... and Baby Makes Two (24 page)

And they took that answer, with no more poking or pushing. They rose to leave, and Ray was visibly delighted. At last, the interrogation was over.

“Well, I always say, there's a Jack for every Jill. A lid for every pot. I bet you'll find some nice divorced daddy and make a big ol' family. That's my bet.”

Jane saw a different plot twist in her future, but she smiled and nodded and helped them gather their coats and bags. It was still raining, so Rita wore her clear plastic scarf and accepted an umbrella from Jane.

“You're a love! Can I give you a big hug?” Rita didn't wait for an answer, but gave Jane hugs, and kisses. Oh, there were hugs and
kisses all around. Ray kept nudging them toward the door. He led the way down the stairs.

Rita turned and shouted, “We'll come visit again after the baby comes!”

“Mom!”

It took them a long time to get down the stairs.

Peter had to go to L.A. He had to. You can't break up with your wife by voice mail. Jane knew that one already. It was only a weekend, but he had to go there and see her and tell her and maybe fall back in love with her perky perkiness. He kissed Jane sweetly and wished Jane wouldn't worry so much. Jane tried to grant his wish. After all, it was only a weekend with his wife. What's to worry about? Everything.

So Jane distracted herself for the weekend by helping Barbara assemble the materials for her big China-moms Seminar in the Living Room. Did Barbara really need a T.A. for this? Jane didn't think so. Her responsibilities included copying, stapling, and pretending to be the evil Maleficent from
Sleeping Beauty
for Rachel, who then dashed off to a playdate for the afternoon.

“So. Are you going to marry Peter?” Barbara asked during the stapling marathon. Jane remembered how Barbara always liked to start with the hard questions. She kept her students alert that way.

“I don't know.”

“When is he getting his divorce?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you think his wife is going to make it difficult?

She could. Are they California residents? Wouldn't that mean community property laws and all that?”

“Still with the ‘Don't Know.' ”

Jane stopped stapling. She figured she had just flunked a quiz about her own life. Talk about demoralizing.

“Find out,” said Barbara. “You can't make plans or decisions until you know all this and a whole lot more. He's going to be in your daughter's life. But how much? And how soon? This is happening fast, Janie. Find out.”

Why did Barbara have to smash her happy plans with all these petty details? Jane stapled with indignation. Eventually she ran out of paper to staple together. She looked up and saw Barbara smiling at her the same way she smiled when Rachel was deep into one of her “I can do it myself scenes. She gingerly took the stack of papers from Jane and said, “Find out.”

…

Barbara opened the lecture/discussion with advice about the first weeks home: stock your fridge and make sure you have someone checking on you. Jane was still seething. Find out. She trusted Peter. The man had just flown across the country to end his very Catholic marriage so that he could be with her! Find out, indeed. When are we getting married?
Are
we getting married?

“As for your daughter's potential health issues—I'm going to arrange for a separate seminar with Dr. Val. She's the top pediatrician for international adoptions. She'll prep you better than I can.”

Find out. Oh, Jane would find out all right. Hey. Wait. What did Barbara just say about public school vs. private school? Jane kicked herself for missing Barbara's lecture/discussion.

“… and those are some of the main factors to consider when you're choosing child care. Any questions?”

Karen's hand shot up.

“This sheet here about day care centers? These prices can't be right. This has to be top-of-the line, luxury day care for Kennedys. Where's the real-person day care?”

“This is it.” Everyone turned and looked at Karen, who now had red splotches on her cheeks. Her eyes were wide. Was she starting to cry?

“No. This can't be it. I can't afford this. What am I doing? Why didn't someone tell me it was going to be this expensive? I can't swing this. No way.”

Karen was starting to cry. Her friends circled around her and tried to make comforting sounds as they patted her back. Karen was crying full out.

“Do I have to cancel this adoption?” she managed to say.

Barbara stepped in and said, “Could everyone leave us alone? Jane? Could you take them into the kitchen? This might be a good time for a break”

Jane managed to take care of her fellow students and be the official eavesdropper for the group. She heard, “I need a better job” and “Why didn't I know this?” a few times. She heard the Microsoft melody as Barbara booted up her computer. She heard “budget,” and then things got quiet for a while.

“Is she canceling her dossier?” Teresa asked.

“Shhhh!”

Jane heard “budget” a few more times, followed by “a lot of bologna sandwiches.” She peeked in and saw Karen and Barbara hugging. Barbara signaled to Jane that everyone could come in. And Jane paid strict attention for the rest of the afternoon.

“Ladies, this is single motherhood you're facing. It's so hard I'm not even going to try to describe it. It's all down to you: paying the bills, helping with homework, fixing boo-boos, and playing games. And so much more. You have to know that you can do this alone. Can you?”

Jane looked around. She saw finals week exhaustion and terror
on the faces of the Chinamoms. Barbara looked as if she had so much more to say but didn't have the heart to beat any more information into these tired women.

“Good night, you guys. Get some rest. While you can.” And the Chinamoms climbed out of her sofa like they were climbing out of an open grave.

Teresa sighed and said, “God, I think my head's going to explode.”

Karen took Jane aside and whispered, “She must have been a marvelous teacher. I think she just saved my life.”

“Jane!” Barbara called. “Can I say one more thing to you?”

Jane went back to her teacher, who said, “I don't want you to be unhappy, Jane. Maybe things will work out with Peter after all. But I think you need to know that you can do this on your own if you have to. If anyone can, you can.”

Jane wanted to be flattered, but she got stuck on the “maybe.” Maybe things will work out? Things
will
work out with Peter. Too depleted to fight much, she only managed a quiet, “Things will work out with Peter.”

He had not called or e-mailed during the trip. Okay it was only a weekend, but still. She missed him. And now Jane prepared herself for anything, everything, nothing: Peter was going to ask
her to marry him. Peter was going to pack his things and move to California. Peter was going to become a bride of Christ. Anything.

He didn't say anything for a while as he held her to his chest like a teddy bear. The good smell had survived transcontinental flights. In her list, preparing for his return, she hadn't included “Peter was going to be silent.”

“Okay Peter. Just tell me. What happened with your wife? With Bianca.” Saying her name took a little effort.

Eventually Peter sat down and spoke. “She was so angry. I never heard her voice like that.” Peter seemed to be starting his story in the middle, which was fine. He surprised Bianca with this visit. She took it as a romantic gesture, which led to deep, loud anger.

“This is going to be complicated, and I haven't even told my parents yet. That's when it will all become real. When I tell my father that I'm getting—” He didn't finish that sentence.

“Anyway,” he resumed. “As bad as that was, telling my parents will be worse. They're old-school Catholics. Very old-school. Fish on Fridays and all that.”

“My mom opted for microwave pizza on Fridays. No pepperoni, though.”

Peter didn't seem to hear her.

“I'm dreading telling them. It'll be even worse than telling Bianca.”

He was studying her ceilings and floors. The silence was very hard to take.

“Peter. You don't have to do anything for my sake. It's not like I'm pregnant. You don't have to make an honest woman of me. I made my own choices. You make yours.”

“What? Jane. This is something I have to do.”

“No, you don't have to do anything.”

“Yes, I do. I love you.”

Thank God.

…

Teresa and Karen officially invited Ray to the Melting Pot dinners. Karen stood up and declared, “Welcome to the henhouse!” when he walked over to the table. They ordered, they gossiped, they complained about the wait.

“When are we going to get our referrals? I thought we were supposed to know by now! And where's Teresa? Why is everything about waiting?”

Ray consoled them and compared the wait to enduring the four-hour
Virginia Cycle
he had just reviewed/eviscerated for the
Times.
It was a musical about the Civil War that consisted of the same story told from seven points of view, including that of an earthworm.

“I made Burton go with me, and I swear I thought he was going to divorce me.”

“Speaking of divorce,” said Jane. “I have news.”

Ray very nearly pounced on her.

“It's about Peter, isn't it? Don't think I haven't noticed your oh-so-discreet silence on this topic. You haven't talked about him in forever. What have you been doing?”

She told them every detail, every eyelash of Peter's return, Peter's impending divorce, Peter's selfless sacrifices for Jane. She was discreetly vague about the fact that she was sleeping with Peter. She left out Barbara's “find out” and “maybe” comments.

Ray didn't try to comment. He didn't even blink. Jane knew that look. It was his analytic mode. He was going to seize some particular adjective and use it as proof positive that Jane was hopelessly neurotic, or that Peter was, or that life was pointless.

Karen was a highly satisfying audience member. She smiled, winced, and occasionally let her mouth fall open—especially when the story revealed to this single-mother-to-be that Jane was no longer a single-mother-to-be.

“So, Jane. This whole thing—it makes you sort of different from me, and from Teresa.”

Jane froze. No, it didn't, she thought. Peter's presence changed nothing. Karen responded to Jane's freeze.

“It's okay. We'll be the single moms, and you'll be the married mom. We don't have to be the same. But we all need to eat. What's keeping Teresa, anyway? You know you'll have to repeat this whole sordid tale to her. But don't stop now. When is he moving in?”

Ray was still quiet. He scooted his chair over when Teresa slipped in quietly, looking rather pale. She ordered a martini.

“Jane has been telling us about her love life,” Ray said quietly. “And we, who have no lives, salute her.”

Jane stopped her story. She saw that Teresa's hands were shaking. Her makeup was smudged near her eyes. Something was wrong.

Teresa started telling her story to Jane, but soon everyone at the table was listening.

“For months now, I've been waiting to see who was going to drop out of this adoption. Karen, you have financial issues, but I think you've worked them out. Jane, you're so tangled up with Peter, and you think we don't know it, but my money has been on you all this time. You'll marry him and make babies the way couples do. Or you'll dump him. Or he'll dump you. Or something. Anyway, I thought you were a goner.”

Jane's pale face was flushed. Was Teresa trying to start a fight? Before Jane could ask her, Teresa continued.

“But now, I put the odds on me.”

At earlier dinners, she had told the story of how she let word of the adoption circulate at the office. And Victor, her ex, had given his famous speech about Chinese babies as the ultimate (returnable) accessory. Eventually, he offered a chilly “Congratulations,” but they never spoke of it again. But then, their conversations were never personal anymore. He had said enough.

Everyone knew that Victor was dating someone young, someone not perimenopausal. If Teresa was bothered by this, she didn't let
on. Jane thought that this had to be the acid test for mental health. After the first time Teresa saw them together, she gave a detailed description of the girl: pretty in an ornamental way, rail thin, blond, and bearing a passing resemblance to a young Teresa. This aspect was flattering, but Teresa made it clear to all the Chinamoms that she had moved on with her life. Her apartment renovation had commanded her full attention. Jane noticed that Teresa said more about her plumber than about Victor. Until tonight.

“Want to know why I'm late? Hmm? I was all set to leave, but Victor and his little chippy with the winter tan—I mean, his girlfriend—were giggling away in the lobby. So, I'm a mature adult and I decided to wait at my desk until they left, thus avoiding the awkward scene, and aren't I nice?”

She held her empty martini glass aloft and signaled the waiter for a refill.

“So I waited. I waited. But they were lingering there, because that's what truly evil people do. It was like they were never leaving. So fine. I went out.”

When her waiting was done, Teresa strode out to the lobby and pushed the glass doors open. She tossed a quick “Good night” over her shoulder, proud of her cool maturity. The glass door closed, and she froze. She turned. The girlfriend was standing up, and she had a distinct belly. She was pregnant. She was very, very pregnant.

Teresa was staring. Victor shielded his young, pregnant girlfriend from Teresa's gaze. He stepped outside to Teresa.

“You're probably wondering—” was all he managed to say.