Bundle of Joy? (15 page)

To me, there was nothing “natural” about anything that big coming out of someone, no matter how you looked at it. For
the next twenty minutes, I listened to the three women who had already had babies discuss the perils of painkillers and male doctors and the joy one feels when pushing an eight-pound baby through the teeny tiny birth canal. According to the experts gathered, the pain was negligible.

“Honestly, once it was over, I was ready to go right back in for the next one,” Alice bragged.

“I was so in awe of her,” Peter said, beaming at Alice.

I felt yucky. I looked at Jamie and thought that perhaps she was getting a taste of her own
“how can you not understand how important procreation is?”
attitude.

“Well, my doctor told me I shouldn’t try to be a hero.”

“He’s a man, isn’t he?” the all-knowing earth-mother colleague said.

Jamie nodded and so did the rest of the women. She should have thought twice before picking a man.

“Well,” Alice said, “it’s really an individual choice, I guess.” Then she got up and announced that lunch was served.

I thought I would have a break from the baby talk while we stuffed our faces, but our lunch conversation mostly revolved around a device that turned baby excrement into poop sausages and how much the women with children missed their little ones even though they had only been separated for a matter of hours.

“I know,” Alice said, totally getting into it. “I don’t know how I could be without her even for a minute.”

I looked at Alice’s sister and Jamie’s other friend, Morgan, who was the other Olsen Twin. Neither of them had children or were having them, and like me, neither of them had much to say. Alice’s sister looked jealous and Morgan looked like she would rather be out at a real brunch where we could tie one on.

Later during coffee, Morgan plopped down next to me on the couch. She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. In the ten years I’ve known her, I don’t think I have ever felt closer to her.

Lucinda was back out and shrieking. No one seemed at all
fazed when she puked up a speckled white liquid. Soon there was the distinct smell of shit, and everyone was too busy cooing about baby smell to notice the unmistakable ass smell. I still hadn’t held her and this didn’t seem the right time. Alice was acting as if her daughter was reciting Shakespeare and not emitting high-pitched squeals that would make a dog run for cover.

And speaking of dogs…one of the other mommy experts (I tried not to remember the name of anyone I didn’t already know in the hopes I would never see them again) was telling Jamie that soon her beloved Sparky—who slept in the bed with her and Raj and who ate no less than two pieces of buttered toast a day—would be relegated to the position of actual dog, not baby substitute. Then she told Jamie that she, too, suffered from bad acne into her second trimester. It was one thing to see the acne, but another to acknowledge it.

After my second helping of lime pie, I gave Jamie the sign and happily she extricated herself from the mommy/skin/pet expert and said it was time for us to go. I said my goodbyes, exchanging an emotional hug with Morgan and bending to kiss Alice, who held an exhausted, fussy baby in her arms.

“Oh, Voula, you never got to hold her,” Alice whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I said. Realizing my voice was too loud from the way Alice grimaced, I took it down a notch. “I’ll get some baby next time.”

Jamie and I rode down the elevator (six thousand), walked past the security guard (at least fifteen, which doesn’t include holiday tips), and landed on the sidewalk in total silence. I decided to escort her home.

“A cab?” I asked.

“No,” Jamie said. “I feel like walking.”

“Cool. Are you sure?”

She nodded. “What do you think of the name Lucinda?” she asked.

“It’s all right,” I said cautiously. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

“It was one of my names.”

“What?” As far as I knew, Jamie’s middle name was Kathleen.

“I told Alice I liked it before she got pregnant. Then she stole it. You would be surprised at how many people are name thieves.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s all that.”

She nodded. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. I tried again.

“They really love talking breasts up there, don’t they.”

“Yeah.”

“And shit, they like to talk about shit.”

A smile spread across Jamie’s face. “I’m really glad you came with me to that, Voula. Imagining your recap made it almost bearable.”

She was being so sincere, I tried to stop on 7th Avenue, but nothing was going to break her stride. She seemed desperate to walk off all of her baby pounds. For the first time, I saw real doubt in her swollen, acne-covered face.

F
or seven weeks, things were almost perfect. There was a minor bidding war on the apartment I wanted. First the sellers counteroffered. They got me up to 205. Then someone else wanted to bid 210, but Maureen told me the sellers said I could have the place if I bid 220. It was just too much, so I passed on it.

I knew Maureen was losing patience with me, so I took a little break from the scene. Luckily, there were plenty of aspects of the real estate market to write about for my
Financial Woman
pieces. I waxed poetic about mortgage rates being so low and what that meant for the woman looking to buy.

At this rate, I was never going to find a place, and I had seen so many. I knew I had to go up in price. I had to stop underbidding. But, it seemed impossible to spend so much on something that wasn’t all that big. It was my life savings and I didn’t want to spend it foolishly. I just wanted to be wowed by something.

I think I would have felt like a real estate failure if Paul hadn’t been there to distract me. I saw him almost every other night. We still talked on the phone constantly when he was at the sta
tion, but he would also come over and we’d walk along the Hudson or subway up to Central Park. Autumn had arrived, but I wanted to milk the extended days for as long as I could. I was in bliss.

I barely talked to Jamie. Despite being tired all the time, she was working like a dog. I sensed that she was busting her ass to prove that she wouldn’t be affected by her pregnancy. I think she also feared what would happen when she went on maternity leave. The only real heart-to-heart we had was when she was waiting for the results of some triple screen test. I had no idea what the test was for, but I know that it was three diseases that were freaking her out. She left a message when the tests came out okay.

Kelly was dating a new guy, Joel, who seemed really into her, and we double dated a couple of times. Being in those situations, being a part of a couple with other couples, was something I hadn’t ever experienced.

I felt like my feet weren’t touching the ground and, despite a few nervous pangs, things were great.

I had a mini breakdown the day after daylight saving time ended because the sky got dark so early, but I think it was just a reaction to all the happiness. Luckily, Paul was working that night.

I was trying not to be “me cool,” as Jamie had put it, but two things still bothered me about my relationship with Paul: We never talked about his experience during September eleventh, which I gathered for someone in his profession was probably a big deal. And I still hadn’t been to his place. The former I didn’t want to force, but the latter was about to be remedied. He invited me for his specialty: pasta and stuffed peppers. Even though we had spent so much time together, being let into his space was a big deal.

On my next visit to Diane, I asked her to do my bikini line and legs as well. It was only after I had my pants off that she revealed she had recently had a religious conversion. She was now a born-again Christian. She got so caught up in telling me how she had seen the light that she didn’t notice she was
doing the same leg twice. I was so worried that she’d be suspicious of my suddenly wanting to do my bikini line that I didn’t bother to correct her.

As she poured hot wax in my most sensitive places, I told her about my real estate woes. I thanked her again for bringing Maureen into my life.

“Voula,” she said, bringing her face a little too close to mine and looking me directly in the eyes. “You think it was me, but now I know it was the Lord.”

She went on about all the ways that God had changed her life. And it worked, sort of, in those moments as the wax dried, I actually prayed. When she ripped it off, it hurt like hell, but I swear that once I had my clothes back on I said an “Amen.”

I wanted the night to be special, so I purchased a new outfit for my trip to Brooklyn. Nothing fancy, just black cotton pants and a tight red sweater. Kelly joked that I needed to find something sufficiently outer borough since Paul lived in Carroll Gardens. It wasn’t too far from the city, but it felt like a different world. When we discussed my apartment-hunting experiences, Paul told me that the yuppies were moving in to his neighborhood, where his family had lived for almost a century. When he rented his apartment, he hadn’t signed a lease, he had shaken a hand.

Tonight I opened the gate and walked through the garden full of Halloween decorations. He lived in the garden apartment of a Federal brick building. When I rang the bell, he came to the door and kissed me. I was getting used to it, getting used to being with him.

“Everything is almost ready,” he said.

The place smelled inviting. I walked through a long hall into his apartment. It was giant. There was a big living room with a fireplace (a real fireplace). It was cold enough for him to have a fire going. My head was filled immediately with visions of lying beside it with him. There was a bedroom and a bathroom off that room and another hall that seemed to lead to another bedroom. I followed him to the kitchen and presented the two
bottles of wine I had brought. With Armando’s guidance, I had a Chianti and a Barbera. Paul opened them both and poured the Barbera into a decanter. He kissed me again. I thought about how I’d never really had a boyfriend and how he had said that made him feel like I was really his.

“Do you want to taste the sauce?” he asked me.

“Sure.”

He opened a giant pot and dipped some crusty bread into the sauce. He blew on it, then placed it gingerly in my mouth. It was delicious. It tasted like I imagined red sauce would taste in a small village in Italy—fresh, tangy, light.

“Did you really make this? It’s great.”

“Ancient Italian secret,” he said. “I think I made too much. I’m used to cooking for the guys. I realized when I got to like the twentieth pepper that I didn’t know how to cook for two.”

I smiled. That implied he hadn’t really done this before. “I can take some home and eat it for lunch.”

“Yeah,” he said. He seemed a little preoccupied with something. Maybe he was worried about dinner being perfect, but he wasn’t meeting my eye as much as usual.

“How’s work?”

“Okay. You know it’s been kinda quiet. Captain Shinners’ wife just had a baby. A ten-pound girl. He handed out cigars today. Shinners got captain after the Towers.”

“Everyone’s having babies,” I said kind of stupidly, because even though that could’ve been just the segue I needed, I didn’t know how to ask him about “the Towers.”

“Yeah, it sure seems that way. There’re three guys on the job whose ladies are expecting.”

“Must be something in the water. We should be careful.” I broke off more bread and dipped it in the sauce.

Paul stared at me. “What do you think about kids?”

“Kids?” I laughed. “Let’s just get through dinner.”

He barely smiled. What was up with him?

“Well, my friend’s pregnant,” I continued. “She’s not having the best time. I keep worrying something bad is going to happen. It seems like a tough and dangerous thing.”

“I mean, do you want your own? Do you want them in your life?”

I was surprised at this line of questioning. I took another bite of bread. I wished we could just start making out rather than have deep conversations about things I didn’t know my stance on. I liked to have a witty retort for everything and I hadn’t rehearsed the section of my program about children.

“I don’t know, actually. I haven’t thought much about kids. I would be perfectly happy without them, I think. I like the way my life is, you know, without mood swings, weight gain…” I stopped short of adding a giant flabby vagina and a peeing/shitting/crying brat, because something about Paul seemed suddenly strange.

“Don’t you think it’s more than that? Don’t you think they could bring you joy?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I know I’m turning thirty, but honestly, it seems like something for someone else. I barely know how to have a boyfriend.”

“You seem pretty capable.”

I laughed and tried to change the subject. “You have no idea what goes on behind this facade.”

“I think I do,” he said. He still hadn’t cracked a smile.

I felt a little uncomfortable, like when Diane was staring into my eyes telling me about her religious awakening. I really hoped Paul wasn’t trying to convert me to motherhood.

“Please don’t get me pregnant tonight. I just bought a new pair of pants.” Still nothing, not even a little chuckle. I wasn’t used to this kind of reaction. Paul’s laugh and the sight of his smile were something I aimed for constantly.

“I guess I just want to know if you like kids.”

“Well, if you have to know, I guess I don’t really. I just don’t see myself as one of those maternal types.” I heard Jamie’s voice in my head. She was telling me how hard it was to get a man to talk about commitment, and here I had one who was going beyond that. But I had never lied to Paul, and if he wanted my honest opinion, well, I was going to give it to him. He might as well know that Carol Brady I was not.

“Can I see the rest of your place?” I asked as he poured us two glasses of wine.

“Sure.” He showed me the backyard. It was unthinkably big. Nowhere in Manhattan could you have found something like that. Maybe I should have looked in the outer boroughs. As I stood coveting his outdoor space, my stomach started churning and I prayed (thanks, Diane!) that I could get through dinner without any trouble. How was I expected to change diapers when I could barely take care of my own digestive track? He wandered back to his bedroom, which was big and sparse except for a queen-size bed and a weight bench. It was all super clean.

“Do you have a maid?”

“No, I just tidied up before you got here.”

“Thanks. I hope I prove worthy of your efforts.”

He smiled at me and rubbed my cheek. Something was on his mind. Would my lack of maternal instinct make him break up with me? For the first time ever, I felt really awkward around him. There was something between us. I had to keep things light. Maybe if I kept talking, he wouldn’t have a chance to dump me.

“What’s down that hall?”

“Another bedroom.”

“Show me.” I raised my recently sculpted eyebrows. I felt dumb. What was I implying? That I wanted to have sex with him in his second bedroom? Did I think I needed to so I could change the subject?

“Uh, actually, it’s kind of a mess.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said, trying to sound as flirtatious as possible.

“You do?”

“Yeah, you tossed all your clutter in there.”

“You caught me,” he said, and smiled. He looked past me into the kitchen. “I think dinner’s ready.”

“Great, let’s eat.”

Throughout dinner it was more of the same. We were talking, but something was off. Who knows what I was saying. I
was following the conversation, but in my head I was going through what it would be like when he ended it. I couldn’t believe I had made such a disaster of this. Why couldn’t I have lied and said I love kids? I could have pointed to my big hips and said they were ideal for popping out little ones. I was already hearing myself telling Jamie the story of every little thing he said. Was seven weeks my freshness date on relationships? I imagined Kelly poking her head into my room to see if I wanted to go on a double date with her and her new man, and having to tell her I had effed it all up.

The worst part: my stomach was killing me. My mouth told me the meal was delicious, but I couldn’t really enjoy it. I was shoveling it in, though, because I didn’t want him to add “ungrateful” to the list of reasons he was breaking up with me. Oh, Jamie was going to blame me for all this. I just knew it.

“Everything tastes wonderful,” I said when we were diving into our second bottle of wine.

“I’m glad you like it. There’s cannoli for dessert. It’s from a bakery my nonna worked for when she was a kid.”

So I would be staying for dessert.

When we finished our meal he stared across the little table at me. He was formulating his speech in his head. I could tell. Keep moving, I had to keep moving. If I didn’t stand still long enough the shot would never hit me. I got up and started to clear the table.

“Voula, just leave it.” He got up and took the plate out of my hand. He kept holding my hand and walked me over to the fire. We sat on pillows. He pulled me into him and we watched the fire for a while. I was so preoccupied with what was going to happen that I didn’t feel scared of the flames.

A fire is hypnotic (especially when enclosed); you could watch it for hours before you realized you are crying. I really cared about Paul and now I was never going to get to that stage where I felt comfortable in his space. I was never going to be able to walk around this place in one of his T-shirts. I was going to get cannoli and then I was going to get the talk. It was cruel, really, when you thought about it. What kind of man could
feed a girl authentic Italian pastry and then dump her?
The kind that wants babies, like all normal people should,
I heard Jamie saying in my head. Then I heard her
“don’t you realize the whole world wants kids but you?”
laugh. Ugh. Why did I have to be “me cool”? Why hadn’t I cherished all the moments with Paul more?

“Voula,” I heard Paul saying next to me. There was something big coming after that. He wasn’t even going to wait to satisfy my sweet tooth.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been wanting to, uh, tell you—” he stumbled.

In that stumble, I kissed him. Shameless, I know, but if this was going to be it, I wanted it to be on my terms. Maybe it would be the last time. So I kept on kissing him and he didn’t stop me. We moved into the bedroom and I kissed his leg, the one he hurt on the soccer field, the one I had wanted to kiss since that time in the park. This was my last chance. I kissed it and kissed it until he pulled me to him.

We fell asleep eventually. As I was drifting off, I realized we never ate the cannoli, but it didn’t matter because I was still there.

I woke up to the smell of coffee and I stretched out in Paul’s empty bed. It was after ten. That was the beautiful thing about being a writer and Paul’s wacky schedule. We didn’t have to rush off the way other people did, though maybe that morning that would have been better.