Friendship Bread (25 page)

Tom runs a hand through his hair. “Wow. I mean … wow.”

“I know. It’s like they say, that when you’re all uptight and anxious about getting pregnant, it’s harder to get pregnant, but when you finally just let it go, it happens …”

“Are you absolutely sure? I mean, could this test be wrong?”

Livvy feels the smile fall from her face.

“What did the doctor say?” Tom asks.

“I didn’t see the doctor yet. I have an appointment to go in tomorrow.”

“So it’s possible that the test is wrong? I mean, he has to check it first, right?”

Livvy doesn’t know what he’s saying. Or maybe she does. She grabs the stick from his hands. “It’s possible, but it’s not likely. I’m pregnant, Tom. It’s what we said we wanted! Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am happy, Livvy. It’s just that …” Tom looks at her, distraught. “We’re up to our eyeballs in debt, in case you haven’t noticed. We have one car and we’ve borrowed against our mortgage. I don’t think this is the ideal environment to be bringing up a child.”

What
is
the ideal environment for bringing up a child? Financial security is only one part of the equation. What about love? Family? Money isn’t the only thing that makes the world go round.

Tom adds reluctantly, “Also, I might be out of a job.”

“You might be out of a job?” Livvy stares at him. She eases herself into the chair next to him. “What do you mean?”

He sighs heavily. “My numbers suck. It’s been a crappy year for everybody. Even if they don’t fire me, I should probably quit and look for a better job. You, too.”

“Me? But I like my job at the
Gazette
.”

“I know, Liv, but it doesn’t pay. We’re never going to get out of debt at this rate.” He eyes the bottle of sparkling apple cider chilling in a bucket of ice and softens. “This is for real? You’re really pregnant?”

Livvy nods, though she doesn’t feel as happy anymore. “It’s real.”

“Have you told anyone else yet?”

She shakes her head. “Edie knows, because she was there, but I thought I’d go to the doctor first to see how far along I am. We should probably wait until the first trimester passes before telling anyone …” Livvy knows she’s not fooling anyone. She plans to call her parents before she even leaves the doctor’s office. She almost called Julia this afternoon, her finger hovering over the keypad of her cell phone. But she didn’t.

Tom still looks overwhelmed. He pulls Livvy into his lap. “Pregnant.” He swallows, digesting this. “Maybe I’ll skip work tomorrow, go to the doctor with you. Would that be all right?”

It would be more than all right. Livvy is suddenly laughing and crying. “But what about work? The money?”

He shrugs, pretending not to care. “They’re going to fire me anyway. We’ll figure it out.” He gives her a kiss and then holds her. Tight.

They sit this way for a long time. Tom, Livvy, and their little poppy seed of a baby, so full of possibility and hope for their future.

“Come here,
mamacita.
” Richard pulls the covers back invitingly as Edie retreats back to bed from the bathroom.

“I know you think you’re being charming, but it’s not funny.” She’s been nauseous ever since she made Richard run the blood test to confirm the pregnancy, and she is definitely pregnant. They have an ultrasound scheduled in a couple of days to determine the due date and size of the baby since Edie’s erratic periods (and her lack of interest in maintaining any record-keeping) are keeping them in the dark as to when she actually conceived. Correction: when “they” conceived. Edie is still getting used to the coupling terminology, and while she’s happy to include Richard in every part of this, let there be no mistake that “they” will not both be giving birth.

Richard gives her belly an affectionate pat. “I’m not trying to be funny, sweetheart. You are going to be somebody’s mommy.” He bends down to give her tummy a gentle kiss then lays his head in her lap. “You know, it is kind of interesting that you only started having morning sickness after we confirmed the pregnancy.”

Edie pops a ginger candy into her mouth and then decides on a second one to be safe. “Richard, first of all, it’s not
that
interesting. I highly doubt anyone would be as remotely riveted as you. Second of all, it’s not morning sickness because I feel nauseous
all of the time
.” Case in point—it’s 10:00
P.M
. “Third, if you insinuate one more time that this is all in my head, I will personally put you out of
my
misery and then tell the police it was hormones.”

Richard gives a chuckle. He weaves his fingers through Edie’s. “So …” he begins quietly.

She groans, knowing what’s coming. “Richard, if this is going to be one of those ‘we should get married because of the baby’ conversations, I don’t want to have it.” Edie shakes her hand free and burrows under the covers, her back to him. She just wants to sleep. All of the time, unfortunately.

Richard leans over her. “Edie, we’ve never had that conversation. I know your feelings on this. And I respect them.”

Her voice wafts out from under the down comforter. “So why do I feel like we’re going to have this conversation now?”

He gently tugs at the edge of the comforter until it falls away from Edie’s fingers. “Because I need you to respect my feelings on this. Do
you even know what my feelings are? We’ve known for three days that you’re pregnant, and we haven’t once talked about the future.”

“The future.” Edie says the words with a frown.

“Yes, the future. Our future.”

“You want the future? Fine.” Edie tosses off the blankets and props herself up on her elbows. “Here’s the future. In nine months we’re going to have a baby. Which means I have nine months to try and launch my pathetic career as a journalist before I become one of those breastfeeding mothers in Birkenstocks who hangs out by the bulk bins at the health food store. Is that future enough for you?”

Richard looks put out. “It’s enough of
your
future. I’m not exactly clear as to how I fit into the equation.”

“You’re the guy who’ll be changing diapers and getting up in the middle of the night with a bottle.”

“Edie.” Richard looks pissed now. “It goes without saying that I will be the guy changing diapers and getting up in the middle of the night. I don’t have a problem with that, and you know it. But I do have a problem with you thinking that’s all there is. What about marriage, Edie?
I want to marry you
. I know you want to marry me. So what the hell are we waiting for?”

Edie stares up at the ceiling. She doesn’t know how she can make him understand. She’s not discontent with her life or with Avalon exactly, but all of her alumni magazines show former classmates bragging about their successes, their publications, their good works, and it’s starting to get to her. The only thing that doesn’t bother her is hearing about people’s growing families. To that she just rolls her eyes and thinks,
Better you than me
. She finds it ironic that the gods messed this one up and gave her the one thing she cares least about.

“Richard, I just want to focus on work for a little while longer. It’s easy for you—you took over an existing medical practice and boom—office, patients, a secretary, a nurse, even an aquarium. You’re Dr. Richard. Everybody loves you.” She doesn’t begrudge Richard’s popularity but it’s Richard’s, not hers. “I just want to do my thing, make
my
mark. And reporting on a whack job who’s been secretly
stealing people’s newspapers and switching their garden hoses isn’t going to wow the major papers.”

Richard falls back against the pillows, frustrated. He throws an arm over his face and grits his teeth. “Edie … Edie … Edie …” He says her name like a mantra.

“Richard, I just want one big story,” she begs. “And I think I have it, with this Amish Friendship Bread stuff. And I found something else, too. There’s a sweet bread, Hemin, circulating among believers of Saint Pio of Pietrelcina, also known as Padre Pio. You make this holy bread, read the prayer that comes with it, and, of course, split up the starter and share it with other people. Naturally the Vatican and official Padre Pio prayer groups deny this, but it doesn’t stop people from giving it a try, just in case. The instructions differ a bit from Amish Friendship Bread, but it’s basically the exact same thing. You should hear the stories of all the ‘supposed’ miracles that people …”

“Enough. Stop.” Richard gently grasps her chin and turns her to face him. “I don’t care about Hemin bread or Padre Pio, Edie.”

Edie squirms. “Okay, but …”

“Hush.” There’s a determined look on his face, one that Edie hasn’t seen before. “I know you hate surprises, so consider this fair warning: I will be planning a special dinner soon in which I intend to ask a particular question.”

“Oh, Richard.” Edie can’t hide the crestfallen expression on her face. She loves in principle that her boyfriend of eight years is a romantic, but she has made it clear that she hates surprises, especially surprises that might result in any kind of photo opportunity. “Can’t you just wait a little longer?”

“No, I most certainly cannot.” He says this firmly. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m even giving you a heads-up. This is not exactly how I wanted to do it, but I want you to have time to think about this and who knows, maybe even get excited about it.”

Edie never played dress-up where she pictured herself as a bride or getting married. She’s not against it, she just doesn’t think it’s something
every couple has to do. And for eight years things have been going so well. Why wreck it?

She’s almost forgotten that she’s pregnant (could there be a bigger wrecking ball?) until a wave of nausea makes her clap her hand to her mouth. It passes.

“So essentially this is the proposal before the proposal,” she recaps, swallowing hard.

“No. I’m not proposing that I propose to you. I
am
going to propose to you, Edith Whitting Gallagher.” Richard pushes himself out of bed and pads into the hallway, probably to get a late-night snack, or to make more toast for Edie. “So be ready.”

The Avalon Wash and Dry is the town’s only self-service laundry facility. Located on the corner of Main and Grove, the Avalon Wash and Dry boasts eight top loaders, thirty-eight front loaders, and thirty-six dryers. Hours are from 5:00
A.M
. to 11:00
P.M
. every day, including holidays.

Connie Colls started working at the Wash and Dry in high school. It was the perfect part-time job—sweeping and cleaning, stocking vending machines with change and small packets of detergent and dryer sheets, calling in broken machines. When she graduated high school with no real job prospects, Connie accepted a full-time position as the daytime Laundromat attendant.

She knows it’s not as glamorous as some of the things her classmates have gone on to do, but Connie is happy. It’s an easy job, and one that she does well. The pay isn’t great and the benefits are lousy, but there are perks that keep things interesting.

She makes money on the side by helping her customers fold their
laundry or taking their laundry out when the cycle is done. She’s technically not supposed to do this, but seeing how she knows pretty much everyone who comes in here, she’s not too worried about getting into trouble.

Other than that, there’s not very much going on. Prompted by her own boredom, Connie suggested the addition of a few soda and water vending machines. She set up an informal kid’s area for toddlers and little kids so that tired moms could have a moment of peace to fold their laundry. There’s a lend-and-leave bookshelf and two neat stacks of magazines and newspapers. Connie painted the walls a light and airy sea foam green, replacing all of the hand-printed signs with ones printed from her computer. She added a couple more with clever puns, including one that said, “It’s a dirty world out there—let us help you clean up!” It was her idea to offer free Wi-Fi (which lets her surf the Web at her leisure) and install a television in one corner that plays funny movies. Both have been big hits with the customers.

Connie is good at being inconspicuous. Her customers know she’s there, but in a way she’s considered part of the scenery—she doesn’t really count. Which means that they’ll say whatever it is they want to say in front of her. Connie jots down interesting anecdotes in a little notebook that she keeps in the back room, thinking that someday she might write a book.
My Life in a Laundromat
or maybe something catchier like
It All Comes Out in the Wash
. Something like that.

She knows business is good, because each week there are a few more new customers and the old ones keep coming back. Sometimes there’s a wait for the machines. The owner seems happy each time he visits, and the last time he brought someone with him. They both praised her, said she was doing an amazing job, and when the owner was leaving he gave Connie a thumbs-up.

Her latest idea was the community bulletin board. She bought a framed corkboard and hung it under the clock, and in less than twelve hours it was filled with business cards. In twenty-four hours she had flyers, too.

Connie is careful to look through the board and remove any items that have expired or no longer seem useful. She hates the cheesy business
opportunities (
WORK FROM HOME! EARN $100,000 IN ONE MONTH!
) and yanks those off the board right away. She likes the ones giving away cute puppies, the colorful flyers for yoga classes, the moving sales with lists of items going cheap or “OBO.” The bottom line for Connie is that whatever is on the board has to be of service to the community. She’s adamant about that.

A couple of months ago someone posted a question on a small card.

MY AMISH FRIENDSHIP BREAD STARTER GREW MOLD! WHY??
Another card quickly followed, written by another person.

WHY CAN’T I USE METAL FOR MY AFB STARTER?

And then,

I HAVE AFB STARTER COMING OUT OF MY EARS! CAN I FREEZE IT?

The responses filled the cards—some in pencil, some in pen, all in different handwriting. Then there were more cards, and more responses, until half of the community board was taken up with questions about Amish Friendship Bread.