... and Baby Makes Two (20 page)

Karen visited first, and announced, through e-mail:

“Can we come over? We have a present!” We. Peter was a “we.” And Jane—“she”—had no handy excuses. Of course they could come over. They.

They showed up at her door. And she—Bianca—looked even tanner and perkier than she had before. It made her eyes brighter. Peter smiled at Jane as if this whole scene were just the most natural thing in the world. Didn't he always bring his wife over? Didn't he?

Jane fussed with glasses and coasters and snacks and napkins, in order to maintain balance and speak like a reasonably mature mother-to-be. She was faking it.

Bianca said, “Peter tells me you fixed this place up yourself. Good job! Good for you!”

“Thank you.”

Jane struggled to prevent an awkward pause, but Peter saved the day when he asked, “Did your nieces and nephews go crazy on Christmas morning? Must have been quite a scene with all those little ones.”

Jane nodded, and Peter sounded a bit gushing as he continued.

“That's what Christmas is all about: kids. Without them, it's really kind of selfish and weird. Don't you think? Are you going to spoil your daughter at Christmas? I hope so.”

And that's when Jane saw Bianca roll her eyes. But why, exactly? If only Jane could ask.

But Bianca changed the subject and said, “We would have brought your present at Christmas, but Peter was so sure you wouldn't be there!”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I figured you'd go back to the city. I thought we'd missed you. Didn't you say you were going back to the city?”

“Wrong again.” Bianca sounded so cheerful when she said that. “Peter says I spilled the beans about your adoption—”

“You did, and we're so, so sorry—”

“But I think he's just trying to be gloomy. It was a nice visit, wasn't it?” Bianca rolled right over him.

There were no awkward pauses until Jane sat down and tried to smile. And then an angel passed over. Jane searched her mind but had nothing socially acceptable to say. Finally Bianca made a chirpy sound and said, “Your present! We almost forgot!”

She reached into a bag and grinned slyly.

“Okay maybe this doesn't really count as a present, but we thought you might like it.” She retrieved a paperback book, probably four inches thick:
The Insider's Guide to Mainland China
by Bianca

Hartley. Jane had forgotten to put China guidebooks on any of her lists. This was actually helpful. This was a great present. Damn.

“I wrote this right after Hong Kong was handed back to China, and I got to travel everywhere. Remember that, Peter? We had an e-mail marriage for, like, six months. Remember?”

Peter nodded. It looked like he remembered.

Jane thumbed through the book. It looked so thorough and smart. Damn.

“Thank you,” Jane said. “I really needed this. It's great.”

“I know the editor who does all those ‘baby in the city' books. I can hook you up with some of those too. But you're not really going to stay in the city are you? And climb all those stairs with a baby? Really? Maybe you should move in with your dad! Wouldn't that be super!”

Jane felt so invaded she didn't manage an answer. But Peter did.

“I think she'll move out when she's ready to move out. We don't need to push her.”

Bianca flinched. She had been looking steadily at Jane throughout the conversation, and she kept her gaze on her hostess, even as she answered her husband.

“I know. I'm not pushing her. I'm just saying, it's way too hard to raise kids in the city”

“I know. I'm agreeing with you. But this is Jane's decision. It's her baby”

“I know. But I'm saying, it's way too hard to just
live
in this city”

Were they starting to fight? And would it be wrong to enjoy that? Bianca kept talking.

“Look, I did my New York City time, and I got it out of my system. All done. I mean, that's why I told
Everyman Guide
that I didn't want the editing gig out here. Forget it. The city ages you two years for every one year you live here. Stress, stress, stress.”

Peter kept looking at Bianca, who kept looking at Jane.

“You turned down a job?”

Bianca was busy snacking on the edamame Jane had placed on
the table. She nodded her head and couldn't have seen Peter clench his jaw and look up at the ceiling. But Jane saw it.

“No offense,” Bianca said to Jane. “But tomorrow morning I am getting on a plane, and I can hardly wait. And you want to know the truth? A married couple in a studio? Bad idea. Much too confrontational.”

“You turned down a job here in the city? And you didn't even tell me? Bianca?”

Jane watched the show but offered no visible reaction.

…

At the next Melting Pot dinner, Jane wished that she could empty the restaurant and have Barbara all to herself. She needed to take Howard's Conversation of Doom off her shoulders and hand it to someone else. She wanted someone to make sense of Married Peter for her. Barbara would know what to say to make it better.

But the table was full. Arlene nodded a lot, but still kept her conversation under twelve words. Charm was excited because Megan had promised to try really hard to come to the restaurant with little Stella. Teresa summoned a high chair for the table. And once again, Jane and little Rachel sang Disney tunes. Karen was late, and so was Greta.

“Actually, I don't think Greta is coming tonight.” Barbara tossed this off as if it were nothing, really nothing, no big deal. The group ordered their food (Rachel wanted fries with a side of fries) and complained about winter. No big deal.

Greta did arrive, and Barbara was surprised to see her. They talked quietly, off to one side, and Jane missed it all. They were having a Scene. Barbara returned to the table, and Greta soon followed.

“Look, everybody, I think I have a right to say what I'm going to say, so I'll say it.”

Jane only heard, “Say … say … say it.”

“You have no clue what you're getting into. I mean,
I
didn't. But I spent last Sunday with Megan and baby Stella, and I wanted to
throw up and die. She cried all day. She shit all over the couch, and that was a good couch, I could tell. But not anymore. Now it has a shit stain.”

“All babies cry” Barbara said in a telephone-lady voice. “And they all move their bowels.”

“She cried
all the time!
And she shit her own weight on that couch. It was huge. That couch is ruined. She'll never get that out. It was huge.”

The man at the next table gave a pained look that he hoped would say so much. Greta didn't notice.

“And Megan smelled awful. She hurt her back, because Stella doesn't like to be put down. She can't put her in the stroller—she has to carry her everywhere. All the time. And she cries even louder if Megan takes a shower, so forget that. So Megan just smells. And I mean, I have never seen so much actual shit in my whole life.”

The pained-expression man cried out, “We're eating!”

Greta didn't hear him.

“And sleep? She doesn't sleep. She can barely manage to eat whatever food she can find in the fridge. She has no life. I don't know how she'll make it back to work in one piece. It was a nightmare. It was an eye-opener. Is this what you want for your lives? I don't. I don't care what I've spent. I don't care if I wreck the Chinese government. I'm canceling my fucking dossier. As of now.”

The food arrived and Greta departed. Pained-expression man applauded, but the Founding Mothers table was silent. Finally:

“I don't think she should swear in front of a kid.” It was Arlene.

They ate for a little while before Barbara spoke again.

“Greta's right. She's right to quit now, before it's too late. I hope that you all know that you can stop this, if you want to. All you have to do is call me. But please, you don't have to ruin dinner for an entire restaurant, okay? Rachel, you can't eat just fries, honey”

Jane focused her thoughts on the child who might have been matched with Greta. What will become of her now? She quietly started a bet with herself: Who among these three friends, this trinity,

would quit? It would require some study. Jane wrapped this evening up with her father's Conversation of Doom and put it away. It was like a tumor.

…

Peter—just Peter—“he” had yet another gift for Jane: a deluxe baby wipes warmer. She didn't have this item on any of her lists. She didn't know what it was. But he did.

“What if you're changing her diaper in the middle of the night and you go to wipe her bottom with a cold wipe? She'll cry and resent you, and then she'll have to have years of therapy. But this little invention will keep the wipes warm, and she'll love you and make sure you get into the really good nursing home.”

She smiled at his logic.

“Thanks for sealing my fate. I'll think of you when I'm old and drooling.” And then she kissed him. And he kissed her. It lasted for three Mississippis, which is just long enough to be exciting and scary. They pulled away from each other.

“I'll put this away” Jane said to the wipes warmer. She tried to walk like a normal human being. She could hear her own heartbeat. She wondered if Peter heard it too.

Alone in the baby's room, Jane felt the echo of that kiss. Just a brush of his five o'clock shadow against her cheek. She resolved to march right back out there and kiss him again. She found him in the living room, ordering dinner over the phone. His voice sounded a bit choked.

“Brown rice, right?” he asked. She nodded. Opportunity lost. Damn.

They were already pretending that there had been no kiss, although it seemed to Jane that the entire apartment had turned red on the second Mississippi. They ate dinner and watched
Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Jane sat next to him, but then decided that she was sitting too far away for another kiss to happen. But how could she
shift closer without being obvious? Could she find an excuse to get up, then sit back down in a more kiss-friendly location? She shook her head at her own foolishness, sat back, and said, “Bianca left for California?”

“Oh. Yes. She did. Sorry we had a little fight. I didn't know about the job out here.”

“Oh.”

When was he going to kiss Jane again? Now? Tonight? Soon?

“The thing is—she's older than me, and maybe she sort of pulls rank on me. She makes every decision. She wins every fight. I gave up a lot to be married to her. When is she going to give up something for me? And that's why I need to ask you—”

For another kiss?

“—to forgive me. It was kind of awkward to have Bianca visit you, wasn't it?”

“No. It was fine. It was really fine and …” He looked at her sideways, and she knew she had to drop the Fine act. “Okay it was a
little
odd.”

“For me too. Somehow I couldn't talk her out of visiting. And I tried. Anyway, I'm starting to feel like … like …”

Like kissing Jane again?

“… like I miss her so much,” he continued. “It gets me into trouble sometimes. Like just now. That kiss. Sorry about that.”

Sorry he kissed her. Sorry. So. She let it drop. He missed his wife. Let him go. Let him go. They were quiet for a long time. James Cagney was dancing down the steps of the White House. A very athletic buck and wing. Jane smiled and closed her eyes. Let him go. Let him go. If he's sitting here missing his wife, then just let him go. She was belly breathing. She was calm. She was asleep.

And so was Peter. He fell asleep first, and she followed soon after. She eased into sleep, her head drifting to his shoulder. Their breathing synchronized. She surfaced in the predawn hours when his chin brushed her forehead. She raised her head and looked at
him, peaceful and vulnerable. He opened his eyes and quietly pulled her toward him. They lay down on her couch and slept until the sun woke them for the day.

In the morning, he held her for a while.

“Thanks for letting me crash here.”

“You're welcome.”

“This is getting confusing.” It was, but Jane didn't want it to be. Everything she wanted was in her grasp. This lovely, warm, good-smelling man, who could be a father to the daughter whose face would be revealed one day soon. It was all so close.

After a lingering hug and a forehead kiss, Peter said, “I really should go.” But he didn't go. Jane said nothing. It was all so close. She held on to him. He was holding her closer. She forgot to think. She kissed him.

“Jane.”

“Don't say anything. Not now. Not if you're going to say no.”

“No. I mean, no—I'm not going to say no. Jane. You have to know how I feel.”

“I don't. I only know that you're married.” Jane squeezed her toes under. Why did she say that?

He answered, “But here I am. Falling for you. This is impossible.”

“Falling for me? That's impossible?”

“Falling for you was easy” This time, he kissed her. And Jane's helium heart floated out of her body and into the morning sky.

…

Somehow Jane managed to concentrate on work that day. A little. And when the clock said that she could leave, Jane decided that she could not commute like a normal person, on the subway. She wanted to walk through the icy streets of the city. She wanted to move her long legs and own the city she walked on. The Irish would call it a good stretch of the legs.

You need to factor in the wind when you're getting your good stretch of the legs. Parts of Manhattan are genuine wind tunnels. Once or twice, she thought the wind might swoop her into the middle of the street. She picked up her pace.