Mommy Tracked

by Whitney Gaskell

  “You don’t remember me,” Chloe said, reading Juliet’s hesitation accurately.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” Juliet said.

  “I’m the pregnant one. Anna Swann introduced us,” Chloe reminded her.

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “I called because I’m writing an article for Mothering magazine on mothers who are balancing work and family, and you said you might be interested in being interviewed for the article,” Chloe continued.

  “I did?”

  “Yes. I understand if you don’t have time, but it would be great if I could talk to you. I haven’t interviewed any moms who work full-time in a traditionally male-dominated profession yet, so I think your insights would really round out my article. We can do the interview whenever you’re free. I could come to you? Or we can do it over the phone, if you’d prefer?”

  Juliet had no idea why she responded as she did. She should work right through lunch, on the off chance that she might finish the depos and get home in time to see Emma and Izzy before they went to bed. But the words popped out on their own, completely out of her control.

  “How about lunch today?” Juliet said, and immediately wanted to kick herself. Lunch! She didn’t have time for lunch, she thought, her eyes flicking back to the mountain of work piled up on her desk. “Although, maybe—”

  But before she could yank the invitation back, Chloe pounced on it. “Lunch would be great! Where should I meet you?”

  At twelve-thirty, Juliet walked into the Dolphin Street Café, a little sandwich shop in downtown Orange Cove. It was a pleasant restaurant that did a brisk breakfast and lunch business, specializing in paninis and homemade coleslaw. The windows were open, letting in a cool breeze, and ceiling fans rotated lazily above. The bistro tables were already filled, as were the tall stools that lined the counter. Enormous photographs of Orange Cove hung on the wall—scenes of the river, the bridge, a stop-action shot of a train chugging past downtown.

  Chloe was already there, sitting at a table in the corner, her blonde head bent over a plastic-laminated menu. She looked up and waved when she saw Juliet approaching.

  “Hello,” Juliet said, sitting down.

  “Hi! Thanks so much for meeting me,” Chloe said, leaning back in her chair. Her voice was just as perky as it had sounded on the phone, but Juliet noticed that Chloe looked tired; there were black smudges under her eyes, and her face was pale and slightly bloated. Her pregnant stomach swelled in front of her, and her belly button had already popped out, like one of those plastic temperature gauges that come with turkeys.

  Oh, Christ, Juliet thought with dismay. I hope she isn’t going to want to talk about her pregnancy. That’s right up there with having to listen to someone blather on about their diet or whatever dream they had last night. Like anyone’s ever interested.

  “The timing worked out well. The lunch engagement I had scheduled was canceled.” Juliet made a point of checking her watch. “But I don’t have a lot of time, so why don’t we order and get right to your questions.”

  Chloe hesitated and blinked a few times, clearly startled by Juliet’s brusqueness.

  “Oh…okay,” Chloe finally said.

  The two women studied their menus in silence for a minute, and then the waitress came by and took their order. A cheeseburger with extra cheese, extra mayo, and a side of fries for Chloe, and a raisin–walnut chicken salad for Juliet.

  “I’m always hungry lately. I know I’m supposed to be eating for two, but most days it’s like I’m eating for twelve,” Chloe said, sounding apologetic, once the waitress had left. “Anna told me you had twins.”

  “Yes. Four-year-old girls,” Juliet said, unable to keep a note of pride out of her voice.

  “Wow. I’ve always thought that being pregnant with twins would make you twice as hungry—and have to pee twice as often,” Chloe continued, with a conspiratorial laugh.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember. It’s been a while since I was pregnant,” Juliet said.

  She’d found this was the best way to avoid the sort of intimate conversations most women loved jumping into. It started with shared pregnancy cravings, which sounded harmless enough, but—as Juliet knew from experience—that would just open the floodgates. All of a sudden she’d be listening to whines about husbands who didn’t do their share of chores around the house, or bouts of postpartum weepiness, or episiotomies that went astray, leaving the new mom with a numb vagina. None of which Juliet wanted to know about.

  As Juliet had hoped, her unwillingness to discuss the frequency of her urination while pregnant seemed to dampen Chloe’s enthusiasm for the subject. The younger woman fell silent and busied herself by rummaging through her brown shoulder bag. She pulled out a small tape recorder and a yellow legal pad on which she’d neatly written a series of questions.

  “I must admit I have an ulterior motive in writing this story,” Chloe confessed. “I work at home—I’m a freelancer—and I haven’t figured out how that’s going to happen after the baby’s here. I know I want to keep working, but I want to spend time with the baby too. I guess I’m trying to figure out a way to have it all.” She laughed again, this time a little self-consciously, and pushed her short blonde curls back from her face. “In fact, this might sound a little…well, weird, but I was sort of hoping to find a mommy mentor.”

  “A what?” Juliet had no idea what Chloe was talking about. She thought again of the pile of depositions waiting for her back at the office and glanced at her watch.

  “A mommy mentor,” Chloe repeated. “Someone who’s already been through it. You know, balancing work and family? Someone who could give me some advice and pointers along the way? I thought maybe, you know, you could…”

  Juliet stared at Chloe for a moment. Is this chick for real? A mommy mentor?

  Finally she cleared her throat and said, “My schedule is a bit full at the moment.”

  Chloe blinked at her, and her mouth formed a round pink O. “Oh…I didn’t…I wouldn’t bug you or anything. I didn’t mean to make it sound like some huge, time-consuming thing.”

  A little voice in Juliet’s head, one that sounded disturbingly like Grace, piped up. Be nice, Juliet. You’re terrorizing the poor pregnant woman.

  “Well…what exactly would you want me to do? I’ve never heard of a—what did you call it?—a mommy mentor before,” Juliet said.

  Chloe colored. “It’s just something stupid I made up,” she mumbled. “Forget it.”

  “Okay,” Juliet said.

  Juliet. It was Grace’s voice again, and it sounded disapproving.

  Crap, Juliet thought. Go away, Grace.

  “If you really want some advice, I could probably give you some pointers,” Juliet said, somewhat reluctantly.

  Chloe perked up. “Really?”

  “Sure, why not,” Juliet said, with a resigned shrug. “Although today’s not a great day for me—I’m under the gun at work.”

  Chloe looked relieved. “No, I totally understand. Some other day, okay?”

  “You’ve got a deal,” Juliet said.

  Good girl, Grace’s voice said.

  Thanks, Juliet thought dryly. Now get out of my head. You’re creeping me out.

  “Shall we get started with the interview?” Chloe asked. She shuffled her papers. “First tell me a little about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, what do you do for a living? I know you’re an attorney, but what sort of law do you practice?”

  “I’m a litigator. I’m an associate with a midsize firm that handles both plaintiff and defense work,” Juliet said.

  “How long have you worked there?”

  “Seven years. After law school I clerked for a judge on the federal court in Miami for two years. Once I finished my clerkship, I accepted a position with my firm.”

  “Is your husband a lawyer too?”

  “No, he was a firefighter—”

  Chloe interru
pted her. “Your husband’s a firefighter? That’s so exciting! Do you get nervous when he’s called in to a big fire?” she exclaimed breathlessly.

  Juliet smiled, bemused. Firemen always seemed to have this effect on women.

  “He doesn’t work anymore. He stays at home with our girls,” Juliet said.

  “Really?” Despite the microphone that was recording the interview, Chloe was furiously scribbling notes on her pad. “That’s interesting. How does that work?”

  “How does what work?”

  “His staying home. Does he like it? Does he miss work? Is he planning on going back? Does he consider himself a Mr. Mom?” As she rattled off the questions, Chloe seemed to gain some composure and her voice lost its little-girl breathiness. “This is great; it will give a really unique slant to my story.”

  Juliet frowned and shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure why it’s always such a big deal when the father is the one to stay at home. It just made more sense for us to do it that way. I earn more money than Patrick did, and since I’m hoping to make partner at my law firm, it would have been a setback if I took a long maternity break.” She shrugged. “I’m sure Patrick will go back to work someday. We haven’t really talked about when that will be, though. Maybe once the girls are in school full-time. They go to preschool three mornings a week right now.”

  “But is he happy staying at home?”

  This was just the sort of touchy-feely question Juliet hated. Was Patrick happy? Was anyone really happy?

  “I think he enjoys the time he spends with the girls,” Juliet said carefully.

  “And what about you? Do you feel like you’ve missed out by working long hours?”

  Juliet paused. Yes, she had missed out on some things, and the guilt over that often kept her company late at night. Then again, she got the fun side of things. Patrick was the one who had to deal with potty training, pediatrician visits, and carpools. She got to have the career, the nice clothes, and the lunches out, and when she came home, dinner was made, the laundry was done, and the girls were always excited to see her, greeting her at the door with screams of pleasure. Well, on the nights when she made it home before their bedtime, anyway. And on the nights when she didn’t, she’d stand in the doorway of their shared bedroom and watch as they slept, each curled up around a favorite stuffed animal, their breath heavy and rhythmic. She knew that whatever it was she’d missed, at least she was giving the girls a positive role model. Her daughters would grow up knowing that there was more to life than getting married and changing diapers.

  Her daughters would never watch their mother spend all of her time grooming herself because her bland prettiness was her only currency and she lived in terror that her husband would lose interest in her. Juliet’s daughters would never be told to smile and flirt because “men don’t like serious girls, they like fun girls,” or to wear more eyeliner because “you have pretty eyes, but you just need to make them stand out more.” Her daughters would never find her passed out in bed, fully dressed, after she’d “mistakenly” washed down six Valium with a bottle of California chardonnay as a way of coping with a temporary separation from her husband.

  In other words, her daughters would never have to endure what Juliet went through with her mother. Growing up as Lillian Campbell’s daughter hadn’t been easy, but it did teach Juliet a valuable lesson in how not to parent.

  So, yes, maybe she did occasionally miss a dance class, or the latest Disney movie, or taking her daughters to the park and pushing them on the swings. But she was giving them more than that. She was giving them a role model. And if they didn’t appreciate it now, they certainly would when they were grown.

  “It’s worked out fine,” Juliet said. She smiled coolly at Chloe. “Better than fine. Every working woman should have a housewife.”

  four

  Chloe

  Afterward, Chloe wasn’t sure why she’d done it. It had been years since she’d felt the impulse, the compulsion lying dormant for so long that she’d actually been lulled into believing she’d overcome it.

  She’d gone to Over the Moon, a posh baby boutique in picturesque downtown Orange Cove to look for a mobile for the baby’s crib. Over the Moon was a beautiful shop, painted in shades of soft green and crammed with sterling-silver rattles, cashmere receiving blankets, Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bags, and tiny outfits that cost more than what Chloe normally spent on her own clothes. Even so, she browsed through the racks of little blue sailor suits and pink linen dresses, wishing—not for the first time—that they’d found out what the baby’s sex was. But James didn’t want to know.

  “Let’s do it old school and not find out,” James had coaxed, flashing his most charming, irresistible grin.

  Chloe had finally acquiesced, not wanting to ruin the surprise for him. Not knowing the sex of the baby had seemed so important to James, more important than knowing had been to her. Except that she hadn’t known whether to decorate the nursery with pink walls and the gorgeous floral crib set she’d seen in a baby catalog or blue walls and the dinosaur set from Pottery Barn Kids. And it had meant that she couldn’t buy anything but the most gender-neutral clothes ahead of time.

  She bent over to admire a fire-engine-red Bugaboo baby carriage—a steal at only $679—and suddenly felt another Braxton Hicks contraction. It pinched like a menstrual cramp, only stronger, and she closed her eyes tightly while she waited for it to pass. They’d been coming more and more frequently all day, each one taking away her breath and making her feel like she’d been punched in the stomach.

  The first time she’d had what felt like a serious contraction, she called James at work and then rushed over to her doctor’s office, sure that this was it, she was in labor. She wasn’t. The nurse–midwife—a bossy woman with copper-red hair and Dolly Parton-size breasts—had checked Chloe’s cervix and then sent her home.

  “There’s no point coming in every time you have a Braxton Hicks contraction. Most women have them for weeks before they actually go into labor,” the nurse–midwife had said, so patronizingly that Chloe’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She slunk out of the office, feeling like a complete failure.

  Her due date had been yesterday. But when she went to see her obstetrician for her weekly appointment, he’d reported that her cervix was still closed as tight as a fist.

  “First-time mothers are often late,” Dr. Camp said soothingly. “It could be another week, or maybe even two.”

  Great, Chloe had thought. Just what she wanted to hear—another week with swollen elephant ankles, gut-wrenching contractions, and a belly stretched so large, her skin ached.

  Although maybe it wasn’t so bad. At least now they’d be able to attend the Weavers’ cocktail party.

  “I have to warn you up front, there are going to be a lot of lawyers in attendance,” Grace had said when she called to invite Chloe and James. Grace had a warm voice that always sounded on the verge of fizzing with laughter. Chloe had instinctively liked her when they met and now felt a preteenish thrill of pleasure at being included.

  The party was that night. Chloe glanced at her watch and saw that it was getting late. She should get home. She wanted to take a shower before the party, blow-dry her hair, and take time with her makeup. She was so nervous, it almost felt like she was single again and going on a first date with someone she had a crush on. Actually, making friends with a new group of women was worse than dating.

  She looked around for a sales assistant who could hopefully point her toward the mobiles. And that’s when Chloe saw them: a tiny pair of baby shoes. They were made of soft pink leather, and each had a red leather cherry sewn over the top. Chloe picked them up.

  I have to have them, she thought, resting her hand on her swollen stomach as she suddenly pictured a little girl with blonde curls, wearing a starched white pinafore dress and these perfect little shoes.

  Even before she’d decided to take the shoes, Chloe felt the familiar flare of exhilaration mixed with cold apprehe
nsion. What if she was caught? She had been once before, back when she was a teenager and had attempted to shoplift a fountain pen at an upscale stationery store. But Chloe had cried, and the manager who’d caught her tucking the pen into her LeSportsac had taken pity on her and shooed her out of the store. For a long while after that, Chloe had resisted the urge to slip lipsticks or silk scarves into her purse. But eventually she slid back into her old habits.

  In college, she’d gone through a period where she filled her jacket pockets every time she went to the grocery store. It was never anything she needed; it wasn’t like she was going to whip up a light gourmet meal in her dorm room. But even so, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from pocketing jars of Grey Poupon, Swiss chocolate bars, boxes of soda crackers, and, once, a bloody steak that was turning gray at the edges. Each time, as soon as she left the store, Chloe had immediately driven to a homeless shelter and left the items by the front door, like a sacrifice to appease an angry god.

  Chloe got control of the impulse again and went a long time without stealing anything. And then, a few years later, when she was in the throes of planning her wedding—an event far more stressful than she’d ever imagined, especially for Chloe, who always wanted to please everyone, which was pretty much impossible when you were gathering together three hundred of your touchiest friends and relatives—Chloe went on a binge. She took a purse from T. J. Maxx, a half dozen men’s silk ties from Stein Mart, a pair of pink topaz earrings from Macy’s, and a leaf-shaped air freshener from the car wash while she was waiting to pick up her recently detailed car.

  She promised herself that she’d stop after the wedding, and, other than one tiny relapse on her honeymoon—she pocketed a Bermuda-themed snow globe in the hotel gift shop—Chloe had managed to kick the habit. It had been hard, but she’d finally done it. But now…now she could feel the urge creeping up and grabbing her, until she was overwhelmed with the need to take the cherry-adorned shoes.

  Chloe looked around and saw that the salesclerk—who had been studiously ignoring Chloe—was now chatting away on the phone and had her back turned. Quickly, Chloe slid the shoes into her handbag, feeling a rush of excitement and her heart thumping wildly as she did so.