... and Baby Makes Two Page 15

  These were truly nice people, weren't they? Jane thought so. That's why she had to stop wishing them all to start sneezing a lot and urgently need to go home so that she could have some time alone with her dad. She didn't have the power to inflict sneezing fits, so she would simply have to wait out all this niceness. She'd have to tell him later.

  Night was falling, and the visits stopped. Perhaps she could sit with her father on Christmas night and tell him everything, everything. It sounded like a good plan in Jane's head.

  It sounded even better when her brothers gathered the tryptophandrowsy children and departed for home. It was late, and Jane had missed the last bus back to the city. She would have to stay over. Good. She went upstairs, theoretically, to find a toothbrush, but instead she sat in her old room, which had been painted into a taxi-yellow guest room, and tried to rehearse a Dad-I-Made-a-Big-

  Decision speech for Howard. She'd be fine, as long as there weren't any more—

  “Janie! Come down here! Look who's here!”

  Visitors.

  Jane walked into the living room, and there he was: Peter. He stood up when Jane entered the room. It was definitely Peter. And that had to be her. Next to him. His wife. Bianca.

  “Merry Christmas!” Howard said before Jane could speak. When she saw the pair approaching her, she wanted to run, wanted to hide, wanted to be home already.

  Howard was smiling, Bianca was smiling, but Peter wasn't. Did this have to be Bianca? Couldn't it be a cousin? A sister-in-law? Somebody else? Please?

  Jane made sure her mouth was closed as her father said, “You remember my daughter, Jane?”

  Peter's smile looked like a grimace. Good. At least he was suffering here too. He reached out and shook Jane's hand. Shook her hand!

  “This is my wife, Bianca.”

  Jane may or may not have shaken Biancas hand. Later, she would try to recall it. Bianca brought some kind of traditional Swedish noodle dish. Jane took it (heavy!) to the kitchen, gave herself three seconds to breathe deeply before she returned to the living room where Howard was chatting about the cold, the day, the season with Peter and Bianca.

  Bianca. She was small and spare. Jane thought she looked like a good athlete. She wore a Hillary-style hair band. She was blond. Maybe even sun-bleached. Lines were imprinted deeply on her forehead and around her mouth. She was bouncing with energy. Her voice was high and sparkly She was perky. Perky, perky, perky.

  “How are your parents doing?” Howard asked Peter. “I would have dropped in to visit with them today, but we had quite a lot of guests today! Didn't we, Jane?”

  Jane felt the tension in her neck as she nodded a little too quickly. She heard Bianca speak.

  “They would have come with us, but this is a little too late for them! Peter here kept making us wait and wait and wait to come over here. I told him, I said, ‘I think we're waiting too long to visit anybody’ but he kept making us wait!”

  Because of Jane? Because he expected her to be gone by now? Because she told him that she would be gone by now? Oh, why wasn't she gone by now?

  Jane heard conversation floating around the room, but found herself tongue-tied. Christmas. Travel. Work in the city. Later, she would try to revise the evening in her imagination. She could have gone to the kitchen and hand-washed the dishes she had loaded into the dishwasher. She could have gone outside to turn the decorations on. Or off. She could have claimed to be tired, which she was, or ill, which she wasn't. She could have missed all of this. But the conversation rolled along without her. “The city. The village. Neighbors.”

  Jane surfaced completely as she heard Bianca exclaim, “Oh, you're that Jane. You're the one who's adopting a baby from China. Good for you! I think that's super!”

  Howard sat up and looked at his daughter as if he were looking at a stranger. Peter must have understood, because he said, “Oh. Did I say that? I may have gotten confused. I work with so many— I mean, Jane is kind of a common name, and, I think you're confused and …”

  Biancas perkiness overrode him.

  “No. It's Jane. Your neighbor. And she's adopting a baby. Aren't you? Aren't you adopting a baby?”

  Jane had been holding her breath since Bianca first said the word “baby” Howard's face looked like it belonged on Mt. Rush-more: large, gray, and cold.

  Peter looked at Jane helplessly, while Bianca said, “Single motherhood! Wow! You know, I was raised by a single mom. My aunt. She taught me how to be independent, and I've never regretted it. And won't it be nice to have a kid to keep you company? Super!”

  There was a long silence. Bianca looked at the sad and angry faces around her. Howard stood up and said, “Company? You're going to have a child to keep you company?”

  “No. Dad. I'm not. I never said that. I mean—I am adopting a baby. That part is true.”

  Howard was shaking his head. Peter rose quickly.

  “It's late, and I think that maybe we should head home.” Yes, their work here was done. It was time to leave.

  Howard saw his guests out the door and went directly to bed without another word on Jane's adoption. Jane retreated to her room. She stayed awake in the aggressively shiny room and decided that it was now legal to hate Bianca, or at least actively dislike her.

  …

  The next morning, over stove-cooked eggs, Jane urgently needed to talk to Howard. She had the Dad-I-Made-a-Big-Decision speech polished and ready.

  Before she could start it, Howard said, “Jane. About last night— tell me it isn't true. You can't be considering adopting a baby? From China? You would never do anything so foolish, so selfish. Tell me I'm right, Jane.”

  Breakfast was starting to burn. Jane's hands were damp. She dumped the eggs onto a plate, but half of them missed. She tried to focus on the cleanup. Howard was studying her face. He was stern. Jane made more of a mess as she cleaned up the eggs.

  “Dad. I am. I've already sent my dossier to China.”

  “Well. I don't know what that means. But I know that this is a mistake, Jane. A very grave mistake. But you don't have a baby yet, so it can't be too late to put this notion away and stop it all.”

  “I don't want to.”

  “I'm sorry, Janie. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you shouldn't go through with this adoption. You mustn't.”

  She couldn't speak. He could.

  “Have you really thought this through, honey? After all, you're an unmarried woman. All alone. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.”

  Jane still couldn't speak. He took her silence as a kind of agreement, and so he went further.

  “And I'll let you in on a little secret: The rewards of parenthood are not all they're cracked up to be. Look at your mother and Sheila. They used to be thick as thieves, then Sheila went off and did what she did. Do you think we deserved that? I don't. But that's how it is when you're a parent. It's grossly unfair, the whole package.”

  “I didn't know you felt so”—she searched—“un-rewarded.”

  “That's not it. Not at all. You're proving my point, Janie, if you could just hear yourself. Being a parent is all about giving and giving and giving. It's hard work and it's arrogant to think you can do it alone. I love you too much to stay quiet about this. Tell me you'll think about this, Janie. Just give it some thought.”

  “Dad. This is not for you to decide.”

  “I wish it were. I'd make a better decision than you're making.”

  His voice was gentle and quiet. He sounded right. And he sounded reluctant. She wanted to quote his speech about how much Betty loved being a mother, but she was undone. Her bones were mush. Her teeth were jelly. He had the Irish-arguing gene too, and he was good at it. He'd had more practice. If this were a debate, Howard would have been the winner, Jane the loser. And so Jane returned to the city bathed in pain.

  …

  Sheila called to thank Jane for the extravagant gifts. The kids were wildly excited about Christmas. They had made a special “I Love You”
wreath for their stepmother, and Sheila was overcome with delight.

  “I think they really do love me. I can feel it. Or maybe it's just how much I'm loving them. Either way, it's so great. Oh, Janie, I can't wait until you're a mom too, and we can talk about this stuff. This is the best Christmas of my life.”

  Jane said nothing about her Close Encounter with Peter & Wife, nothing about Howard's lecture/argument/judgment. Not today.

  …

  Jane, Teresa, and Karen had exchanged gifts at Teresa's very swanky holiday party. All three friends gave each other picture-frame ornaments for next year's trees. It was their “Gift of the Magi” moment. Karen read great meaning into this overlap. They made plans to visit Megan and her baby as soon as they could locate some frankincense, gold, and myrrh.

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

  To:

  From: karen51@ournet.com

  Subject: Little Stella

  Megan's little girl is even more beautiful in person!!! And Megan is so amazingly in tune with her daughter, she anticipates her every need and has got this whole motherhood thing going on!! You've got to go visit her soon!!!!!

  XXOO—Karen

  “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. An
d 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.