The Shape of Desire

by Sharon Shinn

  “This Friday? Day or night? I don’t have much vacation time left, but I’d love to keep her in the evening for you. I’ll even keep her overnight if you like.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful, but are you sure? Your very first time with her?”

  I hope she can hear the smile in my voice. “Don’t listen to what Dante says about me. I’m perfectly comfortable with babies.” I pause and then add, “Though it might be a little different if she changes shapes on me. You’d have to tell me how to handle that.”

  Christina’s laugh is merry. “Well, she hasn’t done it so far for me, so I don’t think you have to worry about it,” she says. “I’ll call you later with more details, okay? Right now I have to get ready.”

  “Yes, yes, go! I’ll talk to you later,” I say. “Can’t wait to see you on Friday!”

  As I hang up, I’m smiling, genuinely excited about the chance to see little Lizzie again. But my body still has that loose, rubbery feel caused by having too much adrenaline dumped too suddenly into the bloodstream. How quickly we can go from nonchalance to terror and then veer in a completely new direction, straight toward anticipation.

  How easily the progression could have gone another way. I don’t know what I would have done if Christina hadn’t answered the phone. I spend the rest of the morning trying not to wonder about that.

  The week drags by with all the reluctance of a child going to the dentist. Lunches with Ellen and Marquez are the highlights, since Marquez has new information about Caroline and Grant. They’re planning a vacation together; he’s seen the travel brochures on Grant’s desk. We maintain the website for a travel agency in the building next door, and they keep us supplied with fliers about special deals to Prague and London and Las Vegas. I think we get a discounted fare, too, but I’ve never used their services, so I don’t know for sure.

  “He might be going with a friend, or his brother, or anybody,” Ellen objects. “That’s not proof.”

  “They’re going to be gone at the same time,” Marquez replies. “Check the calendar.” We all have to fill in our planned absences on a huge wall calendar mounted outside the lunchroom. “He’ll be gone for six days, she’ll be gone for ten, but they overlap for all of his days. I’m telling you, they’re planning a trip.”

  “Where are they going?” I ask.

  “Italy, I think.”

  “Wow, that’s romantic.”

  Ellen frowns at me. “None of this is romantic, Maria. It’s all sad.”

  I shrug. “You don’t watch enough old black-and-white movies,” I say. “All grand romance is sad at the core.”

  “Well, now I’m depressed,” Marquez says.

  “Have a French fry,” I say. “It will cheer you up.”

  Oddly, I have another meal with Kathleen, too, and not one of those random we-accidentally-happened-to-be-in-the-lunchroom-together encounters. She drops by my desk on Thursday afternoon, seeming nervous and shy as a girl about to ask a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance, to see if I might want to plan lunch the next day.

  “It’s just so hard to get through Friday,” she offers as an excuse. “It’s so much better if I can break up the day.”

  I’m not sure what we’ll find to talk about for an extended period, but I don’t feel I can turn her down. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “There’s a new Pasta Pronto just down the street. We could be there and back in an hour, easy.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I don’t actually dread the meal, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. I don’t feel like sharing confidences, and Kathleen and I don’t seem to have much in common. But our Friday outing is enjoyable enough as we’re both cheerful, the food is pretty good, and we have a ready-made topic in discussing a coworker who was fired for insubordination the day before. When that palls, I tell her I’m going to be babysitting overnight for a friend.

  “Oh, that will be fun!” Kathleen exclaims. “Sometimes I keep my neighbor’s little boy for her. But he’s a terror. If he wants something, he will not stop screaming until you eventually give in and hand it to him. I’m always worn out by the time she comes to get him.”

  “Do you and Ritchie ever plan to have kids?”

  She looks wistful. “We’ve been trying for the past three years, but it hasn’t happened yet. I think—” She glances around the restaurant, as if people might be listening, and lowers her voice. “I think Ritchie has a low sperm count, but he won’t go to get tested, so I don’t think he’d be willing to—you know. Donate. So that we could try in vitro fertilization.”

  This is skating dangerously close to becoming information I do not want to have in my head. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with him,” I say.

  “I had all the tests done on me,” she says, still in that almost-whisper. “I didn’t tell him, though. I didn’t want him to be mad.”

  For a moment, I consider how exhausting it must be to spend your whole life placating the person you live with—guessing in advance what might set him off, always trying to steer the conversation or the activity into a channel he will find pleasing. I wonder what trade-offs make such an effort worthwhile. “Well, you’re both still young,” I say, though their window is narrowing if they’re both in their thirties. “Plenty of time for the situation to change.”

  I’m relieved when a glance at my watch shows that our lunch hour is almost over, and we both rise to head back to the office.

  “This was fun,” Kathleen observes as we step outside. “We’ll have to do this every Friday.”

  I smile but don’t answer. I’m pretty sure I have just become Kathleen’s new best friend and I don’t know what to do about it.

  Christina and Lizzie arrive at my door about fifteen minutes after I get home. Christina is dressed mostly in black heavily accented with silver accessories, and she strides through the door with the manic energy I always associate with her.

  “Are we too early? I could take Lizzie down to McDonald’s for a half hour while you get settled. I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get downtown at this time of day. Is there a Cardinals game in town, do you know? What will traffic be like?”

  I ignore her for a few moments while I take Lizzie in my arms and exclaim over her sweet little face. She is just as beautiful as I remember, though even in two short weeks, she looks different to me. More filled out, more defined. More alert. More human. “Traffic will probably be bad for another half hour or so,” I say. “Why don’t you stay awhile and have something to drink before you go? And tell me everything I need to know.”

  It turns out Christina has printed out a list of instructions that cover every eventuality she could think of: what to do if Lizzie cries, if she refuses a bottle, if she poops, if she vomits, if she spikes a fever, if she stops breathing. For only a couple of these, I am relieved to see, the advice is Call 911. “And I’ve put my cell phone number there at the bottom, see? And the phone number for my friend Annie’s house. That’s where I’ll be staying tonight. Call me if you have any questions at all.”

  It is clear she is eager to get out of the house. Traffic or no traffic, she does not want to sit and have tea or a Coke. “Go,” I say, waving her toward the door. “We’ll be fine. See you in the morning.”

  In fact, we are fine. Lizzie is an amazingly sunny-tempered baby, crying only in short, halfhearted bursts and easily soothed with food or attention or a clean diaper. Shortly after feeding her an evening bottle, I turn on Nickelodeon and pace around the living room, gently bouncing her in my arms. She watches me with an almost unnerving intensity, as if she is memorizing my face, trying to determine how it contrasts and compares with her mother’s, what makes me trustworthy, what makes me unique, what makes me safe.

  I think she still comes in at less than ten pounds, so I am surprised by how quickly she grows heavy in my arms. Eventually I have to sit down so the armrest of the couch can take some of her weight. “You’re a big strong healthy girl, aren’t you?” I coo to her in th
at ridiculous happy voice people use with infants. “You’re about to break Aunt Maria’s elbow. Yes you are! Yes you are!”

  Her face squinches up as she produces a sharp bark of laughter, and her tiny fists wave in delight. I know how she feels. I could laugh out loud; I could punch the air with joy. It is all I can do to keep myself from standing up again and carrying her to the credenza where I keep my phone books. I would page through to the A’s, adoption services, or the S’s, sperm banks. I can’t believe how happy it makes me to hold a baby in my arms.

  I am a little less enamored of motherhood by six the next morning. Lizzie has had a restless night that included a sixty-minute stretch when she couldn’t stop crying and I couldn’t figure out why. But the intervening hours of sleep have restored her natural good humor, and she wakes up gleefully, kicking her feet and chortling as she anticipates the day.

  I am less refreshed but still game. After giving her a bottle, I chance taking a shower, leaving the bathroom door open so I can hear if she starts wailing. As I blow-dry my hair, I wonder how soon she might take a nap and if I’ll be able to fall asleep when she does. I’ve heard new mothers complain about sleep deprivation, but I’d always imagined it took weeks to kick in and that the deficit could be easily erased by a night of uninterrupted rest. Now I realize it must be an ongoing state that not only is not cured by a good night’s sleep, but no such thing as “a good night’s sleep” actually exists when there’s an infant in the house. I wonder how Beth made it through Clara’s early years. I think I should have offered to help out more than I did. I wonder if the only time she felt rested was when she was hospitalized with pneumonia.

  “So what should we do now, little girl?” I ask Lizzie. She is strapped into her car seat, which is perched on my kitchen table, and she is watching me consume my toast and jelly as if she knows it tastes much better than the lukewarm formula that constituted her own breakfast. “If it’s not too cold, I could take you out for a walk. Or maybe we should go for a ride. When do you suppose your mother will be coming to get you? Soon? Not that I am not enjoying every minute with you, but I just wonder how many more entertainments I should plan.”

  As if she knows I am talking about her, Christina chooses that moment to phone. My Caller ID has been erratic lately, but it shows me a number that I recognize as hers before the LED display wavers and disappears. As soon as I answer, Christina asks in a cheerful voice, “Maria? How’s it going?”

  “Great. She’s been an angel.”

  “How’d she sleep?”

  “Mmm, she went down at ten, but then she was awake for about an hour around two, and awake for real by six.”

  “Oh, that’s pretty good!” Christina says. “Sometimes she’s awake two or three times in the night. And she’s still up by six.”

  “You must be tired all the time.”

  She laughs. “I’ve learned to survive on five or six hours’ sleep a night. Though I have to confess, it was heaven last night, even though Annie’s spare bed has a lump in the middle that’s the size of a watermelon. I just curled up around it and never once woke up.”

  I think there must be a reason she’s called instead of just coming to the house, so I ask an indirect question. “I was wondering if I had time to take her for a short walk. It looks like a pretty day outside.”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” she replies. “I haven’t even taken a shower yet, and Annie wanted to go out to breakfast. I can leave right now if you can’t stand it anymore, but if you think you can hold on until noon, I’ll come later.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s not quite eight. “Sure,” I say a little too brightly. “I’ll be happy to keep her another few hours. You and your friend have fun.”

  “You’re a sweetheart,” Christina says, sounding like she wants to hang up as soon as possible so I can’t change my mind. “See you around noon.”

  I hang up, yawn, and sink back onto my chair at the kitchen table. Lizzie makes a noise that sounds like gooh. “Guess we have time for that walk after all,” I tell her, pouring myself another cup of coffee. “I’ll show you the neighborhood.”

  But apparently Lizzie has been worn out by the effort of waking up and eating, because a few minutes later, she is nodding off. The caffeine has already kicked in, so it’s pointless for me to try to nap alongside her. I sigh and turn on the computer so I can check my e-mail, pay bills, and make the morning somewhat productive.

  By nine thirty, Lizzie is awake, changed, and restless, so I decide we’ll both benefit from a walk. I’ve opened the front door to check the weather and found that the September air is as warm as a cat’s fur and scented with cut grass and fallen leaves. In other words, perfect. I’m halfway through putting on my shoes when a knock at the door startles Lizzie so much she sneezes. I hop across the room with my other shoe in my hand to find Beth and Clara waving at me from the porch.

  “Too early?” Beth asks a little anxiously. “I know I should have called first, but I was driving right by.”

  “Not at all. Come on in,” I say, motioning them inside.

  “I had to drop off some notes to a woman I work with. She’s flying out to Denver tomorrow and I was—” She abruptly stops speaking. I realize she’s spotted Lizzie. Or rather, Clara has spotted Lizzie, who is lying on a blanket in the middle of the living room floor, and Clara has squatted down to get a closer look.

  “You have a baby,” Beth says blankly.

  “Well, she’s not mine,” I say, and close the door. I’m thinking fast. Obviously the exact truth won’t do, but it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with a plausible variation. It’s just a question of how much detail to supply. “You want coffee or something?”

  Beth drops to her knees beside Clara. “Whose baby is she?”

  “What’s her name?” Clara wants to know. She reaches out a tentative hand and pats Lizzie on the head as if she is a not particularly tame kitten. The baby laughs.

  “Lizzie.”

  “Where did she come from?” Clara asks.

  Beth turns her head to give me an inquiring look. “Yes, where?”

  I settle on the couch and put on my other shoe. “She belongs to a woman named Christina, who is the sister of one of my college friends,” I say. “I met Christina, I don’t know, a couple dozen times while I was in school. I didn’t really know her that well, but she friended me on Facebook about three months ago.”

  “I thought you never checked your Facebook account.”

  “Well, I don’t, not very often. Anyway, so, you know, we exchanged a few e-mails, and she told me she was pregnant, and I said, oh, I’d love to see the baby if you’re ever in town, and she dropped by a couple weeks ago, which surprised the hell out of me—”

  “You shouldn’t swear,” Clara says primly.

  “Right. She surprised the heck out of me. But we had a very nice visit, and I thought Lizzie was cute, and I said—not dreaming that she would ever take me up on it—‘Gee, if you ever need someone to watch her for a few hours, you should call me.’ And so then—”

  “Then she called you,” Beth finishes up. “Well, that was nervy.”

  “Kind of what I thought,” I agree. “But I did offer, so I could hardly turn her down.” I shrug. “I know it seems weird, but it’s just for a little while. She’ll be back by noon.”

  Beth rolls her eyes. “Oh, it’s not weird at all. I know what’s going on here.”

  “You do?”

  “You’ve got baby fever. You’re thirty-five—”

  “You’re thirty-five. I’m thirty-four.”

  “And that clock’s ticking, and you’re thinking, ‘How many years do I have left? How many eggs do I have left?’ And suddenly everywhere you look, other women have babies—the women at work, the women at the grocery store. And all you can think about is how much you want one, too, but you’re not dating anyone special and you’re wondering if maybe you don’t need anyone special, maybe you can do this all on your own—”

  By now
I’m grinning. “Hold on, chica, are we talking about me here? Who’s the one who went off and had a baby just because she felt like it?”

  “That’s why I know I’m right! Because I did it, too! But let me tell you, it’s not so easy to just pop out a kid and then go on with your life. In fact, most of the time it’s pretty hard being a single mom.”

  I drop to the floor so I can cover Clara’s ears with my hands. She’s used to it; her grandmother and her aunt frequently try to block out some comment of Beth’s that they don’t think she should hear. “Don’t listen to those mean things your mommy is saying,” I whisper into the nape of her neck.

  Clara shakes her head to dislodge my grip. She’s offered her own hand to Lizzie, who has brought it up to her mouth and appears to be sucking on Clara’s index finger with great energy. “She likes me,” Clara says seriously. “I can tell she likes me.”

  “She probably does,” I say. “She has exceptionally good taste in people.”

  Beth pokes me to get my attention again. “So? Am I right? Baby fever?”

  “A little bit right,” I say defensively. “But I haven’t gone and done anything irreversible yet. I’m just watching a little girl for a few hours.” I don’t consider it necessary to say that I’ve kept Lizzie overnight. Beth would find it hard to believe I would do such a big favor for a casual friend.

  “She is pretty cute,” Beth allows. “So you’ve got her for a few more hours. Want to go to the park?”

  “I was planning to take her for a walk, but I’ve just realized I don’t have a stroller.”

  Beth jumps to her feet. “I’ve got one in the car. Come on, let’s go.”

  The four of us pass an exceptionally pleasant couple of hours. I have never paid attention to how many parks there are between my house and the highway, but apparently Beth automatically catalogs public spaces and playgrounds, because she drives us directly to a little park that features a slide, a swing set, some kind of brightly colored climbing bars, and a nicely paved track that circles the mulched play area. Clara goes straight to a sandbox to dig; I push Lizzie around the paved path while Beth strolls along beside me, talking idly.