À la Carte

by Nia Forrester

  Those last words are what cause the lone, slow tear to escape and make its way down my cheek. The kettle begins to whistle, and without looking, I reach over to kill the flame.

  Eva sighs and then smiles at me.

  “But this girl, this Danielle,” she says. “I am right? That you love her?”

  I nod, then manage to speak past the clog in my throat. “Yeah, I do,” I say, my voice a croak. “Very much.”

  Eva nods in confirmation. Then suddenly, she is pushing herself to her feet.

  “I think I’ll try some of that jasmine tea tonight,” she says briskly. “I like chamomile, But, tonight, I think jasmine.”

  By the time I get upstairs—after helping Eva with her tea, and carrying it to her room, then cleaning the kitchen and securing the house—Dani is asleep or pretending to be.

  So, I shower and get ready for bed and turn off all the lights in our bedroom. The light from the bathroom spills out and across the bed, and I stand in the doorway in my towel, watching my fiancée.

  She is really asleep now, because her breaths are even and rhythmic. My chest is tight as I look at her, like it doesn’t have room for all that I feel. I wish I came upstairs sooner to explain to her everything I’d been thinking when I hesitated over the adoption. But if I had come upstairs, I would not have heard what Eva is thinking, and what she thought about me and Faith.

  I feel like that conversation might be the first step toward me setting myself free of the weight of everything that happened with my wife. I thought I already was free. I thought meeting Dani, falling for her and having her fall for me did that. But with every step we take toward building our own family, I sometimes still feel the hot ball of guilt in my gut grow larger. Especially when I think about the family I had before her.

  The husband I was to Faith, the father I was to Rocket back then … all I know is that the contrast to who I want to be now could not be starker. Dani makes me want to be a good man, a good husband, and a good father, not just to the kid I have now, but to the one she’s about to give me. And to the others I hope we’ll have.

  Wanting that—something I didn’t even care enough to want with Faith—makes me feel shitty. Not about myself as I am now, but about who I was then. Eva’s understanding, and her forgiveness might not be all I need to forgive myself, but it’s a start. It feels like a tiny ray of light where before there was none.

  I switch off the light in the bathroom and crawl into bed next to Dani. When I put my hand on her abdomen, she turns towards me in her sleep. She always does that when I touch her—turns towards me. Her entire body opens up and relaxes and makes room for me to settle against it.

  I turn her over gently, so she is facing away from me again, and I can wrap one arm across her middle, just beneath the belly. The other I stretch above my head and hers, my fingers playing lazily with her hair. Within moments, the rhythm of my breathing matches hers, and within minutes, I am asleep.

  ~7~

  When Rand asked me whether he would miss an OB appointment if he went to New York this morning, I lied to him. I felt a little guilty about doing it, but I didn’t want him here. Not because I am still angry about the adoption thing (though of course I am), but because I’m not feeling very well, and am afraid of what my doctor will say.

  He’s been busy in the lead-up to the weekend, because he’s doing a live show this Sunday from Buffalo, and I use that as an excuse to myself. No need for him to come to a routine appointment when he’s so busy, I told myself. But the truth is, I am afraid of what the doctor will say. It’s been two days since we found out that Eva would be staying with us a little longer and since I had my fainting spell in the bookstore, and I still feel listless and tired.

  Sitting on the table, while the nurse practitioner asks me questions, I answer robotically, thinking about the distance between me and Rand. He told me two mornings ago that we need to talk, and I think it means he’s going to explain his decision about Rocket. I can’t hazard a guess about what that decision will be. Though I was nervous asking, I actually assumed it was more likely than not that he would think the adoption is a good idea.

  What if something happened to him? Wouldn’t he want his wife to raise his son with our other child?

  Now I wonder whether there is some other factor standing in the way. Like maybe he promised Freya that she could raise Rocket if anything happened to him. Freya loves Rocket as much as her own children, so that would make sense. It would hurt, but it would make sense.

  Except would it? I’m going to be his wife. Rocket even calls me his mommy. I am his mommy!

  My emotions swing wildly back and forth between understanding and compassion, and resentment and anger. How could I not have known this? That Rand has misgivings about me being his son’s legitimate parent. How could he get me pregnant then? And if this is the way he feels, why doesn’t he tell Rocket more about his “real” mother? None of this makes sense.

  “Your blood pressure is low,” the nurse interrupts my thoughts.

  “Low,” I repeat. “I worried that it might be high.”

  “Neither is a good thing,” she says. “Not when it’s as low as yours is.”

  “How low is it?”

  She tells me some numbers and then I realize I don’t have enough context to understand what they mean.

  “I’ll get the doctor,” she says. “She’ll want to talk to you some more. And she may recommend that we take some blood to check some of your other levels. Have you been eating enough?”

  I blanch and can tell she sees the answer on my face.

  “You have to,” she says.

  “I’m not starving myself,” I begin.

  “That’s not the appropriate standard,” she says, her tone clipped. “Whether you’re starving yourself. It’s whether you’re taking in enough nutrients for you and the baby.”

  As she leaves the room, I feel reprimanded. And I know I deserve it. I am not one of those crazy women who would rather be thin than have a healthy infant. I haven’t curtailed my diet in any way or avoided eating. I just haven’t increased my intake. It doesn’t feel like there’s enough room.

  “You’re making excuses,” I say to myself aloud.

  My phone chimes and I jump, then reach for it where it is resting atop the maternity blouse I removed to put on the examining gown. There is a text message and it’s from Jennifer.

  I smile, because I hadn’t heard from her since our lunch a couple of days earlier. Her message is simple.

  Can we talk?

  Yes, I respond. Please.

  I add another message telling her where I am, and that I will call her afterward.

  No, she replies. In person. I’ll come by. Think about when works for you and then let me know.

  That message worries me. I wonder whether it’s because she’s decided to end our friendship. Maybe she’s figured out that there is no way I could not have known about SJ’s infidelities and thinks that under those circumstances that she cannot possibly continue to be my friend. Maybe, she thinks that I should have told her, regardless of my professional rule of confidentiality.

  The idea of losing Jennifer’s friendship makes my eyes fill with unexpected tears. I am not a weepy, needy kind of person. But my hormones make me wacky and emotional, and I feel so extraordinarily alone.

  I don’t mean in the sense of having no one around who cares about me. Of course, I do. But when Josette asked me whether my mother was coming, I almost lost it. It was like having the scar of an old wound that has finally ceased throbbing, and then having someone come along and stab you right in the center of it.

  Not having my mother isn’t something that affects my daily life. I had even convinced myself that I have come to not miss her at all. After all, I barely knew her. But now, feeling all the changes that are happening in my body, watching it grow, experiencing its twinges, I need the love of women. The love of my man, I have, without question. But I need the love and nurturing that only women understand h
ow to give.

  I want to tell someone about the things I could never have imagined, like vaginal tears … Jesus, who but another woman could understand something like that? Tiny hairline rips that sting like the world’s worst papercut, except they’re on your labia, or in the creases of your hoo-hah. Or, discovering exactly what hemorrhoids are, or … the crazy mood swings, like looking over at the man you love more than anyone in the world and having the unexpected urge to choke the life out of him for a thousand real and imagined transgressions.

  Jennifer is pretty much it for me, lately. Trudie and I are still friends, but now at such different places in our lives that she can’t see past that. My engagement, my pregnancy, my maternal feelings for Rocket are all foreign terrain for her and she’s sick of hearing about it.

  Jennifer only ever knew me as being part of a unit that includes Rand and Rocket. She is unimpressed and unenvious of my standard of living, because the one she had with SJ far surpassed it. She is the only woman in my life who understands a little bit about my life now. And I don’t want to lose that.

  I text Jennifer a time the following day, and set aside my cellphone as the doctor walks in. And then I prepare for the scolding I know is on its way.

  “Are you coming With us?”

  I look up from my computer monitor and into the catlike eyes of my colleague. She is dressed in a form-fitting, crisp black skirt and white blouse with flouncy, long sleeves that fasten at her wrists with pearl-like buttons.

  Alexa always looks like something out of a fashion catalog. I used to really dig that about her. Now, I just admire it, because she takes care with her appearance. But it isn’t a source of attraction any longer.

  “Where you goin’?” I ask.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a late one, so we all figured we’d go over to the Garden and tie one on.”

  I laugh. “No tying nothin’ on for me,” I say. “I need to drive home in a few.”

  “C’mon, Rocket. A couple drinks with your co-workers. What’s it gonna hurt?” Alexa lets her head fall to one side and gives a playful pout of her full, crimson-stained lips.

  I glance back at the monitor where I was reading up on the Bills’ backup QB. He’s going to be playing on Sunday, and I know nothing about him. During live broadcasts, there are people behind the scenes not only giving you cues on when to go to break, there are people in your earpiece, spitting out stats that you can work into the conversation and commentary. But I have trouble listening and speaking at the same time.

  In my two other live broadcasts, some of my transitions came across as clumsy so I’m trying to get the information in my head, so I can minimize the need to have it fed to me while I’m on air. But honestly, my brain is fried from trying to hold a dozen thoughts in it at once, and I’ve given up absorbing and retaining any facts on the backup QB.

  How the hell can I focus on something like that, with my life being what it is right now? Eva is living in my house, which still makes me uncomfortable despite our little chat; that dude Eric is still part of Dani’s life even though I thought he was long gone; she’s avoiding me but trying to pretend she isn’t.

  And I’m trying to find the perfect words to tell her not only that I absolutely do want her to adopt Rocket, but why it seemed like I didn’t when she first asked.

  She’s good at the talking-things-over part of our relationship. That’s her stock-in-trade, after all. I suck at it. Took me forever to tell her I loved her, and even now, she usually says it first before I chime in some lame-ass, ‘Yeah, baby, I love you, too.’ I mean, I struggle at this part of being with someone, and the struggle is painful because I’m always worried that she doesn’t know just how much she means to me. That without her, my life would be a half-life, at best.

  So, I’ve got things on my mind and going out to drink with Alexa and some of my other colleagues ain’t among them.

  “One drink,” Alexa prompts. “For the esprit d’ corps.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I laugh.

  Alexa rolls her eyes. “You’ve played team sports all your life and you don’t know what that phrase means? It means, ‘team spirit’, Rocket. Fellowship of the many. Shit like that.”

  “Oh yeah. That,” I say.

  Alexa gives me a look. “You know what it means. You were messing with me, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was,” I admit.

  “So, you coming, or not?”

  I look her over and think it over.

  “Okay. One for the team,” I say, giving in. “Let’s go.” I stand and grab my sport coat off the back of my chair.

  Fuck it. If I get drunk, I’ll take a car all the way back to Pennsylvania and charge it to the network.

  Eva, Rocket and I eat dinner together at the dining table and Rand’s place sits there, vacant. When seven o’clock came and went without a phone call, I guessed he wouldn’t be in for dinner, but by then the place had already been set and I left it there, not wanting to make too big a deal about removing it while Eva looked on.

  Now, it seems to mock me. I think about everything Rand told me about how he treated Faith, and I am embarrassed that her mother is here to witness this moment of irresponsibility on his part. Without realizing it, I was feeling a little proud that up until this point into Eva’s visit, Rand was demonstrating that he is a different man than he used to be. Tonight, the empty place at dinner—and the fact that I set it for him expecting him to be there—seems to suggest that he isn’t so different after all.

  With each bite of my chicken fettucine, I feel my anger growing. My food tastes like cardboard on my tongue. I’ve been avoiding him for the past couple of days, but tonight I am angry enough to wait up. Just so I can let him know how angry I am.

  Rand doesn’t do stuff like this. He doesn’t stay out and not call. He doesn’t miss meals without telling me he’s going to miss them. And he never goes places where it later surprises me to learn he has been. But now he decides to do this?

  “Has your husband decided whether he’s coming to see you?” I ask Eva, to break the awkward silence at the table.

  “Not yet. After my doctor’s appointment, we’ll consider again,” she says. “If I get cleared to fly, it might not be necessary.”

  Eva is supposed to get a hard cast tomorrow. The excessive swelling has gone down, and now it’s possible for them to work on setting the ankle. I am relieved that she will soon be able to go home. As pleasant as she is, as unobtrusive a houseguest as she has been, I am ready to reclaim Rand’s, Rocket’s and my space as our own. Despite how understanding I once was about the possibility that her husband might come to stay, I am now sure that I don’t want to add yet another factor to the mix.

  Clearly, Rand and I have things to talk about and hash out together. I can’t imagine doing all of that with Eva still here, let alone someone else as well.

  When we finish our meal, I tell Rocket go upstairs and brush his teeth, promising to follow him in a few minutes to sit with him while he takes his bath. Eva lingers in the kitchen as she often does, watching as I clean up, and to make herself a cup of tea.

  I feel her eyes on me as I move about the kitchen, and I realize something interesting. Somewhere, somehow, sometime, I’ve stopped thinking of her as ‘Faith’s mother’. Now, in my mind, she is more Rocket’s grandmother than anything else. I don’t even think of her as Rand’s former mother-in-law.

  When the last of the dishes is in the dishwasher, I go to sit at the kitchen counter with her. She has just finished steeping her teabag and is setting it on the edge of her saucer. She mixes in some agave for sweetener and takes her first sip.

  “Do you remember what it was like when you were first pregnant?” I ask her on a whim.

  Eva smiles. “Yes,” she says. “Very clearly. Like it was yesterday.”

  “Really?” I say, surprised.

  She nods. “I was away from my home. Away from my sisters, my cousins and my mother …” She pauses and smiles at my wide-ey
ed expression. “I have a very big family,” she explains.

  “And why were you away from them?”

  “I moved here from Puerto Rico when I got married. And I got pregnant almost immediately.” Then she shrugs. “Perhaps even a little before I got married.”

  I smile at that. “Like me,” I say.

  She nods. “Like you.” Then she continues. “But I was alone. My husband has no sisters, my English was poor. I had no friends. And yet I had this.” She pats her middle, then shrugs again. “It was enough. Me and my husband, and my little baby.”

  “You didn’t miss that though? All the women who would have been there to support you through it?”

  “A little. But I was making something new. My own little family. I was happy.”

  I smile, and nod.

  “There was something exciting about that,” she continues. “Doing it on my own. With my mother around, my sisters, my cousins, I would have had a hundred opinions, people telling me to do this and to not do that. Without them I did everything my way. Mine and Weston’s.”

  “But you had the choice,” I say quietly. “You could have had them if you wanted.”

  “That’s true,” Eva says after a moment. “It’s always good to have the choice about whether to be alone, or to be surrounded by people who love you.”

  And then she looks at me with such kindness that I feel those tears again, those ever-present, always-threatening-to-spill pregnancy tears. They come close, almost brimming over, but thank god, they do not spill.

  Seeming to sense what I am feeling, Eva reaches out and touches my hand. I am so startled, I almost pull away in surprise.

  Her hand is warm on top of mine. I think this is the first time she has ever touched me, except accidentally, or incidentally to passing each other in the hallway, or as we move about the kitchen. Her hands are soft, and the touch is gentle.

  “You have no other family?” she asks.

  I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.