by Kat T. Masen
“But she hates lunch with her mom,” I complain.
“I don’t know. Come up with something, anything. That’s all you need to do so stop panicking,” she scolds.
“I’m not panicking, but I think you underestimate the power of a woman like Zoey.”
Zoey’s relationship with her parents is unusual. She often avoids visiting them, but once there, she will spend hours in the kitchen gossiping, arguing, and eating Lucille’s home-cooked meals. As for her dad, Bob, I can’t fault the guy. He’s a battler and has war stories and scars to prove it. I know well enough to stop telling Zoey she is exactly like her mother. That gets me sleeping on the couch.
“I’m her best friend. I know she can be the biggest pain in the ass. Look, I’ll find something for you to distract her with. Now, let’s talk theme.”
“Isn’t baby the theme?”
“Yes, but do we like owls? Owls are so in right now. Argh… but it’s a bird, dammit,” she argues with herself. “You know, it would be easier if we find out the sex of the babies. Like for prepping.”
“Absolutely no.”
“All right, all right… so theme…”
I tune out when Mia starts listing off other potential themes, remembering the infamous scanning appointment which led to our first heated argument over the babies.
“So…” Susan smiled, looking at the both of us. “Do we want to know what we’re having?”
“Yes,” Zoey cheered, excitedly, the same time I shook my head with a big no. “Why don’t you want to find out? We could shop in theme and pick out names. It’s so much easier. Everyone finds out these days.”
“Well, we’re not everyone, and I said no.”
“Stop being stubborn. I want to find out, and I’m carrying these babies,” Zoey responded, heated.
Susan coughed, uncomfortably waiting as we both argued in front of her. I loved my wife, but this was something I wouldn’t budge on.
“Zoey no. I don’t want to know. Let’s be traditional for once and find out when you give birth.
“Fine. You won’t need to know, so Susan can tell me.”
“Are you serious?” I raised my voice, unaware I had done so. “You couldn’t keep a secret to save your life. Remember when you bought me that expensive watch and engraved it for my birthday? You dropped hints all week about how annoying it was not to wear a watch or tell the time. I knew you had bought me a watch.”
“How dare you,” she gritted. “You said you had no clue!”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been so loose with your purchase. The answer is no, Zoey, neither one of us is finding out.”
Zoey eventually calmed down and dared not to bring up the topic again, though she complained to everyone else calling me an ‘insensitive asshole.’
I don’t ask for many things in our marriage and am open to compromise, but this is no longer up for discussion. We will never get this moment back again—the first time we welcome our babies into the world as a surprise.
“And we can do a yellow theme which is neutral. I’ll speak to Lucille, and we’ll sort out all the food. Just make sure our girl is dressed up and get her there on time. Maybe text me just before, please?”
Mia thinks she has it all planned out, but she has the easier task.
Somehow, I have to get Zoey to dress fancy and convince her to go to Lucille’s.
This could be the challenge of a lifetime.
Zoey
“Can you explain again why we have to spend the day with my family?”
The bristles of the brush glide through my hair removing the unwanted knots. With the shorter style, I manage to keep it healthy, and according to my book, pregnancy does wonders for your hair. It gives it this ‘sheen’ that no salon treatment can beat.
Drew is buttoning his light blue dress shirt, one of my favorite pieces of clothing on him. Checking himself in the mirror, he glances side to side to inspect each angle then grabs some aftershave, spraying it lightly against his neck. For a visit to my parents’ house he appears to be overly dressed. Then again, so do I.
My wardrobe these days consists of maternity jeans and baby-doll blouses. Gone are the days of trying to squeeze into my regular clothes and shoes. Stubborn me learned that the hard way when I was adamant I could, only to get my arm stuck in my recently purchased Cher tee which ripped the seam under the armpit. If only I could turn back time.
“And I just think this dress is too much.” I play with the loose white fabric in my hands, the dress flowing down to my ankles and covering my bejeweled sandals. “Have you seen Dad’s old sweats with the hole near the crotch which, God forbid, makes me want to dry heave each time he wears them?”
Drew has repeated the same story telling me to drop by to say hello, and then he takes me out to lunch close by at some fancy restaurant. I know of the restaurant, know the price tag and the posh people who hang out there, hence, why I agree to frock up.
“You ready?” he asks, kissing the side of my neck, grinning. “You look gorgeous.”
“Hold on.” I grab my wedding ring set and slide it on my finger only for it to slide as far as my knuckle. Frustrated, I push it further to no avail. “My rings won’t go on.”
Drew places my hand on his, gently pushing it with the same result. “Babe, the swelling is natural.”
I don’t believe him, taking them out of his hands in a frenzied panic. My normally pale skin turns a flushing red as the metal rubs against my skin uncomfortably.
Drew places his hand on top of mine, willing me to stop. “You’re going to get it stuck.”
I hadn’t removed my wedding rings since the day we got married except for last night. On a whim, I decided to paint the pots on our patio to match the outdoor pillows. Not wanting to paint over them, I removed my rings and forgot them until now.
While Drew thinks this is no big deal, the reality has hit hard for me. Another piece of my existence that’s no longer me. I love my rings. They represent my commitment to my husband, and without them I feel lost.
I don’t say another word aside from reminding Drew we will be late.
On the drive over, we both sit in silence as the tunes of some regular pop song come on the radio. It doesn’t take long before my bladder decides we need a restroom stop. It’s only supposed to be a forty-five-minute drive, but two pit stops later we pushed it to an hour.
My parents’ cottage appears just in front of us as Drew pulls into the street. This isn’t my childhood home. Mom and Dad sold our bigger two-story home when us kids moved out, and they moved into something smaller. I loved it. It had this charm to it and was surrounded by so much greenery. Mom has a green thumb and spends hours making her garden perfect. Tulips are her favorite, and over the years I’ve grown an appreciation for the beauty of flowers.
We continue to sit in the car, neither one of us saying a word until I break the silence. “So, I guess I’m on the market. No ring and all.”
Drew shakes his head, disagreeing. “Studies show wedding rings attract the opposite sex and are more likely to cause flirtatious scenarios because of the whole ‘unattainable’ status.”
Letting out an annoyed huff and rolling my eyes at Drew’s geeky-educated mind, I’m quick to squash that stupid study.
“Well, then, you’ll be getting laid by all the hoes, and I guess I’ll wind up a lonely old widow trying to feed my family by collecting money on the street corner.”
Drew laughs. “Widow means your husband has died.”
“Yes, you would be dead after screwing around with all the hoes,” I state matter-of-factly.
Drew intertwines his fingers with mine, resting our hands on my lap. He knows my anxiety always heightens around my family. I’m not sure why I love them. It’s just that Mom is overbearing and has an opinion on everything in my life, and Dad is just well, Dad. My brothers are no better, a bunch of hoons in my eyes, but thank God they have all moved away, so none of them will be here today.
Drew removes his
hands from mine, turning the engine off before hopping out of the car and opening the door for me. A summer’s breeze blows past me, a refreshing change from the stifling heat that graced us the past few days causing my swelling to match the stature of a hippopotamus.
Getting out of the car becomes a mission these days. With Drew’s assistance I grab his arm and pull myself up, almost out of breath, and slowly waddle toward the front door.
I rest my hands on my stomach as Drew leans over and presses the doorbell, the sounds echoing through the house.
Mom finally answers. “Zoey!” She hugs me a bit too tight and shuffles me in, linking her arm in mine until we walk down the hall, and then all I hear is “Surprise!”
Mia is standing in front of a small crowd, faces I recognize but all a blur as I try to take it all in.
The room is decorated in yellow and white balloons, some floating and resting against the ceiling. There’s a big sign in the middle that says Zoey’s Baby Shower backed by a green wall. I absolutely love green walls. They are the latest trend, and many of my clients insist on hanging them in their newly built homes.
Toward the left of the room is a table topped with so many presents decorated in fancy wrapping paper and exquisite bows. I spot a double carriage with a huge bow on top. Still in absolute shock, my eyes wander to the food table. In the middle sits the most lavish cake—three tiers with two babies on top.
“Happy baby shower!” Mia shouts, hugging me at the same time. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? I love it!” I choke on my words, holding back my emotions. “You did all this for me?”
Mia smiles while shaking her head left to right. “I had plenty of help.”
I let out a huge grin before turning to Drew. “Did you know about this?”
“Of course, he did.” Mia laughs loudly. “The poor guy was getting sick of me nagging him about all the tiny details.”
“And all this time I thought you were having an affair.”
Drew wraps his arms around me placing his lips against my ear. “You’re cute when you’re jealous but also the biggest pain in my ass.”
“All right, love fest is over. Time for you to leave. Ladies only,” Mia demands.
Drew kisses me goodbye before finding Dad and closing the front door behind them. Poor Drew. Thank God he and Dad get along so well, probably better than my brothers. He’s the son he never had—listens to all his crap and repetitive stories.
“Let’s get something to eat before we start the games,” Mia suggests.
Mia and Mom have gone all out. Mini pizzas, mini tacos, a chocolate fountain, finger sandwiches, and other mini everything. I fill up my plate, starving and desperate to try as much as I can.
On my fourth serving, my Aunt Hilda corners me. “Now, Zoey, have you put together a birthing plan? Your cousin, Martha, had hers written down. She opted for no drugs and wanted to bring the baby into the world peacefully.”
“Um... I’m kinda gonna wing it,” I answer with a mouthful of food.
“Wing it?” Aunt Hilda questions with a baleful laugh. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to be prepared and stick to your guns. Don’t let the midwives convince you otherwise.”
Right, birthing plan. I should get right on that and research or something. God… I wish I had more tacos on my plate.
“Now, breast is best. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. You don’t want the nasty formula on the supermarket shelves these days. Lord knows what it does to the baby.”
“Uh huh.”
Note—breast is best.
Inside, I laugh to myself. Drew would find that hilarious.
“And you’ll want to get a good pediatrician. Martha was lucky enough to get the most sought-out one in all of the West Coast. Of course, Martha and Michael are well-known in the medical industry, so they know the right people.”
“Hilda!” Mom yells, stomping toward us. “Leave the poor girl alone.”
Mom is carrying a plate of food and hands it to me while scolding Hilda. “Drew is a doctor. He’ll take good care of Zoey and knows what’s best.”
“Well, actually he’s a surgeon now, he specializes in cardiology,” I add.
“Smart boy, that one,” Mom boasts.
Hilda, annoyed at Mom’s comment, purses her lips. The rivalry between Mom and Hilda has been going on since my fifth birthday when my cousin, Martha, got jealous of my cake shaped like a Care Bear that Mom had made. Martha threw a tantrum, knocking the cake over. Hilda was adamant she tripped, but Martha was always a troublemaker. Now she’s shacked up with some dentist who tries to hit on his patients, has three kids and some big house, plus a drinking problem. All of that information is according to my mom.
Hilda rambles to herself before leaving our circle and annoying her other sister, Ruth.
“Game time!”
I welcome the distraction and chance to sit down. My legs, heavy and swollen, begin to ache. My lower back is no better always aching in this one particular spot. Drew said that the babies might be in an odd position, but there’s still time for them to move.
Some old friends sit beside me, and we get to chatting about life, work, and babies until Mia takes charge of the room announcing the rules of the upcoming game.
The first game is trying to sniff some shit in a nappy and guess what candy bar it is. Given my love for all things chocolate this should be an easy one.
There are plenty of cringing faces, laughter, and incorrect guesses. A friend of mine from college, Sandra, guesses it right off the bat. She won a little prize which Mia gives out—a box of chocolates!
The second game is drinking water out of a baby bottle. The first one to finish wins. Mom is up with Hilda and my Aunt Ruth. Mom smashes the lead, and when she finishes, I believe her exact words are “Practice makes perfect” in which Ruth comments, “Lucky Bob.”
I shudder. I don’t want to know what goes on in my parents’ sex life. They shouldn’t even have a sex life. God… why, oh why, does the universe have to torture me.
When the games are over, Mom slices the cake while I take photos with everyone. It’s nice to spend the day surrounded by women, each offering their advice having had babies themselves. As we close in on the day, Mia requests I sit in the big chair and places the presents in front of me—mountains of gifts, plus that carriage which sits in the corner.
I open the first gift, pulling out something. “What’s this again?”
“It’s a diaper genie,” Aunt Ruth explains.
“So, it gets rid of the diapers? Thank God because that will be a nightmare.”
“No, sweetie, you put the diapers inside, but you still need to empty it out.”
“Oh.”
The word genie negates the actual having to do it yourself. I move onto the next lot of presents. So many onesies, tiny and adorable. We ooh and ahh over every piece, and something stirs inside of me—the feeling of excitement. Soon my babies will be dressed in these onesies, and I’ll be holding them in my arms.
The carriage was a gift from Mom and Dad. According to Dad, the safety ratings are on par to his Mustang.
Finally, I open Mia’s present.
Inside is a small box. I open the box to find matching Adidas Superstar sneakers in white with black stripes down the side.
Holding them up so everyone can see, I happily relay my gratitude. “I love them so much! These are perfect. Drew and I each have a pair of these.”
“I know.” She giggles. “That’s how I got the idea. You can be all matchy, matchy.”
Leaning over, I give Mia a big hug and whisper, “You didn’t have to do this, I know it’s been hard for you.”
“The only thing hard for me is the regret of acting like a bitch toward you. That night was uncalled for,” she apologizes, again.
“You’ve already said sorry. You were in a bad place. I get it. How are things now?”
Mia grabs a piece of ribbon, twisting it into a bow to distract herself. “Better, not better. I don’
t know. Troy’s with Sophia today. He took her to his parents’ house, and she’ll stay over. I think tonight we’ll have a long talk… but hey, today is about you.”
Ending our conversation with a forced smile, I hug her again praying they’ll sort things out. It was Mia and Troy’s wedding which ignited Drew’s and my flame. I’ll never forget that. I just wish they can both remember the reason why they chose to be together and move on. Having the baby should have brought them closer together, not tear them apart. I’m not quite sure that trying for another baby will fix it either—a Band-Aid solution to a deeper wound. For once in my life, I choose to keep my opinion to myself. And when I say to myself, I mean only to Drew. Poor guy is always forced to listen to my crap.
Attempting to stand up, Mom orders me to sit down and rest my feet. I want to thank everyone but need to do that while sitting down. “Thank you, everyone, for your generosity,” I begin, nervously rubbing my stomach. “To say I’m overwhelmed is an understatement, but your willingness to shower me today means everything. Our babies are so blessed.”
Mom removes a tissue from her pocket wiping a loose tear from her eye which onsets my own. Aunt Ruth begins and then Mia. By the end, we all laugh at our emotional outburst.
I look around the room one more time surrounded by family and friends, grateful that no matter how shit of a mother I may turn out to be, my babies are surrounded by good people.
These babies are already so loved that I can’t imagine how much more love we can feel when we’re finally holding them in our arms.
Drew
Our break room table is always scattered with mindless magazines and trashy tabloids which the nurses gossip about. They have this god-awful obsession with the royal family. Personally, I don’t understand it.
A Tupperware catalog or some pyramid scheme product are laying around with a ‘Please Look at Me’ sticker on the front, snuck in by one of the nurses or cleaning staff. Opting for my textbooks, I’m not one to waste my precious resting moments with trivial garbage. Zoey calls me a nerd, but if nerd means I can save people lives, I’ll gladly take that titled cape.
