by Rob Kaufman
Angela rolled her eyes. “Kids,” she whispered.
“What?” asked June. “Are there kids there?”
“No,” Angela said. “No kids. Just talking to myself.” She paused. “Look, I gotta go. There’s no need to come out now. I’ll call you mid-week and we’ll set up plans for Saturday.” She jumped up, not allowing herself to shiver. “Thanks again. Say ‘hi’ to everyone at the hospital. Bye.”
Angela pressed the “END CALL” button before June had the chance to reply. She scurried into the house, found the legal document, and flipped to the last page. Grabbing a pen from her pocketbook, she leaned the papers against her thigh and signed her name. As she clicked the pen closed, she heard the Beemer pull into the driveway. She threw the pen back into her pocketbook, turned the last page over, and placed the document neatly onto the dining room table.
“Done!” Angela whispered.
The heat inside the house had turned her chills to perspiration. She fixed her hair into a pony tail, unwrapped her sweater, and through the dining room window watched the men carry the pizza up the front porch.
“Come in!” She shouted before Jonathan had a chance to ring the doorbell. “And don’t even think about using that bell again,” she said as she grabbed a pizza box from Philip’s hand. “Mi casa, es su casa!”
12
Oversized Euonymus hedges lined with miniature lanterns blocked the view on both sides of the graveled driveway, reminding June of the elegant Georgia landscape she loved as a child. The only sounds she heard were the rock crunching beneath the tires and her own breath, quickening in anticipation of what was to come.
When the headlights swept along the last few inches of hedge, June gasped as she tried to take in the entire face of the house. The lush evergreen plantings, still green despite impending winter, graced the foreground of the home with raw beauty. Natural wood shingles surrounded by wheat-colored trim brought the immensity of the house down to a comfortable size, making June feel more welcome than overwhelmed. In the dusk, the yellow hue of inside lights reminded June of her mother’s Georgian home and the intensity with which she missed it. Ironically, the warmth made her shiver and she held in her breath for a moment, blinking back sudden tears.“Oh, my God, Angie, this house is gorgeous!” June covered her mouth with her gloved hand, muffling her voice. “It’s like a palace. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Angela shifted the Land Cruiser into Park and cut the engine and headlights. “I know.” She leaned back in the seat and crossed her arms. “It really is a perfect house. And if you think the front is nice, you’ve got to see the backyard.”
June felt a slight twinge in her stomach. She’d spent the entire train ride to Westport wondering what Angela’s mood would be like. And so far, so good. Angela seemed relaxed and happy.
“I can’t wait!” June said, now peering out the side window. “I’ve been wondering for so long what their house looks like,”
“June,” Angela huffed, “Please remember this isn’t a museum tour. You’re here to help me get pregnant.”
June closed her eyes and nodded. She turned to Angela and waited for a return gaze. “You don’t have to remind me. I know why we’re here.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m here to help you. Period. If you’re going to be a bitch about it, take me to the station and I’ll go back to the city right now.”
June’s heart was pounding. She’d never stood up to Angela before and had no idea why she was doing it now. But whatever the reason, this felt good and she wasn’t going to let go. She hung onto her resistance like an overboard passenger to a lifeboat, even when Angela’s eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and she started peeling off her gloves. June stared into the darkness of Angela’s eyes, shaking inside, preparing to be swallowed by the two black holes.
Angela threw her gloves onto the dashboard. “Of all the times you decide to get angry and slap me back, you choose tonight?” She shook her head. “One of the most important nights of my life and you decide to turn mean? I can’t…” Angela covered her eyes with her hands. “I just don’t believe this.”
June squinted with confusion and tried to get a better glimpse of Angela through the harsh shadows of dusk. Other than anger, she’d never seen Angela display emotion. “Angie?” June whispered into her own hand. There was silence. A sniff. More silence. “Angie? Are you crying?”
Angela turned and June caught the glint of a tear on her cheek. She almost gasped, the drama so foreign to her. In all the years she’d known Angela, not once had she witnessed softness. The realization that Angela was human created a sense of buoyancy within her.
“I’m sorry!” She stroked Angela’s arm. “I didn’t mean to get you upset. I know you’re on edge because of…”
She stopped talking when the front door opened and Philip, known to her only by photographs, waved for them to come in.
“Shit!” Angela wiped her face and grabbed her gloves. As she pulled the handle to open the door, she tossed June a grimace. “Just know, June, if you fuck this up, you’ll not only stop getting your meds, but I’ll make sure your new boss knows enough shit about you to fire you on the spot.”
Angela opened the door, grabbed her bag of supplies, and ran toward Philip’s open arms, leaving June to fend for herself. June couldn’t move, paralyzed by Angela’s words and erratic behavior. She looked at Philip hugging Angela, his face so pure, his hand apparently waving for June to join them. He seems so nice, she thought, swallowing hard to push down the lump in her throat. Why would he want her to have their child? Doesn’t he know what she is?
“Come inside,” Philip shouted, both hands now in his pockets as he jumped up and down trying to keep warm. “It’s freezing out here!”
June forced half a smile and waved back.
“Come on, June!” Angela’s fake smile lit up the walkway. “We’re not going in without you!”
“I’m coming,” June said to herself. “I’m coming.”
*
June stopped in amazement at the threshold of each room. She’d never seen such exquisite style and architecture. From the lacquered dark maple floor to the deep tray ceilings and high crown molding in every room, she found it hard to take in everything. She took a deep breath, picturing herself inside Willy Wonka’s Candy Factory, a camera spinning around her as she whirled about.
But it wasn’t just the home’s beauty that struck her. Philip and Jonathan sealed the deal. She’d seen them in photographs and an occasional sneak peek as they climbed the stairs to Angela’s apartment, but now she understood why Angela was so enamored by these two men. Their handsome New England features and their kindness made her wish they’d throw Angela out the front door and let her be the mother of their child.
They led her from room to room, pointing out items that held special meaning: Max’s abstract painting of the two of them above the fireplace in the bedroom; the flawless glass bowl in the center of the dining room table — a gift from a friend they met on the island of Murano during their last Italy trip; the photo sitting atop Philip’s desk — a shot taken of Angela, Jonathan and Philip on the day she moved into her home.
When they returned to the livingroom, June could only shake her head.
“Beautiful, isn’t it, June?” Angela said, opening the stereo cabinet to search through the extensive CD collection.
June couldn’t bring herself to look at Angela and shatter the moment. Instead, she turned to Philip.
“You’ve done an awesome job here. Your home is exquisite.”
“Thanks.” Philip stuck his index finger into Jonathan’s ribs. “Mostly his doing. He’s the one who got that gene.” Philip laughed and held up his hands in defense.
“No need to protect yourself,” Jonathan said, grabbing Angela’s hand and walking her to the suede loveseat. “I won’t waste my time responding to that.” He smiled at June. “You don’t pay attention to him either, June. Come sit down.”
June walked to a second lo
veseat opposite Jonathan and Angela and sat down, rubbing her fingertips along the delicate suede fabric. She closed her eyes, absorbing the warmth of the sofa, the room, the music, the people. This was a world she’d only read about in books or home decorating magazines. She didn’t know when she’d be back and wanted to soak in every ounce of it.
“June, snap out of it.” Angela looked up at Jonathan and let her head fall on his shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse her, gentlemen. She doesn’t get out much.”
Hiding her irritation, June smiled along with Angela’s laughter. Angela was being Angela, she supposed, but now there was a subtle difference; a kindness to her actions and words, even the sarcasm. June noticed this difference from the moment they entered the house, and now she understood why Philip and Jonathan were so taken with Angela: she was funny, nice, affectionate and, yes, charming — characteristics she hadn’t seen Angela display in all the years they’d know one another. It seemed as though an imposter slipped into Angela’s body the moment she crossed the door jamb into the main foyer — the alter ego of the vicious, conniving person June struggled with on a daily basis.
Why were these intelligent men so easily fooled? Yet, as she watched Angela’s perpetual smile and constant stroking, physical and verbal, June realized the question was moot. Angela was good. She was very good. June’s instinct was to jump up and start screaming, “She’s a bitch! She’s crazy! She’s acting! Don’t believe her!” But if she dared utter a word against Angela, she’d appear crazy and would probably be escorted out the front door.
Philip flopped down beside June, spreading his arm along the back of the sofa so his hand fell only inches from the back of her neck. She felt herself tense up.
“Can I get you something to drink, June? We have both alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.” He switched his gaze to Angela. “Although the non-alcoholic ones are really for Angela. Once she’s pregnant, no more Double G and T’s for her. She’s lucky if we let her drink a Pepsi once a month.”
Except for Handel playing softly in the background, the room was silent. Philip’s comment brought the true reason behind this get-together to the forefront of the conversation and no one was sure what came next. June looked at Angela and dispensed a strained smile.
“This is weird, huh?” Angela tightened her grip around Jonathan’s hand.
Jonathan placed his other hand around hers and smiled at Philip. “I’ve been saying that to Philip all day. It is weird. I mean, we’ve all talked about it at least a thousand times. But now that it’s actually time to make this happen, it feels… well, strange.”
“I keep telling him to loosen up.” Philip smiled back at Jonathan. “Like I said, just put your stuff in the cup and give it to Angie. She’s the professional. She knows what to do with it.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “You make it sound so… special, Philip. Have you no shame?”
“He doesn’t.” Jonathan jumped in before Philip could open his mouth. “You should know that already, Angie.” Jonathan smiled at June. “And I guess it’s something you should learn about him too, June. He’s a little rough around the edges.”
June laughed quietly, holding her hand in front of her mouth. “From what I’ve heard, you’re two of the most wonderful men on the planet.” June and Angela exchanged glances. She could tell Angela was pleased with her comment, so she moved her hand from her mouth to her lap. “I’ve heard nothing but extreme praise.” She turned to Philip, “about both of you. So I’m not going to believe any of this.”
“I heard the slightest of a southern twang in there,” said Jonathan. “Am I wrong?”
“You’re absolutely right. I grew up in the south. Wrightsville, Georgia to be exact.”
Philip scooted around and leaned his back against the arm of the sofa in order to get a full view of June.
“We love Georgia. Thought about moving down there once or twice, but decided we wouldn’t be able to stand the humidity… or the bugs.”
June smiled. “Yes, bugs can be a problem. Especially the palmettos. They’re huge, and they crunch like pistachios when you step on them.”
Philip turned to Jonathan. “Living, breathing pistachios that crunch. Now you see why we’re not in Georgia.” He turned back to June. “Why haven’t we met you before?”
June looked to Angela and found nothing but a blank stare. She felt perspiration on her palms; fast thinking had never been her strong point.
“I work a lot,” she started.
“A lot!” Angela chimed in.
“I’m never home. Always at the hospital, working my own shift or someone else’s. It’s not good for the social life, but it’s definitely good for the bank account.”
“I think I might’ve seen you looking out your door as we were climbing the stairs to Angela’s apartment.” Jonathan said. “It might even have been the first time we visited her. I’m not sure.”
June rubbed her moist hands together. Jonathan was right. She’d been peeking out her door that day to get a glimpse of them, too afraid of Angela’s reaction to even think about introducing herself.
“I’d just gotten home from an eighteen hour shift. I looked terrible and didn’t want to put you through such a horror show.”
Angela leapt up and placed a hand on each shapely hip.
“Okay everyone, are we here to learn about the history of June Stokes, or are we going to get pregnant?”
Philip stood, walked to Angela, and kissed her cheek.
“You’re right. And I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. I think about fifteen years ago and how we’ve become two totally different people. And now we’re going to be making a baby together!” He turned to Jonathan. “Well, you know, the two of you will be making a baby, but…”
“The three of us,” Angela cried. “The three of us are going to be making a baby together.”
Watching Angela hug Philip, June’s thoughts raced. Something wasn’t right in the way Angela held onto him; almost squeezing him, her face leaning against his shoulder with a look of contentment; an unintentional admission that she’d love to remain there for the rest of her life.
*
June gasped at the enormity of the bathroom, almost the size of her living room and kitchen combined. Light from the dimly lit sconces splashed through frosted glass and onto the shiny black granite countertop, where tiny specks of gold glinted from different angles. Again, she covered her mouth with her hand, gazing at the most beautiful slate floor she’d ever laid eyes on; gray-black stone that added additional elegance to the intensely modern room.
Angela threw her suede bag onto the countertop and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Using the index finger of each hand, she carefully wiped under each eye, trying to erase any sign of smudging mascara. She glanced at June and rolled her eyes.
“Get over it, June.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a hairbrush. “It’s a bathroom. Not the Taj Mahal. Please stop acting like such a hick. It’s embarrassing.”
June felt a tightening in her stomach. The Bitch was back.
“I know it’s an important night for you Angela, so I won’t be mean again. But if you don’t mind, please try to be nice to me for the rest of the evening.” She turned to leave the bathroom. “You don’t need to kiss my ass like you do Philip and Jonathan’s, but you can at least be civil.” She walked out of the bathroom and dropped her pocketbook onto the bed. “You’re the one who’s embarrassing.”
June heard Angela sigh, and then her heels clacked across the slate floor.
“You’re right,” Angela said. “I’m sorry. I’m totally uptight and I’m being nasty.” June felt Angela’s hand on her shoulder, but wouldn’t turn around. “Please forgive me, okay? I need you tonight.”
June finally turned around and looked at Angela, whose eyes were wide, her expression outwardly sincere. She is good.
“Okay. Apology accepted.” June surrendered.
She almost fell backward from amazement as Angela w
rapped her arms around her, squeezed tightly, and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here with me. This is awesome!”
With that, June dropped to the bed and lay on her side, already exhausted from a night that hadn’t even truly begun. Angela returned to the bathroom and spewed forth the evening’s rules like an instruction manual, forcing June to struggle to hear through the wall between them.
“Here’s how it’s going to happen. I’m not sure who will bring the sperm, but you take the cup and bring it to me. I’ll go into the bathroom and load the syringe. Then I’ll come out, lie on the bed, and you can prop some pillows under me. I’ll then insert the syringe and dispense the sperm. I’ve practiced it about a thousand times, so I’m pretty good.”
June rose from the bed and walked to the bathroom door. She leaned against the jamb and crossed her arms.
“So tell me, Angie, are you saying I came all the way out here with you to prop up pillows?”
Angela turned to June, her smile forced.
“June, like I’ve told you over and over, you’re also here for moral support. Or are you upset because you really wanted to insert the syringe so you can get a good look at my…”
“Jesus, Angela. What’s wrong with you?” June shook her head. “Of course I don’t want to insert the syringe. I just thought I could help with the things I know best. Like adding saline to the sperm to minimize waste. Or getting the bubbles out of the syringe before insertion. You know… something that will really make me part of the potential conception.”
Angela rubbed June’s arm, her smile fading so quickly June could’ve sworn she heard it hit the floor.
“First of all, don’t call this conception ‘potential.’ It will happen. It has to happen. And second, I’m not using saline, because there’s too much dilution. I want this to be pure, unadulterated sperm.” She slid her bare feet toward the mirror and leaned against the sink, her palms flat on the counter. “Now, after I get the sperm inside me, I’ll be making myself cum. You might want to be in the bathroom for that.”
