Pregnant Pause (18 page)

"If everybody can be in it, won't the show be kind of long? And what if they stink?" Elizabeth asks.

"Yeah, I was thinking of that, and I thought we may have to do the show in two nights, and if we think somebody stinks, we're going to have to help them to make their performance better somehow so it doesn't stink. Maybe just shorten it so it's a minute long or something, I don't know. We just don't want anybody's feelings getting hurt."

"But what if we want to be in it? Can we help organize and be in it at the same time?" Abby asks.

"Yeah, sure you can be in it."

So, surprise, surprise, I get the four mean girls involved in the talent show, and we become friends, and they become more a part of the whole camp, and then they're not such bitches, and I'm feeling very proud of myself.

HALEY, THE COUNSELOR who had to get her appendix out, has returned to camp, and so I'm back in my own cabin with Lam. The cabin smells funny—not good funny. It smells like someone who hasn't bathed, but not quite like B.O., you know, oily skin and dirty hair, and soggy-sweaty feet. Since Lam has been living by himself the past three weeks and hasn't had a cabin he's in charge of, he hasn't had to do any cleaning, and it looks it. I get busy in my spare time, which isn't so spare because of the talent show, and I open all the windows and clean the place as best as I can. Ziggy has brought up the chest of drawers, but nothing has been put inside it, because Lam says, "I'll be damned if I'm going to use that," and so all our stuff is still on the floor. It's ridiculous. I don't want to hurt Lam's feelings, but it would be nice to put some of my clothes away.

"Okay, look," I say to Lam finally. "I'm going to put all my stuff in the chest, because this place is a dump, and it was nice of Ziggy to think of us, so I'm going to use it. You're just going to have to deal."

"He wasn't thinking of us. He's not so great. He was just trying to score points with you."

"Well, it worked," I say without thinking, which of course was the wrong thing to say, because now it's war.

After dinner, while I was in the main cabin with a bunch of kids auditioning for the talent show, Lam set out in his parents' pickup to go find me a bigger and better chest. It takes both him and Leo to haul it up from the parking lot, and he sets it down outside the cabin so all the campers can see what a big, fine chest it is. When I see it, all I can say is, "It's big all right."

"You got that right," Lam says. I look at Leo, who says nothing, and I can't tell by his expression what he thinks, but I'll tell you what, if there were an ugliest-chest-of-drawers contest, this would win it, hands down. It's made out of this fake wood stuff that's kind of charcoal gray, or dirty gray, and it's done like panels, the kind you put on a basement wall if you want to look cheap, and it has these fake, chunky brass handles that are as long as my foot, two on each drawer, and on the top someone has put on some black and white tacky paper, the kind you might line the chest of drawers with but never put on top. I open the top drawer and it makes this loud scraping sound. The inside smells like sour cream and onion potato chips.

Ziggy comes by to see what all the campers are looking at, and when he sees it he laughs. "Did you make that in Leo's crafts class, Lam? Must have used your feet."

"Ha, ha, very funny. This is a
man's
chest. Not some girly thing made out of cardboard," Lam says.

"Oh," Ziggy says, "so you got it for
you.
Oh, now I get it. Good choice." He raises his thumb and walks off, and so do I, not with Ziggy, but into the cabin.

The next day after dinner, Ziggy comes by the main cabin, where we're auditioning people, and he's brought his guitar. I see on the sign-up sheet we had posted in the dining hall that he's auditioning. The unholy four tell him that he's number six on the list, and he smiles and comes to sit by me. "How's it going?" he whispers.

"Fine, but I wish you and Lam would stop fighting. You know how it is, Ziggy."

"But it doesn't have to be. You're not happy with him. He's a loser. Come on, that chest of drawers? Please."

That chest is butt-ugly, but it makes me feel sorry for Lam that he would think I would like it, and that he's so proud of it. "Look at how much junk you can put in this one drawer," he said to me this morning. He had jammed all his clothes inside, and there was still plenty of room, so he went over to the pretty chest that Ziggy had gotten me and started pulling all my clothes out.

"What are you doing?" I said, still in bed and not wanting to get up yet.

"I'm putting your stuff with mine, where it belongs. You can put the baby's things in that little chest."

"If we keep the baby."

"Right. Well, my parents can have the chest—even better. Or we can throw it on the campfire the last day of camp."

I let Lam put my clothes in the drawers, and so now I smell like sour cream and onion potato chips. I'm making myself nauseous with the smell.

"Please don't tell me my husband's a loser," I say to Ziggy.

He puts his hand on mine. "Okay. I'm sorry. You're right. I just want to be your friend. Can we still be friends?"

"Yeah, friends, of course," I say, trying to ignore the lusty, zinging feel I get every time he touches me.

When it's Ziggy's turn to audition, he goes and stands in front of the stage. He tells us he's written a new song that he'd like to sing. He gets up on the stage and sits on the edge of it instead of on a chair, and he begins. His song is about love, and yeah, I know most songs are love songs, but he's looking at me, so I kind of get the feeling he wrote the song for me. I'm not the only one who thinks this, either. The unholy four are sitting around me, and I can hear them saying, "Aw," and "I wish somebody'd write me a song," and "Lucky," and "That's pretty."

I know I'm blushing, and I feel stupid for blushing, because maybe the song isn't for me at all and just something he wrote. Anyway, the tune is really pretty.

Ziggy's still singing when from the back of the room I hear Lam's voice. "What a bunch of sap!"

I turn around and see Lam coming toward me with something in his hands. "Lam, not now," I say.

He comes over to where I'm sitting and stops. "What a loser!" he says. "Why doesn't he find his own girl?"

The girls around me giggle and whisper to each other. I wonder how I manage to get myself into these situations.

I get onto my feet and frown at Lam. "Come on, Lam, leave it."

"I'm not the one writing love songs to someone already married."

"Yeah, well, neither one of you is scoring points with me, lately. I wish you two would stop already."

"I vote for Ziggy," Elizabeth says.

"I vote for Lam," Abby says.

They're whispering, but I can hear them.

Lam hands me something that looks like a book in wrapping paper. "Anyway, for you," he says, and his voice is loud so Ziggy and everyone else in the room can hear. "For us."

"Lam, what is this?" I open the gift because I can't help it, I'm curious.

It's a book called
The New Mom's Survival Guide: How to Reclaim Your Body, Your Health, Your Sanity, and Your Sex Life After Having a Baby.
It's by Jennifer Wider, M.D.

With sex in the title, I know why Lam picked this book out, but it was still sweet and much nicer than the chest of drawers he gave me.

I smile. "Thanks, Lam." I kiss him on the cheek, and I see Ziggy hop off the stage and leave the cabin by the side door. My heart sinks. I feel badly. I don't want Ziggy hurt, and I don't want Lam hurt. I don't know what to do. I never even said how much I liked the song.

***

Before the first crafts class the next morning, I talk to Leo about what's happening.

"Leo, I don't know what to do. You're always so sensible. What would you do? What would you do if you had two girls fighting over you?"

Leo's unloading these honking big chunks of clay from a tall plastic sack. Some of the campers are going to make hand-built mugs and bowls out of it. Leo demonstrated in the classes yesterday how you roll pieces of clay between your hands until you have these long, round strips that you then coil around in the shape of a mug or a bowl. You place one coiled strip on top of another, and then you wet your fingertips and use them to smooth the clay out so that instead of strips you have one smooth surface. It sounds easy, but I know somehow I'll make a mess of it. I'm still nowhere near finished with my dulcimer!

"Honestly, Eleanor, if I had two girls fighting over me, I'd sit back and watch the show."

"No, you wouldn't. I know it. I'm hurting their feelings. Last night Ziggy sang a song he wrote for the show, and I never got a chance to say how much I liked it and all, because Lam showed up with a present for me. So Ziggy got hurt and left. And you saw Lam the other night when you two brought up that ugly chest and Ziggy made fun of it. I know it hurt Lam's feelings."

Leo sets a big chunk of clay into my hands. "Feel that. Doesn't that feel good?"

I raise it up and down in my hands. "Hefty." I smooth the surface out with my fingers. "Yeah, it's cool," I say.

"If you're asking me," Leo says, "then I think you should just lay it on the line. Either you're married and you want to stay married, or you're not and you're interested in Ziggy. Tell them and put them out of their misery."

I dump the clay on the table. "Okay, first of all, I already told Ziggy just what you said. I told him I was married and I love Lam and that's that."

Leo hands me another hunk of clay. "Well, I think you're sending mixed messages."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do."

I think he's right, because I'm kind of confused about how I feel. Being sober all the time makes me not like Lam so much. I love him still, but I don't like him all the time. I don't think he's the greatest thing to come into my life anymore. He can be a jerk and all that, but I know him, and I'm comfortable with him, and we're a lot alike, because I can be such a jerk, too, and so I forgive him when he's one.

I like Ziggy, too, though, and maybe I'm even starting to fall in love with him. I don't know. He's new, and he's talented, and he's different, and he's in college, and all of that is so interesting to me. We can talk really well together, too. I feel Ziggy listens to me in a way that Lam doesn't. Lam is all about himself. I think Ziggy cares about more than just himself, but like I've said, maybe he's just too together for me—maybe.

I try to explain this to Leo, and he surprises me. "You know, Elly, you act like you have to choose between these two guys," he says. "There's a whole world of guys to choose from. Maybe you really don't want either of them. Maybe you haven't yet met that one special person. Maybe that's why you're having so much trouble. You have a baby on the way. That's a big deal. Maybe you all should be thinking more about that, and not so much about who loves who more."

"Yeah, wow, Leo, you sure put me in my place," I say.

Leo takes a piece of wire and slices down the center of one of the chunks of clay like it's a hunk of cheese. "Ay-uh, I did, but you asked," he says.

Just before dinner Ashley Wilson comes to the crafts hut and tells me I need to get down to the lake.

"What for?" I ask.

"Ziggy and Lam are racing."

"Swimming? Lam will win, hands down. I don't need to see that."

"No. Canoe. Around the whole lake."

"Are you kidding me? It will take them at least three hours to do that." The lake isn't all that wide at our end, because we're located on the inlet. It's less than a quarter of a mile across to where the boys' camp is, but it gets wider just beyond the inlet, and the distance around the lake is ten miles at least.

"Well, that's what they're doing," Ashley Wilson says. "Are you coming?"

I look back at Leo.

"Go ahead," he says. He waves me off.

I make my way down to the lake, and there's a small crowd of counselors and campers gathered and the boys are hauling their canoes out from the boathouse. I thought they'd be on the water by now. I say this out loud, and the kid standing next to me says, "They've been fighting over the canoes."

Lam and Ziggy both slip their canoes into the water, and I see their angry faces and know I'm the real cause. I mean, this is just too stupid.

Jen is standing on the dock with the starter gun the camp uses for the kids' races. Once they both get settled, Jen raises the gun in the air. "On your mark—get set—"

Before she can say go, both boys are paddling. They're in the inlet, and they're paddling so hard they knock paddles.

"Get out of the way! Can't you steer?" Lam shouts.

"We're not driving cars," Ziggy says. "You guide a canoe, you don't steer."

"Thanks for the language lesson, buddy. Here's a little les son for you." Lam takes his paddle and jabs Ziggy with it. It gets him in the ribs.

"Oh, so that's how you wanna play, is it?" Ziggy jabs back, and then Lam stands up and kids are cheering, and then Ziggy stands up and Lam tries to get a good swipe at Ziggy with his paddle but misses and falls in the lake, and Ziggy, seeing his chance, jumps in on top of him.

Now everybody is clapping and cheering, but it's not funny because they're really going at it, and it looks like they're trying to drown each other. First Ziggy is on top of Lam, then Lam's on top of Ziggy. Jen and Gren and Alfie and Rod—all the lifeguards—jump in to break it up. By the time the two of them are dragged to shore coughing and spitting, Ziggy's got a bloody nose and Lam's got a cut above his eye. I've seen enough, so I leave.

I know Leo's right and I need to say something and make it clear to Ziggy that I'm married and that's that, end of story, but something keeps me from saying it. I said it once, and to tell the truth I was sorry I did, because maybe I'm interested in Ziggy in that way—you know, in a romantic, long-term kind of way. Maybe I've grown out of my relationship with Lam. This is what I'm thinking as I head up the hill. I know Leo said that I'm acting like these are the only two guys in the world and that maybe I haven't met the right guy, and I need to be focusing on the baby, but I can't keep my mind from wondering this stuff. Like, how do I know if Ziggy's not the right guy unless I give him a chance? But then, am I a slut for thinking this? I'm married. I'm married! That's supposed to mean something. I shouldn't be thinking about anybody else but Lam and the baby. I decide I have to be the worst human being on the planet because I'm thinking of Ziggy and not Lam, and not the baby. But maybe Ziggy isn't as boring as I thought. Seeing him fighting out in the water—well, I can't help it, it was exciting, and I think ... yeah, I think I was rooting for Ziggy, just a little bit.