... and Baby Makes Two (26 page)

“Because. I could climb one less flight of stairs. That's key. Did you see the nice bathroom in the place?”

Jane was too excited to notice the storm brewing over Peter's head. She was coveting that bathroom. So much marble in such a small space.

“No. We can't. I can't.” Peter sounded definite.

Jane stopped coveting for a moment. Peter continued.

“Jane, honey. Your job is in flux, remember? Outsourcing? Ring a bell?”

“Oh. Yeah. That.”

“And look at me. I just left my wife. I'm going to be going through a divorce. This is not a good time for me to buy an apartment. No. I just can't. If you like, I can give you a list—an actual list—of good reasons why this is a bad idea.”

The joy and potential of real estate had lifted Jane's face into a wide-eyed smile that wouldn't release. Maybe she could connect the two apartments. Or maybe she could sublet the upstairs apart-
ment for enough money to cover her nanny expenses. Perfect! She was sure she could talk Peter into this.

“Jane, how can we even be having this conversation? You're too smart to be dazzled by a marble bathroom. Come on.”

Jane put water on for pasta, as she thought about this. Wouldn't this be a good investment? And, “Wouldn't it be cool to sublet this place, and we'd always have control over who our upstairs neighbors were. That's a New Yorker's dream. And we'd be the landlords. And we'd make extra money. All the work I put into this place would really pay off. Think about it.”

Peter looked surprised. At what? That Jane was thinking about money? She had been thinking about it since Barbara's scary seminar. That Jane was still talking about the apartment? She didn't feel answered or defeated. Not yet. That Jane was arguing with him? She was still Irish, after all.

“Our upstairs neighbors?” he asked. “Let's be realistic here: We'll be leaving the city pretty soon. We'll be in a house. We won't have upstairs neighbors.”

Jane accidentally dumped the contents of an entire box of pasta into the boiling water. It splashed and burned her wrist. Peter was right there, with an ice cube.

“Here.”

There was a small pink teardrop shape on her wrist. It stung. Peter pressed the ice cube against it, and it slowly numbed. She studied the long bones that stood out against the back of his hand. Good hands and—look. No wedding ring.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly. It took Peter a minute to catch up. She didn't mean tonight. She meant post-city

“Well. I don't know. New Jersey, maybe.” Jane pulled her arm away. She could hold her own ice cube, thank you. “Or Long Island. Or Connecticut. I don't know. I haven't really thought about it, Jane.”

“You've thought about it a little.”

Was Peter blushing? Why? Was he busted? For what?

“Jane. Hey. Of course. I mean. I think about the future. Of course. Hey” His blush subsided. He caught his breath. “I mean, it's not like people raise kids in the city. Not most people. And there are two of us now. I just assumed, I mean, naturally, we're going to move out. To the suburbs.”

“Why?”

“Why? Schools. Backyards. All that suburban stuff. Kids love that stuff.”

Jane forgot about the boiling pasta. She wasn't hungry anymore. What an awful day she was having. Why did Peter have to pick today to become Mr. Suburbia?

“Why are you Mr. Suburbia today?”

“Are you saying we should stay in the city?”

“Did I miss an e-mail? Are you saying we have to move out of the best city in the world?”

“But it's completely selfish to raise kids in the city. You don't raise kids in the city. You just don't. That's the one thing Bianca was right about.”

Later, Jane would look back at the evening and see that as the moment this turned into a true fight. Bianca.

“Well, Bianca didn't factor in how much I love the city, and how close I am to Chinatown. Bianca doesn't know that my kid is
not
going to be the token Chinese kid in a white world. She's going to school in Chinatown. In the city. New York City”

“What about Catholic school?”

“Are you insane? I can't believe you're standing here, assuming that, of course, naturally, no question, my kid's going to be in a plaid uniform in Jersey. You're incredible.”

“Your kid. Yours. Am I even here? Am I going to be her father? How?” Jane wanted to answer him there, but he had more to say. “And why? I mean, why bother if I have no say about anything?”

He stood there, waiting for a real answer. But Jane had none.

She noticed that her pasta was now mushy baby food. She walked away from it all. No dinner and no peace.

…

The next day Kendra summoned Jane to a large conference room filled with people in dark suits and white shirts. Jane wished she could have gone to the bathroom first.

“We're ramping up a new position for you. We've factored in your work life adjustments and the demands of your new responsibilities, and we agree that you would need more coverage.”

This means, “You can't be a mom and work the kind of hours we want from you.”

“We would never terminate an expectant mother, and we're prepared to treat you as such. We have an alternate position for you, moving from IT Support to Help Desk. The hours are more manageable, and the compensation will reflect that. Read these documents for full granularity.”

This means, “You're not fired. You're demoted, and we're going to pay you less.”

Jane was too tired to translate her thoughts into Corporate Speak, so Kendra offered to revisit this topic at a future date. But Jane knew that she would have to take this demotion with a smile.

Back at her desk, Jane assembled her new budget, factoring in child care costs, and had to walk away from her Excel spreadsheet because it was so shocking. There had to be a virus screwing up the calculations. She was about to start scraping by.

Kendra ordered moving boxes. Jane was expected to vacate her office and move into a small cubicle at the Help Desk at her earliest convenience. She moved slowly. Her new, small, open space was fine. It was just small. And open. And she would have to bring home a lot of her personal touches. She packed a box for home and called for a car service.

Celeste shouted to her, “Hello, my friend! You don't work late no more? I never see you!”

Celeste's orange hair had changed to hot pink. This was probably on purpose, and it matched her lipsticked teeth. Celeste smiled broadly, then saw the box in Jane's hand. She gasped.

“Janie? They fire you? You quit? What you doing with a box?”

“I can't work late anymore. So they kind of demoted me.”

“Sue them! Sue them! You sue them for every penny, baby. I got a good lawyer for you. What happened? You sick?”

“I'm going to have a baby. I can't work late and be a mom.”

Celeste drove quietly for a while. Jane was too tired to read anything into Celeste's silence. Eventually Celeste spoke again.

“So, darling. When did you get pregnant? I don't see no baby-tummy on you, sweetheart. What happened? You happy? Some man do wrong by you? You sue him too.”

Jane explained the adoption, and Celeste was joyously relieved.

“Ah. Good. Good. Everything is good. You can be happy now. Stop complaining.”

…

“Hey, Sheila. Any new news from the doctor?” It was harder to call Sheila from a cubicle. Jane had no privacy. Sometimes she spoke in code. Sometimes she spelled things, which seemed a little bit crazy.

“He said I'm okay. He said that sometimes these miscarriages happen this early when there's something really wrong. He said we can try again.”

“And do you want to?”

“I do. I got your birthday present. You're sweet.”

Jane had sent a spa gift to Sheila. Raoul helped make the arrangements. Sheila would spend a day being massaged, manicured, facialed, and pampered. Exactly what she needed, Jane hoped.

“Janie. I got a card from Dad. A birthday card.”

“Wow.”

Howard knew nothing about Sheila's pregnancy and loss, but he knew her birthday. He bought a rhyming Hallmark card and signed it, “Love, Dad.” And that was all Sheila needed: a little movement in her direction.

“I'm going to call him on Sunday. Just for a few minutes. I'll thank him for the card and ask about his health. We'll probably talk about the weather. You know, the big stuff.”

Wow.

…

“Okay Peter. Here's the deal. My dossier is already in China, and your name isn't on it. When I get matched with a baby
I'll
be the adoptive parent. Not you. Not yet.” Jane just knew he had something highly snarky to say in response to this, so she talked a bit faster. “When we get back to the U.S., you can adopt her too. And yes, you'll be a dad. Her dad.”

Jane hadn't calculated it, but the word “dad” seemed to make Peter melt. Maybe he was still thinking about the suburbs. Maybe. But look at him: See that glint in his eye? See how his whole face softened when he tried on Dadness? He wanted this baby as much as Jane did. And Jane fell in love with him all over again.

“I'll be her dad.” His voice was tender. And maybe that was enough for now. They didn't talk about houses in the suburbs anymore. Jane wondered if they should close up that conversation, but she never managed to do it.

…

Jane had missed a handful of Melting Pot dinners as she adjusted to life as a couple, so she played catch-up at the next one. According to everyone's Web-based calculations, the group was now about a month away from referrals—that glorious day when they'd be matched with their children. Of course, Jane could be two months or even three months away, but she kept that to herself. Her dossier was just a bit later than her friends'. The tension was edible.

“Where's Charm?”

The women drew a visual short-straw to see who would tell Jane about Charm. No, she didn't come to the Melting Pot dinners anymore.

Charm's return to Dr. Laskin had resulted in a pregnancy. But the fetus was diagnosed with Down syndrome. Charm retreated to her parents' home on Long Island to think it over.

“She's done thinking. She's going to have this baby” said Arlene.

The evening turned quiet and somber, as they all ran stressful movies in their heads:
Charm Has a Down Syndrome Child.
Followed by
I Have a Down Syndrome Child.
Both movies were hard to watch.

“I spent the day with Megan and her baby” Karen changed the reel for them all. “You guys should see this little girl! Oh, Stella is just the sweetest, easiest baby!”

Teresa had to ask, “And the couch?”

“I sat on the floor. But, for the record, I changed her diaper, and it looked like a perfect little Hollywood poop.”

It took some explaining, but a Hollywood poop is the perfect picture of classic poop in terms of shape, consistency, and quantity. This was happy news, although the people at nearby tables didn't appreciate the description.

“So.” Teresa turned everyone's focus to Jane. “How is Peter the Great?”

“He's pretty great” was the easy answer. “It's like we've always been together. It's easy. I wonder why that is.”

“It means a very deep relationship in a previous life. Probably a recent one.” Karen couldn't let go of past-life theories.

“What does your father think of all this?” Teresa asked.

Jane hadn't told Howard yet. She had her reasons. A whole list of them, in fact.

“I know he likes Peter a lot. But I have to wait for Peter to tell his parents.” Before Teresa could finish taking that deep breath for that
snide remark, Jane added, “Which he's going to do this weekend when he goes out there to visit with them. He's a good son.”

But Jane was not feeling like a good daughter. She was still angry at Howard. If she told him something personal about Peter, something glad, could he stomp on it, darken it, the way he did the adoption? She didn't want to risk it.

…

On Saturday, Jane offered to spend the day with Megan and baby Stella and babysit while Megan did silly, selfish things like grocery shopping. It would get Jane's mind off work woes. She invited Ray along for moral support.

“Why not me?” asked Peter. “I could always reschedule my folks.” Oh, God, was there always going to be some sort of balancing act between these two? “Well?” he asked. “Why are you taking Ray?”

“Peter. I'm taking Ray. Do I really have to explain that I love you both? Cause I think we'll both feel stupid if I give you that speech. And I don't want that for either one of us. Okay?”

…

Baby Stella screeched whenever her mother was out of sight. Megan took it all in stride. She didn't blink, just raised her volume so that Jane could hear her over the din. Ray winced a lot as the baby's pitch rose.

“Those are dissonant notes even Sondheim wouldn't touch,” he whispered.

“I think Stella and I are going to come to the next Melting Pot dinner,” Megan shouted. “Can you hand me that bib? Thanks. I miss restaurants. But I think Stella is almost ready for it. Watch out.”

And that's when Stella projectile-vomited from four feet away. Megan supplied Jane with a clean(ish) T-shirt and many apologies.

The baby was teething, and something was definitely going on with her tummy. Ray had to leave the room.

Little Stella slept now and then, for about twenty or thirty minutes, in her mother's arms. Megan needed to change out of the pajamas she'd been wearing for two days, so she slipped the sleeping child into Jane's arms. Megan was so smooth—she must have practiced this type of move before. Stella never stirred.

Ray smiled sweetly. “Look at you, little Mommy”

When Megan was holding the baby she appeared to be filled with helium. But Jane felt she was holding Lead Baby. She looked so small, and yet she gave Jane a backache by the time she woke up and discovered that an evil stranger was keeping her far from her beloved mother. More screaming.

“It's a very intense relationship,” Megan conceded as she stirred foul-smelling baby food in glass jars. “She needs me so much. I love her. It's hard. Watch out.”