November Surprise

by Laurel Osterkamp

I look at him now, and his eyes are warm and smiling. I squint at him in return. “Whatever,” I say.

  “Whatever? That’s the best you can do? You’re so lame!”

  I throw my magazine at him, and he grabs it and starts leafing through it.

  The nurse comes through the lobby door. “Lucy?”

  I stand up and Monty stands too. “I want to hear the heartbeat,” Monty says to the nurse. “That’s okay, right?”

  “It’s fine,” she says, addressing both of us. “But that usually comes at the end.” She looks at me. “Why don’t we do your weigh-in and internal exam first, and we’ll call him in for the good part.”

  I appreciate her diplomacy, but I wonder if she’d be so considerate about sparing Monty from the uglier parts of this appointment if we were wearing wedding rings. “That’s fine,” I say, and I look towards Monty for confirmation.

  “Sure,” he says. He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  I follow the nurse through the doors, and Monty sits back down. Soon I’ve had my weight and blood pressure checked, and I’m wearing nothing but a backless hospital gown. The doctor interviews me, I tell her how nauseous I’ve been, and she nods in sympathy. I ask her if it’s okay to take Pepto-Bismol, and she says to take Tums instead. Thrilling.

  She examines me, everything’s normal, and I take my feet out of the stirrups. I pull a blanket over my legs, lift my gown up to bare my belly, and Monty is called in.

  “Everything okay?” he asks me.

  The doctor answers for me. “Lucy’s looking great.”

  Monty looks down at me as I’m lying back on the examination table, and grins. “I agree,” he mouths.

  The doctor spreads jelly on my stomach, and presses her Doppler monitor against my belly. We wait in quiet anticipation, but all we can hear is static.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t pick up right away,” says the doctor.

  She moves the monitor around, and after a moment it picks up a more rhythmic sound. “Is that it?” Monty asks.

  “No, that’s Lucy’s heartbeat.” She continues to move the Doppler in circles against my belly, and the thirty seconds or so that go by feels much longer. Tension starts to rise in my chest, and breathing becomes slightly difficult. What if something happened? I look over at Monty. He’s biting his lip and staring at my stomach, as if he could will it to make the right sound.

  Then the doctor smiles and a rapid whish whish whish fills our ears.

  “There we are,” she says. “Your baby’s heartbeat.”

  “It’s so loud,” Monty says. “Isn’t it only about as big as a bean?”

  “Maybe a little bigger,” she replies, “but not by much.”

  “Amazing,” he says. His eyes move from my midsection to my face, and we share another smile.

  After the appointment we go back to his apartment, and he makes soup with crackers for dinner. He’s quiet as he prepares the food, quiet as he sets it out, quiet as he sits and stirs his soup. I take tentative sips, and wait for him to say the words that are taking so long in their journey from his mind to his mouth.

  Finally, he speaks. “I thought about you a lot when I was sick.”

  I try not to sound too shocked. “Why?”

  He crumples some crackers into his soup and stirs them in. “I don’t know. I guess because you felt like a lost opportunity. I would lie there, convinced I was about to die, and all the lost opportunities of my life would swim around in my head. You were one of them.”

  I would have thought he’d be thinking about Evelyn. “But you were with…”

  He cuts me off before I can say her name. “It wasn’t like she was at my bedside all the time, bringing me ice chips and praying for my recovery. And in retrospect, I didn’t miss her as much as I should have. I know that now.”

  How serious should my response be? This is the first time he’s brought all this up, but I don’t want him to scare himself away.

  Monty continues before I figure out what to say. “So you would think I’d have this amazing outlook since I nearly died, like I’m ready to embrace whatever life throws at me. But honestly, when you first told me you were pregnant I was terrified.”

  “What about now?”

  “Now I’m not. I’m really pretty calm.”

  “Great,” I reply, reverting to my standard defense of sarcasm. “That’s high praise. But how do I know you don’t say that to all the women you’ve knocked-up?”

  He laughs. “Just you.”

  “Well, here I am. More booby prize than lost opportunity.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  My hands travel the length of my chest area, game-show hostess style. “Can you believe how big they’ve gotten?”

  “They’re massive,” he says, but he’s lying. That doesn’t bother me, because my breast size has never been our issue.

  I wish I could say we just don’t have issues, period. But we do, and now feels like the time to clear the air.

  I launch in. “I don’t know if I can give you much. It’s hard enough to start a relationship under the best of circumstances. But I have tons of hormones rushing through me and I’m tired and crazy. I can barely tolerate my work schedule, and it’s not even all that bad. Meanwhile, I’m getting fat and I feel about as sexy as Janet Reno, and at the end of it all, there will be a baby to take care of.”

  He drums his fingers on the table during my little speech, but he stops when it’s his turn to talk. “Lots of couples get through it.”

  “Lots of married couples. We’re not that familiar.”

  “We’re hardly strangers.”

  True. If we were strangers the idea of letting him go wouldn’t send me into such a tailspin. We may be familiar, but not familiar enough. I can’t trust that this is real or lasting, that it won’t suddenly end the way Bill Richardson’s bid for the nomination did. “But we’re definitely not married.”

  He winks at me. “That could change.”

  I say nothing. It’s not a proposal, so it doesn’t deserve a response. People don’t seriously propose and wink at the same time. He’s kidding around like we always do, and that’s fine, because I’m not sure I want to get married anyway. Besides, to talk of marriage right now would be like running for president before completing a single term as senator.

  Oh. Oops.

  September

  You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig. This is a common idiom, meant to imply that cosmetic changes don’t alter something on the inside. Obama said this at a campaign event, and the McCain camp claimed that Obama was indirectly calling Sarah Palin a pig. That it was a reference to her hockey-mom/pitbull/lipstick joke rather than an implication of making changes that are only skin deep.

  Meanwhile, the surface of my life has changed. Everyday, a little bit more, my nausea subsides, my energy resumes, and Monty and I can pretend we’re just a couple of single professionals, without looming responsibilities and impending middle age. We hang out and act like we’re in our late twenties, as if our options and our youth is limitless. It’s a cosmetic change, and it doesn’t alter the truth. The reality still remains; in a few months we’re going to be parents. Living in denial is fun while it lasts.

  Then Jack calls me.

  “Monty is turning thirty-nine,” he says. “He keeps telling me he hasn’t really made any friends yet in Seattle. I thought I’d fly up there, surprise him, and take him out for his birthday. Would you like to meet us for a drink?”

  Jack still doesn’t know that Monty and I are dating. The whole thing just sort of snowballed, one lie after the other, like the John Edwards/Rielle Hunter affair. Back in 1994 we agreed not to tell Jack that we hooked up at his wedding. So, after that, we of course didn’t tell him about New York in 2000. Then we thought we’d wait, see how things went when we started dating a few months ago. Then I got pregnant. But so many pregnancies end in miscarriage, especially at my age. So we held off on telling him
. Again.

  But now? I may feel as scummy as John Edwards, cheating on cancer-stricken Elizabeth, but my time for deception is probably up.

  I gulp. “You’re surprising him? Wow. That’s great. Really, really wonderful. I bet Monty will be so happy! Is Petra coming too? When are you getting in?” My words come out in a squeaky rush.

  “Umm… no, it’s just me. Petra’s staying home with Mikey. And I’m getting in on Wednesday.”

  “Wow. That’s great!”

  “Yeah, you’ve already said that…” Jack’s tone is questioning. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” I’m talking way too loud, but I can’t help it.

  “I don’t know.” He pauses, and waits for me to say something, but I don’t. “So,” he continues, “I was thinking you could call Monty. You’ve met up a couple of times, right? It wouldn’t be weird for you to call him?”

  I try to rein my voice, and myself, in. Evenly I say, “No. Not weird. I could call him.”

  “Great. So tell him to meet you for a drink, and then I’ll show up and surprise him. Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  “And Lucy…”

  I swallow roughly. “What?”

  “Don’t ruin the surprise.”

  “Definitely not. I promise.”

  “Jack is coming here to surprise you for your birthday!” It’s the first thing I say when Monty walks through my door that evening. He was in the process of leaning in for a hello kiss, but he steps back. His face and hair are damp from the drizzle outside.

  “What?”

  “He’s worried that you haven’t made friends yet in Seattle. So he’s flying up to take you out for your birthday.”

  “I’ve made friends.” Monty scowls, takes off his jacket, and walks the length of my small living room. “I haven’t made a lot of friends, but only because I spend all my spare time with you.”

  “I’m not accusing you of being unpopular.” Sometimes I wonder if Monty’s identity is still wrapped up in who he was in high school.

  “But Jack is,” Monty replies.

  “And that’s what you care about right now? Monty, this is really, really bad. I’m starting to show. We have to tell him; there’s no way around it.” I rub my eyes, then my temples. “Oh God,” I groan. “It’s going to be so awkward.”

  He grins at me like this is a party game. “It will be a lot more awkward if we wait until after the baby comes out.”

  “This isn’t funny,” I demand. “We waited too long.” I sit on my overstuffed armchair and hang my head in my hands. “It was a bad idea, not telling him sooner. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I must have lost my powers of rational thought once I became pregnant.”

  “You seem really upset.”

  I raise my head. “I’m surprised that you’re not.”

  “Jack was going to find out some time. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “But he’s going to feel betrayed.” I hit my hands together to stress my point. “We’ve been lying to him this whole time, and now his feelings are going to be hurt.”

  “We’ve been lying to him, huh?”

  I give him a quizzical look, and Monty leans against the wall beside me. “From the beginning, you’re the one who wanted to keep it a secret. I agreed only because you insisted.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “Yes.” I look at him in his disbelief, but he doesn’t flinch. “Lucy, I’m sorry, but if it was up to me, I would have told him a long time ago. You’re so worried about Jack’s feelings, but I could never figure out why we were keeping it a secret in the first place, unless…”

  I wait for him to finish his thought, but he just shakes his head and walks to my refrigerator. He opens it and grabs a beer from the six-pack he brought over for himself earlier this week.

  “Unless, what?”

  Monty walks back to the living room to face me. “Either you never planned on staying with me long-term anyway, or you still have a thing for him.”

  Monty’s face is no longer without tension; his jaw is clenched. I should take his statement seriously, because obviously it was difficult for him to say. But a laugh bubbles up inside of me, and suppressing it is as difficult as not scratching a new mosquito bite. “Come on,” I say between giggles.

  Monty takes a swig of his beer. “Why is that funny?”

  “Because it’s so off base! Me having a thing for Jack is ridiculous!”

  He cocks his head to the side and squints. “Why? You dated him once.”

  “Years ago. He was the first guy I dated. Ever.”

  “I know. I remember you then. I was happy he’d finally found a girlfriend.”

  “And that was as much as you noticed me, right?”

  He looks at me like what I just said is from left field. “What does that have to do with anything? Were you hoping that I’d notice you?” He stands above me, in his defensive lawyer mode, one hand clutching his beer, the other on his hip.

  The summer I dated Jack, Monty was in and out of their house like a force of nature. He was always rushing off to some party, or some pick-up game of soccer, or to work as a lifeguard at the lake. Even if I hadn’t been dating Jack, Monty was so far out of my league that it never occurred to me to think of him as anything other than that guy who lives in a separate stratosphere. In turn, I’m sure I never even appeared on his radar. “No.” I try not to sound too guilty. “I was with Jack.”

  “Exactly my point,” he says, like he’s just won this argument that I can’t even follow.

  I press my palms against my leg. “Monty – you don’t honestly think I’m still harboring feelings for Jack.”

  “I didn’t before, but now you’re awfully worked up by the thought of him finding out about us.”

  “Well, it’s complicated.”

  Monty takes another swig of his beer and swallows. “Maybe you should try and explain.”

  “I just never wanted him to know because…”I pause and square my shoulders. It’s impossible to find the right words here. Jack was the first guy to see something in me, after I was so hurt and humiliated by Reggie. I can never thank him enough for that, even though he doesn’t realize the full story. And I know that I was the first person to see Jack as someone other than Monty Bricker’s younger brother. So it’s the ultimate betrayal, to fall for Monty after rejecting Jack, no matter how many years have gone by.

  Monty looks at me in silent anticipation, waiting for me to continue. I want to be honest, without saying too much. “All those years ago, when I told Jack that we ought to be friends, he was hurt, and I felt bad. Obviously he moved on, and it’s fine now. But when you and I hooked up I felt guilty all over again. He’s always compared himself to you, and he feels like he comes up short. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings for the second time.”

  Monty rolls his beer bottle back and forth between the palms of his hands. He nods but he doesn’t look at me. “So you were protecting him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sort of ironic, isn’t it?”

  I get up from my chair and perch on its arm, so that we’re closer now, more on the same level. “Ironic, how?”

  “You’re more worried about protecting Jack than you are about me.” He says this without expression, and his face is unreadable. We’re treading on unfamiliar territory, but he’s the one holding the map.

  “I didn’t know you needed protection.”

  He moves away from me, to the center of my living room. I can see the tension in his shoulders; I can tell that I’m pinching a nerve somewhere, somehow. Something is building in him, but I don’t know the genesis and I feel powerless to stop it.

  “Everyone needs someone to look out for them, Lucy.”

  “I look out for you.”

  “Sure. But not like you look out for Jack.”

  I laugh in disbelief, though nothing about this strikes me as funny. “Only because he gets hurt more easily than you do.”


  Monty throws his hand up in the air, pivots on his heel, and steps closer to me. “Everybody thinks Jack is so vulnerable. Everybody is always so worried about protecting Jack. But you can do or say anything to me, and I’m fine, right?”

  “Monty, if this is bringing up some childhood issues…”

  “You’re not listening to me.” His words are sharp, as sharp as his eyes, which cut right through me. “Jack has been dumped once. By you. And you’re right, he got over it. I’ve been dumped multiple times. Each time it sucked. Most recently, I was near death, sweating out a 103-degree fever, hallucinating and too weak to walk or pick up a glass of water. Meanwhile, my fiancée is getting it on with my doctor. Sure, she waited until it was clear that I was going to live, but then she left me. But somehow it’s still Jack who needs protection.”

  His speech just rolls out and I take it all in, but one word resonates louder than the others do. Fiancée.

  “You had asked Evelyn to marry you?” My question comes out as little more than a breath.

  Monty’s head snaps up, and I can see that he too is shocked by what he just said. He runs his hand through his hair and knits his eyebrows together. “Yeah.”

  “And she said yes?” He nods his affirmation. “Was there a ring involved? Had you set a date? Announced it to your families?”

  He sighs in exasperation. “No. We just had an agreement. We’d get married when we got back to the states.”

  I wander over to my window and look out, creating as much distance between us as possible while still staying in the same room. Without looking in his direction, I say, “You two seemed awfully unconventional. Why not just live together? Why did you want to make it legal?”

  “Lucy, come on…”

  I turn back and face him. “Were you thinking you’d have kids?”

  He looks up towards the ceiling, as if the answer to my question is written there. In a resigned voice he says, “I was the one who wanted to settle down and start a family. She agreed, but her heart was never in it. I suppose I always knew that; I just didn’t want to accept the truth.”

  For the first time in several weeks I feel like I’m going to puke, but I push my nausea down, back into the pit of my stomach. “You never told me that.”