Bundle of Joy? (19 page)

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Paul smiled at me.

Then, I watched his face change. His look reminded me of the one he had worn at the Great Blackout. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

“Yeeeees.”

“I love you.”

I took a deep breath. “Thanks,” I said.

He laughed.

“I mean, I love you, too.”

“Cool,” he said.

I’m not sure if it was exhaustion from the day or happiness
at being in the arms of the man who loved me, but that night I slept better than I had in my entire life.

And when I woke up the next morning, nothing bad had happened.

T
he beginning of the year was freezing cold. Normally, I would have hated the frost, but I didn’t care. When I wasn’t busy making up stories about my stunted apartment search, I was bundled up in front of Paul’s fire. With a competent fireman by my side, I was only a little afraid of the flames.

Being a part of a couple opened a whole new world for me. Couldn’t get out the door because of too much snow? It didn’t matter. We made tuna melts and got drunk on Coors Light in the afternoon. I liked hibernating with someone. I liked having an excuse to not get out of bed.

There were times I wished I was more skilled in the art of dating but I liked the newness of it all. I was constantly amazed that I could be so fascinated about finding out about the time Paul fell off his mountain bike and got a concussion, or how
Witness
was the first time he saw boobs.

This was the thing I had never known. Love. It was awesome.

I pretty much avoided hanging out with Joseph. I didn’t realize that I was doing it until Paul called me on it one night when we were on the phone. We got into a wicked fight, and I called Jamie crying, convinced we were going to break up.

I talked for a good twenty minutes without even asking about the baby. She just let me. She said that I should apologize and say I would try to make more of an effort. It was all so simple, I would have done that with a friend, but with Paul the stakes seemed higher.

I did what Jamie said and he was totally cool with it. He was shocked when I said I worried he was going to break up with me. I realized we had staying power. And soon enough I understood why Jamie always raved about make-up sex.

What’s more, even Valentine’s Day didn’t suck. For the first time ever I got flowers. I had made it clear to Paul that I was opposed to store-bought greeting cards one evening when the subject of Valentine’s Day came up. I was touched when on Saturday morning I woke up to a sweet cut-out card with a handwritten “Be mine.” It was almost too good to be true. If someone had told me some of the things we said to each other, I might have barfed, but I kept it our secret.

I couldn’t deflect the apartment questions forever. Even my editor at
Financial Woman
was anxious for the fictional me to close and move in. I had been stalling with articles on approvals, co-ops and co-signing. It was time to take the next step.

I decided to call Maureen. I was hoping to get her answering machine, but she picked up on the second ring.

“Well, hello, stranger,” she answered.

“Hi, Maureen.” I had been planning to leave a breezy message, but now we actually had to talk. I felt so guilty. We had seen every apartment under the sun and I wasn’t satisfied with any of them.

“Tell me you found an apartment with another broker,” she demanded.

“No,” I said, shaking my head into the phone. “I haven’t even seen any since November.”

“Well, that’s a relief. You were actually on my mind. There’s a place on West 20th Street. In a carriage house. I want you to see it before the open house this weekend. Can you meet me there on Friday? If we do this right, Voula, if we don’t dilly-dally, this could be the one.”

I had stopped thinking anything could be the one. Lightning didn’t strike twice. I was pretty sure I had found the one as far as guys were concerned. I couldn’t expect to find the perfect apartment, too.

“Come on, Voula. Trust me,” she said. “You’re going to love it.”

I doubted that. But I felt like I owed Maureen something, so I wrote down the address and told her I would see her on Friday at the carriage house.

“So what’s a carriage house?” I asked when I met her two days later.

She was sitting on the stoop of a nice-looking building. I liked that this was Chelsea west of 8th Avenue. The buildings had real charm. They seemed old school, like a lost piece of New York. I was put at ease immediately.

“Hello, Voula.” She stood up. “Let me show you.”

I followed her to a gate next to the building. She opened the gate door and we walked along the side of the building into a courtyard, and beyond the courtyard was another three-story building. We entered that building and went into an apartment.

Maureen started her usual spiel as I walked around. I tuned her out. The place was small, like most of the places I had seen, probably smaller. In some neighborhoods it might have been a walk-in closet. The kitchen was separated by a wall that opened up onto a bigger—bigger being a relative term—room. There was yellow linoleum and yellow-and-white tile in the kitchen. A small table was pushed up against the wall in the bigger room. The main room was shaped like an L. So the bedroom wasn’t its own room—but you couldn’t see the bed when you first came in. Instead you saw a large closet. There was only that one closet in the whole place, but it was big.

Sun was streaming in through the courtyard. Yes, we were south facing, but I didn’t think that being on this floor it would make a difference. There was something sort of cheery about the whole place. I knew the seller would probably take the table
with two chairs with him, but I could picture myself sitting there.

In an unusual tactical move (for her), Maureen had stopped talking. I noted how odd it was to be with her in silence. She hadn’t used the phrase “you just have to have vision” once. She was letting me explore. She was letting the place sell itself.

I looked at her.

She raised her eyebrows and broke the silence. “Are you in love, Voula?”

I was taken aback. “With the place?”

“That…and in general. You look different.”

“Well, yeah, I’m in love with a boy—a man. A fireman.”

She laughed. “And here?”

“Well.” This was strange. I could see it all. I would buy a smaller desk. It would fit perfectly. Honestly, I felt a little dizzy. I needed reality.

“What’s the maintenance?” I asked. If nothing else, I’d learned the right questions to ask.

“623.”

Good, not great.

“The owner occupancy?”

“80 percent.”

The banks would go for that.

“The co-op? They’ve got to be tough, huh?”

“Two of my colleagues have sold places here and the buyers went through approval with no problem. In one instance the credit report of the buyer was nowhere near as good as yours is.” She was smirking. “I must also say that there is storage and laundry in the front building.”

I rarely bought anything spontaneously—not even shoes. I really liked the place, though.

“I need to think about it,” I said.

“How long did you think about the boy, the man, the fireman?” She hadn’t seen me in months but she was completely comfortable making fun of me. Maybe it was the bond we shared from the Great Blackout.

“A long time, at least three weeks.” I felt a small victory.

“But really, how long did it take you to
know?
”

Touché.

“I know you aren’t going to tell me right now, but there is an open house this weekend. You can see how well this place shows.”

“I’ll call you on Monday.”

“That could be too late.”

“I’m going to have to take that chance,” I said.

The next day I was slathering baby oil on Jamie’s naked torso. Jamie was superstitious. In lieu of a shower before the baby was born, Jamie requested a belly cast. I had no idea what that was until Jamie sent me a link. Apparently we could make a mold of Jamie’s belly and then decorate it for posterity. Paul said that it sounded crunchy, but kept asking me if any of us were going to get naked. I had no idea what to expect.

Once again, I had eluded hanging out with Joseph. I still cringed when Paul pulled out condoms.

Jamie, Maura, Morgan, Crystal, Ana and I snacked on wine and cheese as we got down to business. Raj had the digital camera, and I wondered if these types of pictures were the kind you e-mailed around. As usual, Ana was directing traffic while Crystal regaled us with stories from her dysfunctional life. I was assigned the job of greasing up Jamie.

“Voula’s probably most familiar with her breasts,” Maura cackled.

Jamie stripped off her shirt and bra. She folded her sweat-pants down low under her giant belly. There is no way I would have felt comfortable being naked in front of this many people, least of all my mother, but Jamie didn’t care.

Her whole upper body was shiny from the Vaseline. Sparky tried to lick it and kept barking. Eventually, Raj banished him to the other room.

Jamie giggled. “I feel like I’m about to make a porno.”

“I’ll get the DV cam for that one,” Raj said.

The look she gave him made me think it wouldn’t be the first time.

Ana told Jamie what position to get into. She sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch at an angle. Morgan and Maura placed the strips of cast after Crystal and I had dipped them in warm water. Ana continued to direct traffic and refill wineglasses.

“Make sure you get it all the way down to the pubic line,” Ana yelled. She had done extensive Internet research.

“What happens to this thing?”

“When it’s dry we paint it and then decorate it,” Morgan said.

“Basically, it’s some sort of neo-hippie tribal ritual,” Crystal added.

After the strips were laid, we sat around and chatted while the cast hardened around Jamie. We fed her bits of cheese because she couldn’t move. I liked this idea. I was definitely going to write about it for
On the Verge
magazine. It was a great way to get your women friends involved.

“My boyfriend kept asking me about this,” Morgan admitted.

“Mine too,” I said, smiling. Finally, I had something to contribute on the boyfriend front.

Ana and Crystal shook their heads, happy they didn’t have to deal with what they considered juvenile behavior.

“I’m just glad I didn’t get kicked out,” Raj said from behind the camera.

He was used to following people around for all his reality shows. He was good at it too. I kept forgetting he was there and feeling like there were only women. Jamie told us about the Lamaze course she was going to start and when she would schedule her tour of the hospital. We had a long talk about breastfeeding, and Jamie reiterated that she was more scared of that than the labor.

“What about the episiotomy?” Raj asked, reminding us once again that there was a boy present, though one who perhaps knew too much.

“Where’s Alice?” I asked Morgan.

“She’s being really insane about the baby,” Jamie said.

“Yeah, her mother-in-law was supposed to baby-sit, but then let it slip that her father-in-law had a sore throat and Alice got totally paranoid,” Morgan said. There was dissention in the Olsen Twins ranks.

I was about to tell them about the apartment I’d seen, but Ana said it was time to pull the cast off. That was a job she trusted to no one. I feared that she would break the cast and we would have to start again, but it came off quickly. Then we had a big cast of Jamie’s belly. It was wacky.

“The Vaseline really did the trick. I’m so glad I did my research,” Ana said.

“I think I’m going to put a sweater on,” Jamie said.

“Crystal, are you going to paint it?” Ana asked. I think it was more of a demand.

“Yep. Hey, Jamie, you still want the sunflower?” Crystal yelled into the other room.

“Yeah,” Jamie yelled, coming back into the room. “Can you put a sunflower over a light green background?” Jamie rubbed the glistening area below her neck. “I think I actually need a shower.”

As Crystal painted, the rest chilled out—drinking wine, eating cheese and listening to Maura talk about how she felt about her body when her kids were born. I was surprisingly interested in what Maura had to say. She made pregnancy seem cool and powerful and female. My mother had been pregnant just as many times. Had she ever felt those things?

Crystal had to let the coat of green paint dry, so the big giant green belly was set aside. We moved on to pizza and Raj made himself scarce. I noticed again how Jamie was changing—it wasn’t just her monstrous belly, it was something about her demeanor that I couldn’t put my finger on. She was quieter. Maybe it was her fear of labor.

We were pretty buzzed by the time the paint dried. Crystal suggested that we write the stuff we wanted to write on the back before she started the sunflower. She worried that it was going to take even longer and be harder to correct if it dripped.

“What stuff?” I asked Jamie.

“I wanted you all to write messages to the baby. You know, so that she can read them when she gets older.”

“Like what?” This really troubled me.

“I don’t know. Tell her what I’m like, tell her what you hope,” Jamie said.

She hadn’t really answered my question.

“Tell him to respect women,” Ana said.

“Tell her to love women,” Crystal said.

“Tell her all she needs to know is how to give a good blow job,” Maura whispered, pointing out once again the vast difference between my mother and everyone else’s.

“You’re the writer, so I gave you the left boob,” Jamie said, squeezing my arm. “Don’t tell me you need time to think about it.”

“Maybe just a little.” Maybe the wine had affected my writing. Would the child look back and wonder why its mother’s friends were such lushes? I let everyone else go before me, and then luckily, when it was my turn, everyone was listening to one of Crystal’s endless ex-lover stories.

I stared at the inside of the left boob. Someday an adult or at least a teen was going to look at what I was about to write. Jamie didn’t just have a big ol’ belly. There was a person growing inside there. Someday that person would have trouble believing its mother was ever this young. The life Jamie had had would kind of not exist. It was already changing. Jeez! It was nuts to imagine what was in store for this whole new life. We were traveling forward and soon the kid would be here. Why the hell had I drunk so much wine? I felt outside myself, aware of too many possibilities. I was afraid.

“And so that’s when I decided never to date anyone with brain damage again,” Crystal said.

If that wasn’t the end of an ex-lover story, I didn’t know what was. I picked up the Sharpie and wrote: “Hey, little baby. I hope everything goes your way. Let me know if you need anything. Aunt Voula.”