely with Lara not home by dinnertime every night. The past couple of weeks she’d been tied up at the office, working late hours that went well past the time when we’d usually eat dinner. After a while, the dinners in by myself in front of the TV grew old, even with Beebee occasionally coming
out from her various hiding places to sit next to me on the sofa. I knew Lara had her own life and things to keep her busy, however I didn’t imagine I’d be alone at night so often once I became her roommate.
Work was demanding, though, and, as Lara said one night in passing, “I don’t get to live in a nice apartment and drive a fancy car by sitting on my hands and clocking out at five every day.” A couple times, I’d neglected to hide my frustration with her late nights at the office. I wasn’t sure if I was reacting rationally since her behavior was, in fact, a little grating, or if I was going through hot and cold mood swings and simply didn’t know how to handle things on Lara’s end. (One can never really tell when they’re pregnant.) Not having Lara home until eleven, twelve, even one in the morning some nights was beyond frustrating. I’d lash out occasionally, then apologize, then she’d apologize and come home earlier the next day; it went like this now and then but we always made amends and carried on as usual.
I walked into work that morning with only the slightest of waddles to my step. I was already past my halfway mark with my baby girl, and I was most definitely pregnant by the looks of it. Everyone around the office was generally nice and helpful, me being the only pregnant woman there—and the only one in quite some years. Doors were always held open, many times people waiting there in the doorway until my slower-moving self could make my way along. Some of the ladies brought in a small, pink-iced cake when they found out I was having a girl. I was invited out to lunch and for coffee or tea runs by nearly everyone, but not individually by Bobby. Not by the co-worker I was crushing on and couldn’t shake from my thoughts.
More and more time was drawing out since Bobby and I had talked about having lunch together. He was still his genuinely kind self, but no more so than the rest of the men in the office who held open the door for me. No special treatment. Whether the flirtation was real or a figment of my imagination was still up in the air. Bobby still didn’t address the overdue lunch topic. He didn’t mention my having missed it because I was, in fact, sick, nor did he try to schedule it for another day. Nothing. Nada. It was as if we never even had a lunch planned!
When Girlfriends Step Up Page 17
