... and Baby Makes Two Read online

  There really was no escaping this baby haunting thing, was there? Peter went on to explain that he had overheard two mothers talking about how Betsey's sense of whimsy was conducive to language development. Suckers.

  Jane had no defense for these foolish mothers, and she probably wouldn't have liked them if she met them. Still, she felt compelled to defend them. It wasn't easy.

  “I guess, when you have kids, you can get caught up in any effort to help them. They may be suckers, but their motives are basically good.”

  Kevin and Neil pounced on the argument. After loyalty, Irish people love arguments. Love them.

  “Janie-Painie, you know you're wrong. They're not helping their kids—they're pumping up their own self-image.”

  “We haven't even met these people, but we already know how shallow they are. Good for us.” Jane should have backed down, joked it off, and changed the subject. Instead, she stood her shaky ground. Peter seemed impressed. Jane was misguided, but strong. He had no idea how true that might be.

  “Are mealtimes always so lively around here?”

  Neil answered for her. “Janie wouldn't know. She only visits under pain of guilt.”

  Betty shot him the Look. The one that warned him of airing family flaws in front of People. There are People here and they can hear you. Is that what you say around People? I don't think so.

  Neil looked up and around. “Is that the baby? Did you guys hear the baby? I'll go check on her.” Neil had a sixteen-month-old child who never slept for more than two hours at a pop, so Neil deserved some slack from the family. His wife usually made him get up at night, since she had the child all day. The baby was fast asleep that evening. Right up until Neil went off and—oh, God—woke his sleeping daughter when he shifted her into a more comfortable-looking position. Oops.

  Kevin was older, warmer, friendlier. He sang the melodies, usually, while Neil harmonized above. Kevin had three children, and he insisted that his children all slept through the night within the first week. He and his wife, Kitty, were just naturals at parenting, what could they say? Some people just didn't get it. He felt sorry for Neil and his sleep deprivation. But he swore he couldn't identify.

  “Janie-Painie, how's life in the big city? How do you stand it?”

  This was intended as a compliment. He continued. “I never go to the city. I stay right here, right where I belong. Last time I was in the city was—”

  It was Sam's memorial service. Please don't let him say it.

  “God, I can't even remember how long it's been—”

  Please don't let him say it.

  “I think it was Sam's memorial service. And he's been gone, what, three, four years now?”

  “Six.”

  And that's when Kevin figured out that Peter (People) was at the table, that he was some kind of fix-up for Janie-Painie, and that introducing the topic of her dead boyfriend was stupid. And everyone hates feeling stupid, not just the Irish. So he got mad.

  “Jesus Christ, why are we still sitting here at this table?” he raged. “There's a cake, there's ice cream, there are presents and cards. It's getting dark. Let's get this show on the road, people!”

  Kevin's face was red. He went inside and returned with gifts and cards. Kitty followed after him with a lumpy sheet cake. The children followed her, pied-piper-style, to the yard. Evening sunlight added a sleepy glow to the candles. Neil's daughter twisted in his arms for a futile lunge at the cake and the flames.

  They sang, they ate. Betty loved her Failte carving and wanted Jane to hang it on her front door tonight.

  “I'm old. I can't wait for these things.”

  Jane sat at her mother's feet, and Betty played with her curls while Jane opened the gift certificate from her brothers and the CD of Irish ballads from her parents. There were hugs and kisses all around. There was the stack of birthday cards, including one addressed to “Bitty” Howe. Betty's family had always called her Bitty. It prompted Ray to refer to her as Bitty-Betty

  The sun was setting, and the grown-ups all benefited by the kinder lighting. Jane had poor night vision but knew that she looked better in blur. When she looked at her mother, bathed in pink light and soft shadows, Jane could have sworn that Betty looked thirty years younger. Betty settled into her lawn chair and sparkled with each new gift and card.

  Jane opened a card from her godmother, with a five-dollar bill enclosed. Jane blushed. Peter was stuck watching all this family stuff, but he didn't seem to mind. Jane realized that, polite as he was, he wasn't watching the Gift Rituals. He was watching the children chase fireflies.

  Kitty had to explain, shouting, “Cup your hands! Cup them!” to the firefly-catching children. Apparently, there had been a few squishy casualties, and—

  “Throw it away. Get it out. Out of my sight. Take it!”

  Betty was up, moving faster than she had all day. She dropped a lavender envelope and a card on the grass. Jane retrieved them.

  It was from Sheila. She hadn't written much beyond the preprinted birthday greeting. Her handwriting looked like her voice. No wonder Betty had bolted. She shouted clean-up instructions over her shoulder. Kitty and Linda exchanged meaningful looks and began to gather the paper plates, the plastic forks, and the children. The party was over.

  Howard apologized to Peter. Betty was tired. Long day. Family business. Hope you understand. And he went off to tend to his wounded Betty.

  Neil was the first to complain. “That bitch. She's not even here, and she managed to ruin the party”

  Kevin took the high road. “She's desperate. She's sad. I feel sorry for her. I really do.”

  Irish loyalty is hard to manage. Jane was loyal to Sheila. And to her parents. And to her brothers, sort of. She watched and listened and took lots of notes in her head. But she didn't say a word. She was neutral. She was Switzerland. And everybody hates Switzerland.

  “Okay so, I better hurry off or I'll miss the bus. Thanks for everything.”

  Kevin and Neil nodded. Linda and Kitty were still hunting their children and gathering paper products.

  Peter offered her a ride back to the city in his nice-smelling car. He always stayed in the city on school nights, and anyway, he knew where she lived. It's not like he had to go out of his way.

  Clearly, Peter was raised by nice people. He chitted and chatted, but he never mentioned the mini-drama at the end of the evening. He waited for Jane to bring it up.

  “Your brothers still call you ‘Janie-Painie.’That's cute.”

  “No. Not if you're me, it isn't. They called my sister Sheilio. That was a much better nickname.” There. Jane had mentioned Sheila, so she went ahead and said, “Mom's mad at my sister, Sheila.”

  “I gathered that. I know it's none of my business, but can I ask what happened?”

  “She moved away. She got married. Eloped, actually”

  Jane and Peter were sitting in the car, which was sitting in traffic, miles away from the Holland Tunnel. Jane wanted so badly to be back on her island. What better time to tell her family's story.

  Sheila was the youngest in the family. She wore Coke-bottle glasses from the third grade and despised them forever. It was her excuse for being excruciatingly shy and awkward, which was her reason for staying at home. All the time. After high school, she attended the local Catholic college and commuted from home. She worked as a court reporter and commuted from home. She was a good cook, got stains out of anything, was quiet and neat as a pin. She learned to give Betty her insulin injections. She monitored her parents’ growing array of medications. She chauffeured them to church, malls, grocery stores, and doctors'appointments. She might have considered surgery for her eyes, or maybe contact lenses, but it seemed a waste of money. She gave most of every paycheck to Betty.

  And then, early last year, Sheila eloped. No word of warning, no dates with any gentleman callers, no preparation. She left a note for her parents, packed her quiet clothes, and left under cover of darkness. His name was Raoul. She met him in
court. He was also a court reporter. They had lunch together every day. Sheila had been eating the exact same lunch for more than twelve years. Raoul offered variety. He was shy and quiet too. But compared to Sheila, he was Desi Arnaz.

  But he had a lot of family in Florida, and he missed them. So the two quietly planned their elopement and their life together. Sheila made travel arrangements without saying a word. She never mentioned the elevator ride to the fourth floor of the courthouse, where she and Raoul obtained a marriage license. Betty and Howard never heard Raoul's name until they read it aloud in a note:

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am getting married. His name is Raoul Espinoza and I love him very much. We are moving to Miami. I'm sorry that this is such a shock to you. I knew I couldn't tell you. You need me so too much.

  I love you, but I want to have my own life before it's too late.

  I'm sorry.

  Sheila signed it with hugs and kisses. She attached a detailed schedule of doctors’ appointments, questions for the doctors, and a medication schedule. A week later, she called from Florida, but Betty hung up on her. Howard tried to make peace, but Betty was having none of it. She was:

  INSULTED— SHE WAS NEVER GOING TO DEPRIVE HER DAUGHTER OF A LIFE! SHEILA HAD CHOSEN TO STAY HOME. THE LETTER CLEARLY IMPLIED THAT BETTY WAS TRYING TO ENSLAVE HER DAUGHTER!

  CONFUSED—HOW COULD THIS RELATIONSHIP HAVE DEVELOPED UNDER HER VERY NOSE, WITHOUT A CLUE? BETTY WATCHED THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS REGULARLY AND THOUGHT SHE KNEW JUST HOW SNEAKY PEOPLE COULD BE.

  LOST—WHO WAS GOING TO DO THE INSULIN INJECTIONS? WHO WAS GOING TO MAKE DINNER? WHO WAS GOING TO DRIVE THEM TO CHURCH? HOW COULD SHEILA ABANDON HER PARENTS TO OLD AGE LIKE THIS?

  Sheila was dead to her parents. It had been more than a year, and Betty had stopped shouting and crying. She had moved into the ice age.

  “No wonder your mother was so excited about me looking after my parents,” Peter observed.

  “Oh, my, yes. You scored big points with her on that. My family is very— My God, I've been talking about me and my family nonstop. Please, please, make me feel better and tell me everything you've done since high school.”

  And that's when Peter stopped the car in front of Jane's building.

  “Next time.”

  “Well. Thanks for the ride—and the family therapy. Our time is up.”

  “It's been so nice seeing you again, after all these years. I hope I'll see you in the neighborhood—now that you've forgiven me for that head-shaving incident.”

  Jane almost touched him as she said, “You do look better with hair.” But she pulled her hand back.

  He handed her a slick business card. She wrote her number and e-mail address on the back of one of his. She worried about her handwriting and what it might reveal about her. She worried about Peter. There was something off about this guy, and it wasn't just that he was a fix up from Mom, or the second potential date in a week for a girl who didn't date. It was him. He was off. He had to be. How else would this handsome, kind, charming man still be single and preapproved by Betty? He must have some dark secret. Jane would find it eventually. For now, she climbed four flights of stairs to her sanctuary.

  Just inside her door were two large shopping bags. Jane examined the contents. Doritos, Cheez Whiz, mini Snickers bars, cans of soda, and a remote control. TiVo. There was a note in the second bag:

  If you love me, keep these bad things away from me. Love, Ray

  Ray had keys to Jane's apartment in case of an emergency. She never expected him to use them to deposit snack foods.

  …

  You have two new messages.

  “Hey Jane. Did you come out to your family?” It was Ray. “Did Bitty-Betty freak? I trust you got the stuff I left for you. Look. Here's the thing. I'm going to the gym. Every day. You can choose to be a mom, and see, that's it. You made a choice. Well. So can I. I can choose to be—I don't know—healthy. Fit. A gym rat. A hunk. Right? That sounded better before I said it out loud to be recorded for all time on your machine. Anyway. This weekend, I'm going to drop off my fat clothes. This is the new me. There's no going back. Call me tomorrow. I'm seeing a late show tonight.”

  Beep.

  “Happy B-day, Janie. Tomorrow's your day” It was Sheila. “And guess what? The Gods of TV Programming are taking good care of you. The classic movie channel is showing one of your favorites, so let's watch it together on the phone. Didn't they show it last year?”

  Beep.

  Yes, they did. They showed Jane's favorite movie on her birthday, three years running. Bringing Up Baby.

  Chapter Four

  “Now watch. This is where Cary Grant is gonna rip her dress.”

  “Sheila. That's later. When they're outside.”

  Rrrrrrip.

  “See?”

  “Sorry. So, how does Katharine Hepburn not feel that breeze?”

  Jane and Sheila were watching Bringing Up Baby together, but apart. They were on the phone in their own homes. They had ridiculous long distance bills. Raoul knew better than to complain about it. Sheila had five-year-old twin stepsons who provided occasional background noise for the movie/chat.

  “Too bad he's fictional,” Sheila complained.

  “Who?”

  “Cary Grant.”

  “Yeah. Too bad.”

  They ate pizza and tried not to talk until the next commercial. When the first ad blasted out, Sheila regressed to thirteen and giggled. “So? Is this Peter guy cute?”

  “Yes. In a handsome kind of way. I don't trust him.”

  “Why? Because all beauty is evil? Because he was nice, and we can't have that? Or is it because he's Preapproved by Mom? You shouldn't hold that against him. Mom would probably like Raoul, if she ever met him.”

  “Look, Sheil. I was thinking I'd go out with that actor guy. Dick-Richard.”

  “So?”

  “This is a weird time for me. I'm thinking about my life and where it should go. There are some things that I know. I think. And anyway, did I tell you Peter was in that whole head-shaving conspiracy in high school?”

  “It wasn't a conspiracy. It was just— Oh! They're back”

  Jane wasn't paying attention to the glittering people on her screen. She should tell Sheila about these baby plans/thoughts/ dreams because:

  SHEILA WAS HER SISTER, BEST FRIEND, AND MOST RELIABLE CONFIDANTE.

  THEY HAD SURVIVED A CHILDHOOD OF IRISH SUPERSTITIONS, UNSPEAKABLE BRIDESMAID GOWNS AT FAMILY WEDDINGS, AND BETTY.

  SHEILA HAD TWO LITTLE BOYS AND WOULD THEREFORE BE LOADED WITH JOY AND GOOD ADVICE.

  Three good reasons. Perfectly good. Wonderful, even. So why the hesitation?

  Jane should not tell Sheila about the adoption because:

  Sheila never told Jane about her elopement. She just eloped. Yes, Jane knew that Sheila was dating Raoul and that it was getting serious. But that was all Jane knew. She learned about the elopement from Betty. It was a memorably ugly phone call.

  Maybe this was a test. If she didn't have the courage to tell Sheila about the thought of a baby, she definitely failed the test. And anyway, couldn't Jane tell Sheila anything? Loud commercials blared. Go.

  “So, Sheila? I wanted to tell you something. Here goes. I keep seeing babies everywhere, and thinking about babies and actually, maybe, wanting to have a baby … of some kind. I went to this meeting and there were all these women who were trying to get pregnant and these other women who were trying to adopt, and there was a picture of a little girl in a red bathing suit.”

  Sheila didn't say anything. Not a good sign, right?

  “Look. I don't think I can explain this or justify it or anything sensible like that. Sam and I used to talk about kids before he got sick, and I guess I always assumed that I'd be a mother someday. And I think that this is the sort of thing that if you don't do it, and you need to, you go crazy. Anyway, there. You're a mother, so tell me the truth. Am I insane?”

  Silence. Real
ly awful sign.

  “Oh, God, Sheil. Is it that horrible?”

  One of Sheila's stepsons, who wished to remain anonymous, had run through the room and disconnected the phone. It took several minutes for either of them to figure it out. Jane now had a sign that she shouldn't say anything yet. When they finally reconnected, Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn were hunting the wrong leopard in Connecticut.

  “Sorry, Janie. There's a cute little boy here who wants to play outside in the rain at night, but it's not going to happen. Yes, I mean you, Tyler! You should be in pj's, shouldn't you? It's late!”

  Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn caught that wrong leopard.

  “Hey I was trying to ask you before. Did Mom get my card?”

  And Jane was pushed off track, just like that. She dug her pinky nail into the soft flesh of her hand until it hurt.

  “Sheila. She was too surprised—you should have told me. Next year, send it to me and I'll give it to her.”

  “How bad was it? I guess I was kind of hoping I could make a little peace offering. Sorry”

  For months after the elopement, Sheila cried over the phone to her sister. There was a lot of “I've wrecked my life!” and “I miss my parents!” and “Florida is really hot!” conversations. And every conversation ended with Sheila apologizing for her grief and her intrusion.

  But Raoul was patient with his new bride. It was hard to know what scared her more: her new family or her old one. The little boys were moody. In the morning, they would order four different breakfasts from their weary new mother. They invited her to play then slammed her to the ground and jumped on her. Motherhood stretched Sheila and nearly broke her. Always a pale, slight person, she thought of herself as mousy. Her voice was thin; her hair was wispy. The twins liked her, but they smelled her fear and took full advantage. Over the phone, Sheila's voice had sounded farther away than Florida. She sounded lost and at sea. Jane wondered if Sheila would retreat to their parents’ home.