by Ashton Lee
“It said something to the effect that any thoughtful husband should rush out at any time of day or night and fetch whatever it was his wife was craving. And it even suggested he could indulge with her to show he didn’t think she was off her rocker. And I’ve done just that. I’m off to The Cherico Market at the drop of a hat. You know how I hate Vienna sausages. Nasty little fingers swimming in a sea of sodium. But eating pistachio ice cream out of the gallon with two spoons was a dream come true. That was like a children’s birthday party gone wild.”
Maura Beth’s giggle was lengthy and a bit on the strange side, as if it were coming from some sort of windup children’s toy. “Yes, we did finish off the entire thing, didn’t we?”
“Not only that, but I’ve gained a little weight, too. Three pounds, to be exact. The article said not to go overboard, but if a husband put on a pound or two, the wife wouldn’t feel so defensive about ballooning up. That it was important to make her feel beautiful all the way to the end.”
“Even while she’s screaming?”
“I don’t know about that. We haven’t gotten there yet. I’m not sure screaming is ever a beautiful thing to behold. But I certainly wouldn’t tell you to be quiet, if that means anything. But you know I’ll be there with you in the delivery room, and if the doctor tells you to push, then I’ll tell you to push, too. Whatever it takes.”
All Maura Beth could manage was, “Hmmm.” It was impossible to tell what was actually behind that short utterance, so Jeremy proceeded with caution—something the article had also emphasized.
“Was that a note of approval, Maurie?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t really ballooned up that much. I sort of hate that word. But I certainly know it’s coming. My mother showed me a picture of herself when she was nine months along with me. She reminded me of one of those old Volkswagen buses from the sixties with peace signs scrawled all over them.”
Jeremy laughed and made the peace sign with his fingers. “Funny.”
Maura Beth gestured quickly. “I know. She was out to here. But she also told me that I was worth all her body went through. I mean, I came out with fuzzy red hair and later there were my freckles, and neither of my parents knew where on earth I came from, but they finally realized that I was who I was and that I was never going to change just to please them. But that’s my real problem these days. I can’t seem to stop getting way ahead of myself.”
Jeremy decided it was time for a hug, so he rose from his chair, leaned down, and did just that, giving the gesture everything he had. “There ya go,” he told her, drawing back with a smile. “That’s all you need to know.”
Maura Beth thought for a while. She needed to believe in at least a smidgen of simplicity in her life at a time when everything was becoming more and more complicated. Despite the heated conversation they were having, Jeremy’s touch had been reassuring and grounded her somewhat.
“That’s a good point. My mother and I were pretty much at each other’s throats until just before you and I said our marriage vows on your aunt Connie’s fishing lodge deck. If we have a daughter, I hope it doesn’t take us that long to resolve the mother-daughter thing. So much time and energy are wasted, and there’s no reason on earth it has to be that way.”
Which brought them to another juncture again. They had gone back and forth about whether to pursue the gender reveal. At the moment, they were in we-don’t-want-to-know mode, but they weren’t firmly committed. Dr. Lively had offered to let them know at any time. All they had to do was ask.
“What if it’s a boy?” Jeremy said, resuming his seat as he raced ahead. “How does that go down?”
“I would hope it doesn’t take you forever to become best pals with him,” she answered. “And that means throwing baseballs and footballs with him if it turns out he doesn’t want to become an English teacher and has any sort of athletic ability. I know how much you hate football because the headmaster in Nashville would never let you take a bus to Oxford or some other literary shrine, while the football team traveled all over the place for road games. Money was no consideration for that. But you at least have to consider the possibility that a son of ours may not be interested in the same things you are. I’ve always cottoned to the idea that whoever it is will ultimately have come through us, not from us. Very Kahlil Gibran of me, I realize, but I know you understand and agree with the philosophy.”
“Yeah, I do. Que sera, sera. So do we want to revisit the advance notice thing about the gender? We could get it next time you go in. But I’ve decided to let you be the one to ask. I’m okay with not knowing until whoever pops out.”
Maura Beth managed to laugh, but she didn’t really feel like laughing. “You make me sound like I’m a jack-in-the-box.”
Jeremy laughed, too. He had learned to adapt to her mood swings quickly. Then he snapped his fingers. “That could be the new title—Jack-in-the-Box.”
“The new title of what?”
“The novel I’ve been writing, of course. I’ve decided just now that I don’t like the old title anymore.”
Maura Beth stopped short of rolling her eyes. “Buns in the Oven, right? I didn’t say anything when you came up with that a while back, but I thought it was on the corny side. Anyway, how much have you written now?”
He was counting with the sideways movement of his eyes, looking down at his hands as if he were holding the book that he hoped would eventually be published. “I’m up to twenty-six pages at the moment. It was thirty-four at one time, but I went through recently and edited the heck out of the manuscript. The whole thing feels like it’s been written in my own blood, by the way.”
She nodded without conviction. She had become deadened to his frequent literary progress reports. Yes, she recognized that he had a “baby on the way,” too. But the path to eventual delivery was far less evident for him. He kept telling her that he had a novel inside simmering—that had been a frequent subject of discussion during their courtship—but his sudden decision to base it on her pregnancy and that of his sister, Elise, did not interest her too much anymore. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be supportive of him. She wanted him to succeed, of course. It was more that he often seemed to be wandering in the desert where the right words were concerned. He hadn’t actually called it writer’s block, but he had come close.
“I’m think I’m having trouble making pregnancy sound appealing,” he had told her at one point.
She had barely managed to disguise her frown. “Why are you taking that approach? It is what it is. I think you should concentrate on the reality of it all. Sometimes it’s messy, and messy isn’t very appealing.”
“You mean graphic, don’t you?”
“I suppose.”
That particular conversation had ended in shrugs from both of them, though they both knew the topic of his novel was far from over. The end of the first trimester showdown, however, contained a resolution of sorts.
“I’ll soft-pedal my depictions of you from here on out, if that’s what you want,” Jeremy said at last. “You’ll be front and center without any competition the rest of the way, Maurie.”
Maura Beth finished off her lemonade, puckering slightly. She hadn’t put in enough sugar this time around, which was peculiar considering that her craving for anything sweet was growing exponentially. Really, now, did the baby require that much extra energy and vitamin C? “I didn’t really mean to make such a big deal out of this, sweetheart,” she answered. “I can’t explain why I say or do anything anymore. Except that I’m pregnant.”
Jeremy got up from his chair again and moved behind her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. Then he leaned down and kissed her cheek softly. Still facing forward, she reached up with her right hand and placed it atop his. The quiet moment needed nothing further, no words needed to be spoken, even though Jeremy knew that he had not seen the last of such showdowns with the woman he loved who was carrying their child. After all, their showdown hadn’t really been a quarrel.
There was a playfulness, a give-and-take quality about it that was satisfying to both of them, and that meant their marriage was on solid footing.
* * *
Maura Beth had kept her “mirror” sessions from Jeremy so far. In fact, no one knew about them; and they would never know, unless she changed her mind. Sometimes, she came home from the library for her lunch hour and indulged them after she had consumed her calories according to the instructions cheerfully but carefully given by Dr. Lively. Originally, she had stepped before the full-length mirror in their bedroom to monitor her weight gain without her clothes on. She would effortlessly step out of whatever she was wearing to work that day and examine herself nude from every angle—front, side, and from the rear—with the aid of a strategically placed hand mirror. Perhaps she was being obsessive, but it was her body, and she wanted to monitor the experience in every way possible. It was the ultimate rite of passage, and she didn’t intend to miss an ounce of it.
But it did not take long for her to use these secret sessions for something more. It had surprised her when the conjectures started bubbling up from somewhere inside. Did other women think such things about themselves and their future children? She wondered as the questions filled her brain, offering no easy answers.
If I have a son, will he be a male version of me?
If I have a daughter, will she be a female version of Jeremy?
Will I understand what I would have been like as a male?
Will Jeremy understand what he would have been like as a female?
What if it’s not so clear? What if whoever it is, is a blend?
What if I have a daughter, and she is like me?
How do I deal with another me? Do I want another me in the world? Isn’t one enough?
What if she is so different that I can’t understand who she is, the way my mother couldn’t understand who I was practically until I got married?
What if there is a health issue connected with our child?
Would I be strong enough to face it?
How would our lives be changed by such a stark reality?
What a crapshoot this game of genes was! It would take a long time to find out what was what, in any case. In the meantime there would be lots of hopes and dreams invested in and pinned on whoever came along. Vicariously? Or realistically? Was that even remotely fair to the child? Should parents ever live through their children? Many seemed to do so with mixed results.
Cara Lynn Mayhew, the ultimate, stylish New Orleans socialite, had wanted her only redheaded, freckle-faced, public librarian daughter to return to the Crescent City for the high-church wedding and sacred social club reception of the year. She was militant about it, calling long-distance at least twice a week and hoping to wear her daughter down. But Maura Beth had refused to give in to her mother’s lobbying, insisting on remaining with her Cherry Cola Book Club friends in Cherico and having a much simpler ceremony on the deck of Connie and Douglas McShay’s fishing lodge. It had come off beautifully with a memorable Lake Cherico sunset as their background and altar painted in the sky.
What if her own daughter turned out to be just such a rebel with a mind of her own? Would Maura Beth be wise enough to respect the differences between mother and daughter? Would she have learned from the lifelong conflict with her own mother? Or would she somehow turn into her mother after years of hit-and-miss parenting had changed her focus and made her forget the challenges of her own life?
These mirror sessions were close to being terrifying to Maura Beth, perhaps because she kept them to herself. Did she dare share such fears with Jeremy? Maybe that was the thing to do, particularly if she discovered that he was having similar doubts about himself and his ability to be a good father. It seemed reasonable that men would go through such phases, but she had no way of knowing without asking.
During her last mirror session—which reflected a weight gain of four pounds when she stood on the bathroom scales—something flashed into her head. Maybe she and Jeremy could indulge such sessions together. They would stand side by side—not necessarily naked, of course, although they certainly could for the sheer fun of it—but next to each other much as they had as bride and groom. They would then trot out their fears one by one and, by exposing them, render them completely powerless to drive them crazy.
Or maybe that was too structured and extreme. Couldn’t they compare notes just as well over dinner or before going to bed or even taking a ride in the countryside in Jeremy’s yellow Warbler?
Maybe she should just wait until later in the pregnancy. Perhaps Dr. Lively would reassure her about certain things, and her hormones would calm down. She chuckled out loud at that one, as if she were staring at her own distorted reflection in a fun-house mirror. She didn’t believe for a second that her hormones would be calming down anytime soon. She knew they would get worse, and it would be harder on both Jeremy and herself as the baby grew, siphoning off more of her nutrients and changing her body even more drastically.
More to the point—and despite everyone’s unfailing good wishes and her own native optimism—what had she gotten herself into?
2
Buyer’s Remorse
Elise Marian McShay had been from the beginning as much of a challenge for her parents, Paul and Susan McShay of Brentwood, Tennessee, as Maura Beth had been to William and Cara Lynn Mayhew of New Orleans, Louisiana. Both little girls had refused to fit the mold of “conventional” females. With Maura Beth the first clue had been her freckles and red hair. Then the obsession with being a librarian had come later. But with Elise—Leesie as she was known to her brother, Jeremy—it had been more of a behavioral thing from the start.
At a somewhat tender age, Elise had firmly rejected dolls of any kind, though her mother kept trying to interest her for her birthdays and at Christmastime. Whether they were rag dolls or the more realistic type with carefully sewn hair, synthetic skin, and sweet, wide-eyed faces, Elise would toss them aside and say with a pouty expression, “I want what Jeremy got.”
For years Jeremy was fascinated with model cars, both the kits and the finished products, which he would race on his bedroom floor while supplying the engine sounds for that boyhood version of realism. Not quite varoom, varoom—more like rrrummmm, rrrummmm. One Christmas, Santa Claus had even brought him his own “filling station,” complete with service bays and miniature cars to place inside. Unbeknownst to him, his parents had stayed up all night assembling it, tossing back a few spiked eggnogs for courage to get the job done.
Finally, Paul and Susan had given in to their daughter’s complaints, and Elise received her own fleet of model cars. Ironically, she lost interest in them shortly thereafter and began coveting Jeremy’s new obsession—a bicycle. She had expressed no interest in getting one before, but once she realized the freedom it afforded her brother, she wanted one, too.
“I like how fast Jer can go,” she had told her parents. “He goes as fast as the wind. He looks like he could ride forever. Why can’t I have a bike? And I want a boy’s bike just like Jeremy has. I don’t want a girl’s bike.”
So they had given her a boy’s bike, and she and Jeremy had ridden them together along the sidewalks of Brentwood and in the safer, quieter streets and cul-de-sacs of their well-heeled neighborhood. That had been Elise’s most satisfying period growing up. During that time, she had a sense of equality with her brother because of the bike riding they had done in tandem. While they were in motion, there was no difference between them. Boy and girl had no meaning. They were just exalted creatures with their faces to the wind, and there was nothing they could not accomplish in life.
But inevitably, things had changed again. Jeremy became obsessed with the chemistry set his parents had given him the Christmas he turned twelve. He had seen some program on local television that featured a mad scientist as the main character, and he couldn’t get it out of his head. Doctor Dry Ice, the wild-wigged, ghoulishly made-up actor had named himself, and Jeremy thought he was the coolest thing ever.<
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“I’m going to blow up some things with this,” Jeremy had told his sister with a wicked gleam in his eye. “It’s going to be fun. Wait and see.”
Elise had witnessed his chemical mini-explosions enviously, wanting to create a little smoke and chaos of her own. So Paul and Susan had given their daughter her own set for her birthday; then brother and sister had given their all to seeing who could make the biggest mess out in the garage. That turned out to be a standoff. Both had been ordered by their mother to clean up everything in an equally annoyed tone of voice.
“You two are like twin tornadoes,” Susan had told them while wagging a finger. “I don’t know which one of you is worse. Why your father and I gave you those things is beyond me.”
It had pleased Elise to hear that description of herself as equally damaging, but at some point it occurred to her that she was always trailing her brother, and she could definitely put her finger on the reasons. He always seemed to get the fun, “boy” things to play with. She got the impression that she was an afterthought. By the time she had graduated high school, her view of the world was that girls and women came second in everything. In ballroom dance class it was the boys who were allowed to ask the girls to be their partners. It was never the other way around. From that she gleaned that what boys and men wanted came first, and that girls and women were always trying to catch up with them and show that they were “ just as worthy.” They were the ones who had to wait to be chosen. Boys had to wait for nothing. They only had to ask. Girls had to speak up loudly to get what they wanted, and sometimes even that didn’t work.
