Lara laughs and says she’s got to run, but not before she throws in one more time, “Consider it. Seriously, Emily. Finding a real relationship.” Then she says goodbye and ends the call.
The bursting Victoria’s Secret bag in one hand, my phone in the other, I give myself one more moment of contemplation over the adoption papers peeking out from under the coffee table.
“She’s right,” I say to myself. Lara’s right about the adoption. I set the bag on top of the table and reach for the paperwork.
I take one last look at the folder, then dial Jackie’s cell phone number. Cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, I tear the papers into quarters and dispose of them in the recycling basket. A baby someday—and maybe even the good old fashioned way—but not now. That’s not the adventure I’m looking for right now.
Chapter Three
“She just does not like this sunhat,” Robin says, taking the lilac-colored hat from Rose’s hands. The moment Robin takes it, Rose begins to whine and bob up and down on her chubby legs. Her hands are waving above her head and she’s opening and closing her small fists, begging for the return of the hat she refuses to wear.
I bring the camera into focus, a close-up shot of Rose’s cherub-like face. She stops bouncing for a millisecond, and I let the shutter release.
“Here, baby,” Robin says. She squats down and maneuvers the hat back onto her daughter’s head, small tufts of her carmel-colored hair sticking out all around. “One pose for Auntie Emily with the hat on. Please.”
Rose’s whining fades, and for a brief moment she’s no longer at odds with her summer hat. She looks straight into the camera, making a curious, open-mouthed gaze. I focus and click as many shots as I can before she starts to clumsily walk my way.
“Adorable, Rose,” I squeal, snapping. Then her hands go straight to her head and off comes the hat.
“I don’t know why I bother,” Robin says languidly. “I’m always trying to get her to wear these cute things. She just won’t have it.”
“Then show off that pretty blonde hair, Rosie,” I say. I lightly fluff my fingers over her belly. Her hands instantly slam on top of mine, and she begins to squeal in delight.
Robin lets out a groan, hands firmly placed on thighs, and she wills herself to a standing position.
“Phew!” she gasps. “I’m only in my first trimester and I’m already feeling the exhaustion and aches of pregnancy.” She rubs at her lower back.
“Well you’ve got this cute handful to care for,” I point out.
I look around the small park we’re in, one street down from Robin’s home. There’s a large cluster of trees not far off where I saw a rope, tree swing. “You think you want some fun shots of Rose on the swing? I think there’s one over there.” I motion at the group of oaks.
“Oh,” Robin says, almost laughing. “She’s a year-and-a-half, Emily. She’s not quite ready for the big girl swing just yet.”
“Oh.” I shield my eyes from the bright sun and circle around. “We could just do some fun candid shots of the two of you then. Walking, sitting, whatever.”
“I could use a sit.” Robin takes a seat on the lush grass and motions for Rose to come over. “Thanks for doing this, by the way.” Rose pulls herself into her mom’s cross-legged lap. “Taking photos of her.” Robin gestures to Rose. “I’m sure you’d prefer photographing wildlife or something, well, exciting.” She pulls her long, blonde hair into a ponytail, and Rose whips her head around, intrigued by her mother’s movement.
“It’s my pleasure,” I say, taking a seat next to them. I pull the thick camera strap over my head. “I photograph plenty of nature around here. It’s nice to do this for a change.” I lean back on my palms and close my eyes, enjoying the warm rays of summer sunshine.
Seattle really is a fabulous city, and it doesn’t rain as much as people make out. It isn’t an African savanna, though, and it’s definitely not a sun-laden Greek isle; it really has some even-keeled temperatures and weather, and a day like today means one thing: I must be outside.
“And,” I say, squinting against the light, “any chance to hang out with you and Rose is a real treat.”
Robin runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair as Rose is fixated on plucking up blades of grass.
“How’s work at the magazine going?” Robin asks. “You getting more jobs?”
Once I figured I’d be hanging around Seattle for a while I decided to get a gig photographing for a local magazine. It’s mostly sports- and nature-related assignments, and I love it. There are no major commitments; it’s freelance. It’s fun getting to dash off to one of Seattle’s many nearby islands to photograph marine life or do a piece on the likes of things from sailboats to botanical gardens.
Photography, like travel, is my love. I simply couldn’t fathom life without a camera and a passport in hand. There’s so much to see, to experience, and, naturally, to capture on film. So the freelance job I have going right now is the perfect combination of laidback-ness, a hint of adventure, and a way to express my passion for the art of photography.
“It’s going well,” I say. “Gives me something to do.” By rote I pick up my camera and play around with the dials and buttons. “Sophie’s place is keeping me on my toes, too, which is great.”
“I’m jealous, Em,” she says, then, just in time, takes the fistful of grass that Rose has in her clutch, only an inch from her mouth. “Don’t eat the grass, darling,” she says in her high-pitched mommy voice.
Robin looks up at me, sprinkling the grass pieces on the lawn. “I’m jealous a little bit,” she says again. “You getting to hang out with Sophie like that all the time. Must be nice to have all that girl time.”
Even though I’m what I guess you’d call a trust fund baby, coming from extremely wealthy parents, it’s nice to have the two jobs going while I’m here, even though I don’t need the cash. A little earned income of my own is nice, and, above all else it’s a “real world routine,” as Lara calls it. I’ve got a balance between work and play, I guess you could say.
When I’m not doing freelance photography, I volunteer a few days a week over at Sophie’s café. She’s only had the place open for three months, and even though it’s really taking off (and maybe because it’s taking off), she sorely needs the free help.
I can’t complain one bit about working at The Cup and the Cake, because it means I get to hang out with another best friend. There are some awesome things only Seattle can offer.
Robin stops Rose from taking another shot at eating the grass. “Which reminds me,” she says. “I need to head over to Sophie’s café soon. Haven’t been in a while, what with the chaos of Claire’s wedding and all.”
“Swing by some time this week and hang out,” I suggest. “When you get a break from work or after work. I’ll be there every afternoon this week.” I gently pinch Rose’s cheek and add, “We’ll be sure to give this little one the sweetest cupcake.”
A ringing sounds from Robin’s large Vera Bradley diaper bag. “Bobby,” she says to me with a grin. “Hold on a sec.” She answers the call as Rose begins to inch out of her lap.
I hold my hands out for her to come my way. On all fours Rose just looks up at me with her round brown eyes, fixing me with an intrigued, wide-eyed stare.
“Love you, too. Bye, babe,” Robin says before she ends her phone call. “Well, guess what?”
Rose, suddenly no longer interested in staring at me, has focused on the strap to my camera. “What?” I pull Rose into my lap and jiggle the strap at her.
“Bobby said we’ve got a gender reveal appointment set!” Robin looks so happy she could burst.
“Omigod,” I nearly shout. “That’s awesome!”
She blushes lightly. “It’s not for a while, obviously.” Her hands instinctively drop to her stomach. “But we’ve got the appointment confirmed.”
“So,” I say, “what do you think you’re having?”
Robin blows a loose strand of hair
from her face and dramatically shrugs her shoulders in response.
“You know the Chinese have an ancient tradition that can predict the sex of the baby,” I tell her.
She looks curious, and timidly asks, “Predict the sex?”
“It’s legend, but it’s hundreds of years old. You just have to calculate the time you got pregnant and the month.”
She puffs out her bottom lip, looking contemplative.
“Based on your Chinese lunar age and the Chinese lunar month, of course,” I add.
“Oh, of course,” she says with a chuckle. “I think we’ll stick to the sonogram’s results.”
“Or you could do the ring test,” I casually suggest. “Although that’s an old wives tale.”
“More of a tale than the Chinese lunar age?” Robin pulls herself up, dusting the back of her beige slacks. “I love ya, Em.”
“It’s worth a shot! How fun would it be if it turned out to be accurate?” I pick up Rose and place her in the buggy.
“All right. Tell me how this ring test thing works.” Robin releases the buggy’s brake, makes a failed attempt at securing the sunhat to Rose’s head once more, and begins to make her way back to her car. “I’m assuming I need a ring.” She glances at me. “A wedding ring, right?”
I shake my head. “Any ring’ll do. Here,” I pull my pewter ring off. “You can use this. I got it when I was in Norway. It’ll be fun.”
With a laugh, Robin takes the ring and slips it on the third finger of her left hand. “Okay. So I, what, wear the ring and magically the Norse gods will whisper to me what I’ll have?”
“No, silly,” I say, giving her a light shove in the shoulder. “Look, you take a piece of string, string it through the ring…”
***
“So you want to hit up Vogue or something?” Jackie bellows, her speakerphone function evidently on, thanks to her far-off sound and extreme volume. “I could so use a night out!”
“It’s a Tuesday night.” I click with my computer’s mouse on one of the dozens of thumbnail images of Rose that I took today.
“Since when did you care about going out on a school night? Gaw!”
“Jack, I’d love to go, but I’ve got work tomorrow.” I smile the instant Rose’s sweet face fills the computer screen.
“Sophie’s?” I hear Jackie smack her lips.
“Yup.”
“Early morning work?” A slurp and then another smack.
“Yup.” I pump up the contrast just a hair on what is now my favorite photo of the thirty or so I’ve gone through from this afternoon. The way the sun lights up Rose’s cheeks, shimmers her golden hair, and is slightly reflected in her big, round, brown eyes—it’s perfect. Robin will love it!
“Well fine, bee-atch,” Jackie says with a groan. “I’m already gettin’ my drink on and I’m soooo bored.”
“Andrew gone?” I save the edited photo and attach it to an email.
“As always,” she says in a moribund tone. “And I can’t bear watching another second of those boring DVDs he brought home. You know the ones?”
“The history of the universe?”
“Pssht. With the dumbass Scientology spin on it? Yeah.” I hear her take another drink, then she adds, “It’s a five-pack set, and I lost about a thousand brain cells watching the first one. I don’t know what he sees in that hocus pocus.”
“To each their own,” I duly note. “Who are we to say what’s right and wrong?”
“Yeah, yeah. So,” she says, her usual peppy voice returning, “definitely a no-go for tonight? We could get our drink on, get our dance on…”
I address the email with Rose’s photo to Robin and type a brief: Your perfect angel. See you at Sophie’s soon! XO
“Rain check it, Jack,” I say definitively. “Oh, by the way—Robin’s probably going to have a little boy.”
“What?” she gasps. She switches from speakerphone, her voice coming in nearer and clearer. “What? How? When?”
“Well, that’s what the ring test said, anyhow.”
“Ring test? What the hell is that?”
I turn off the computer, make a rotating back stretch, and say, “Yeah, you dangle a ring above your belly and depending if it swings circularly or like a pendulum, you can find out if you’re having a boy or a girl.”
“Wow, and it’s like, what, ninety-nine percent accurate or something?” Jackie’s interest is piqued.
“Ha!” I pull off my jeans. “I doubt it. It’s probably just a bit of fun. Who knows? Maybe it is accurate.” I quickly pull my old University of Washington t-shirt off. “Robin did say she and Bobby did the test seven times, and twice it indicated a girl, so… Who knows?” I turn on the shower faucet and unclasp my bra.
Jackie heaves a sigh. “So there’s no way I can twist your arm to come out tonight?”
“Sorry, chica,” I say. I slip my bra over the bathroom door’s knob. “I’ve offered to be at the café at seven o’clock.”
“Freakin’ seven?! In the morning?” I can hear her take another loud drink. “Catch ya later then, girly. I’m outta here.” A smack of the lips. “I need some dinner and dancing.”
“Take a cab, Jack,” I caution.
“You forget, Emily,” she says in a coquettish voice. “My hubby’s got a driver on-call for me when he’s away.”
“Aww, yes.” I test the shower water, and it’s tepid. “Have fun. Don’t be stupid.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love ya. Mean it,” she blurts into the phone. “Later!”
I toss my phone aside and slip underneath the refreshing stream of water. My mind wanders to Robin and the possibility that she’ll be having a little girl. Goodness! Or even if she has a little boy! How neat would that be?
I still can’t believe she’s having another baby. Since when did we all grow up, morph into adults, and, oh God, become our parents? I swear it was yesterday when I was young and fancy-free, taking off for my first solo backpacking tour in college. Absolute freedom, with no responsibility or even a consideration of growing up.
The warming water courses over my head, and I lather a dollop of shampoo into my long auburn hair. I look at the fraying ends and consider a change. I was recently a redhead. Or I could go for the dreads again. That’s a favorite look. Something different—a change.
As the shampoo rinses from my hair and suds collect around my feet, I look at the collection of rings and bracelets I’m wearing. Each piece is representative of some place or some time, like the Norwegian find that I lent to Robin… You know, I bet Robin’s reading was accurate. I like to think that ring brings a bit of luck. I bought it right before I made my trip to Finnmark to mush with the dogs and catch the Northern Lights. The forecast was treacherous weather with a slim chance of much Northern Light action, but once I arrived, wearing my new ring, the weather was as ideal as it could be for seeing and photographing the magic in the sky. Good luck, indeed.
Chapter Four
“We need at least another dozen croissants,” Sophie calls around to the kitchen in the back. “At least two dozen with chocolate.” She brings up one slender arm, her navy buttoned shirt rolled up past her elbow and dusted with flour, and wipes at her forehead. She pulls a “What a day!” look my way then scuttles to a table of two.
“We’ve still got about eight pains au chocolat here,” Gatz’s voice rings from the kitchen. “Still want another two duzz?”
Sophie gives me a thumbs up. I take the tray of dirty cups and saucers from the front counter and dart into the kitchen.
“Still wants another two dozen,” I tell Gatz, whose got his hands full with one sheet of freshly baked cookies and another of unbaked scones.
“Did everyone wake up this morning with a sweet tooth?” Gatz says with a chortle.
I set the dirty dishes in the sink and begin washing.
“We’ve already sold the entire two dozen of both regular and chocolate that Sophie made this morning.” Gatz looks nonplussed, his strong jaw locked in an offset wa
y with his mouth open slightly, his wing-like eyebrows raised.
“Great for business,” I say cheerfully.
“Oh yeah.” He readjusts the headband that’s slid a bit back on his head of curly, brown hair and struts over. “I’ve barely had a sec to finish my breakfast; it’s hopping like mad around here.”
I step back, soapy dish in hand, as he leans his wiry frame over the deep metal sink to wash his hands.
“You here for the long haul today?” I ask.
“Lunch I’m off.” He dries his hands on his apron and heads straight back to baking duty.
Gatsby Carter, or Gatz, is one of Sophie’s main helpers around here. He’s the only not-a-friend-doing-Sophie-a-favor, actually-receives-a-paycheck set of hands, in fact. Sophie’s still hoping to afford more regular help soon, but at least she’s had Gatz for the past half-year or so to help out. He’s a cool guy who has an interest in baking and coming up with fun coffee concoctions. He says this is a good part-time gig until he decides what’s next for him. Says he wants to leave his options open. He’s been auditing classes over at our mutual alma mater, UDub, too.
I loved my college days, but four years studying for my Bachelors in Comparative History of Ideas was plenty of school for me, thank you. I’d now rather learn on the open road, through experience. How Gatz can stomach sitting in a stuffy classroom a couple nights a week after he’s already been through four years of undergrad work, I’ll never know.
“Sorry, make it three dozen,” Sophie says, almost breathless. She strides on her long, thin legs over to Gatz and quickly takes a spatula to the sheet of warm cookies.
“Gatz,” her voice has taken on the familiar admonishing tone, “the currants will scorch if we don’t take the cookies off the sheet right away.”
“Whoops,” he says in a small voice. He breaks out a spatula and starts to help move the cookies to the cooling rack.
He gives me a sideways, dimpled grin while Sophie says, “It’s fine. I just don’t want us to have more work than we already have.” She whips her head around, her long, brunette ponytail flying about. “Em? Did Jack drive you here?”
When Girlfriends Take Chances Page 3
