... and Baby Makes Two Read online

  One day, little Tyler caught his hand in a door hinge. Sheila cradled the boy while Raoul extricated his hand from the door. She tended his wounds and nurtured him with a healing bowl of ice cream, medically proven to prevent or heal broken bones. Tyler clung to her for the rest of the day. His brother followed obediently.

  After two and a half months, the conversation sounded like this: “I made Cuban pork rolls today. I think they were only okay but Raoul's mom said they were good, and everybody ate them.” And then it was “Tyler kissed me good night for the first time. I almost started crying. Did I tell you that already? Sorry”

  Sheila's voice deepened. She swore (not often, and only in Spanish) and talked about the kids and her spicy adventures in cooking. She no longer wept when she asked about Betty and Howard, but sighed noisily and sometimes she apologized again.

  Tonight, Jane offered a very soft, very edited version of her mother's reaction to the birthday card.

  “It's okay. I thought I'd take a shot, but Dios Mio, I didn't mean to cause a scene.”

  It was okay? How could it be okay?

  “Look, Janie, I'm not defending Mom here, but I do sort of get it.

  The bond between a mother and kid is so intense. If you feel like your kid betrayed you—how do you come back from that?”

  “You didn't betray them. You got married.”

  “I know. But Mom doesn't get it. She'll never see it that way. I was supposed to take care of her, and instead I abandoned her. Anyway, I'm not defending her. I'm just—I have no idea what I'm doing and so help me, Tyler, you will not live to see six! Sorry. Hold on.”

  Sheila put the phone down and had a big scene with Tyler. Jane heard little remnants. She fingered the gift and card she had received from Sheila. She opened it, since the Tyler scene might take a while. Sheila had cross-stitched her a Bienvenidos wall hanging in vivid colors. So gorgeous. She would hang it in the entranceway right over the wall craters. Sheila had stitched her initials in the bottom right corner: SHE.Sheila Helen Espinoza.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm back. What were we talking about? By the way, did you open my present yet?”

  “I just did. It's gorgeous. Gorgeous. How did you do this?”

  “It was fun. I did it during the boys’ naps. It's really relaxing.”

  “I love it. Hey Sheil—”

  “Tyler!” Sheila covered the phone, but Jane could still hear, “Listen to me, mister. If you get out of that bed again, I'm taking Batman. I mean it!”

  Katharine Hepburn was climbing a giant dinosaur. It toppled, and then Cary Grant pulled her to safety. She told him that he loved her, and he said, “Oh dear …”

  Jane paid attention to signs and knew that this was the wrong time to tell Sheila about her plans. The credits were rolling. It was time to hang up and go to bed.

  “Sheila, I want to have a baby”

  “Sorry?”

  “I want to be a mom. I want to have a baby. And I'm looking into it. Just thinking about it. Trying it on for size. So. What do you think?”

  “Um. I think it's wonderful. It's a wonderful idea. Sorry. I have to make sure the boys are in bed. I better go. Sorry. Bye. I love you.”

  Jane was damned by silence. She felt cold. Why was she assuming that Sheila would be supportive? She closed her eyes and tried to picture her sister's face. It had been too long since they had seen each other. She gave up. A minute later, the phone jangled her out of her melancholy. It was Sheila. Jane couldn't see Sheila shaking her head in Florida, waving her husband away, and settling in for a long hard talk. But that's what happened.

  “Janie. You know I love these boys. I really do. I'm their mom, forever and ever. But it rained here for six days in a row, and I swear I wanted to throw us all out the window on the fourth day. Only, we live in a ranch house, and we would have landed in the hedges and gotten a twisted ankle or something. Anyway, I didn't do it, but the point is—it's so hard that these horrible thoughts can actually get time and space in your head.”

  Jane closed her eyes, sat on the floor, and pictured Sheila and her family in the hedges.

  “And, Janie, my guys are kids—not babies. Everybody says that those first baby months are so awful. Remember how Mom always complained about when you had colic? And her episiotomy? I can't even think about that—I need to cross my legs.”

  Sheila's voice dropped low. Secrets.

  “You want to know the best thing about having the twins? I'll never have to get pregnant. Instant Family. In fact, I've even thought about asking Raoul to get a vasectomy but I want to wait til I'm sure.”

  Jane laid down on the floor and pictured Raoul in a hospital gown.

  “I told you how his ex-wife went kind of crazy after she had the kids. She was really traumatized by the birth, and she had to go into therapy. I'm not supposed to tell you that, by the way, so you don't know it. And she never comes around. She says that she never bonded with the boys because she had so much trouble recovering.

  I kind of understand her. A little. Janie, what if you had twins? I mean, I can't imagine getting through that recovery all alone with those babies. Even if there had only been one, I couldn't have done it alone. No way.”

  “So I shouldn't have a baby? Or maybe I should just visit yours? Sheila, I'm having trouble following your logic.”

  “This is not about logic. Look, I can speak two and a half languages, and I don't know any words to describe how hard this motherhood thing is. That's why I don't even try to put it in words. I'm sorry, honey. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but I'm gonna say it. Don't go through with this.”

  Jane curled into the fetal position and pictured a red octagonal Stop sign.

  “Maybe you should get a cat.”

  Sheila went too far. Jane sat up straight. A cat? What the hell?

  “I don't want a cat. I don't think a cat can go to school or learn to ride a bike or talk or become a full-fledged, independent human being. But I can research that.”

  “Jane.”

  “Do you wish Raoul's ex would come and take custody of the boys? Do you wish you weren't raising them? Do you? Don't even pretend to be funny about it, because you love them. This is a decision that I know in my spine: I am supposed to be a mother. And it's so arrogant to tell another person that it's too hard for them. Me. That it's too hard for me.”

  “Jane.”

  “And since when is ‘easy’ the criteria for doing things? Was it easy for you to break away from Mom and Dad? Was it easy for me to take care of Sam? No. But I'd do it again. I'd do it tomorrow.”

  “Jane.”

  “Don't underestimate me. That's always a mistake. Remember when you thought I couldn't learn to swim? You're so good at seeing everybody's point of view—why can't you see mine?” Jane's voice was high and shrill.

  “Jane. Honey. You could be a great mother—but not alone. It's just too hard. You need a partner. And this is not just about you, Jane. I don't think anyone can do this alone. I've been a mom for more than a year now, so I know what I'm saying. It's hard for two people. It's impossible for one.” Sheila's voice was low and quiet.

  Jane was silent. If she spoke, she would start weeping. Sheila sounded so right.

  “I'm sorry” Sheila continued. “Look, you're catching me on a bad day. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  What choice did she have? Jane had to let her sister go, and let the ghosts of her words dance around the living room. Sheila was right. Jane found herself longing for the pre-Raoul Sheila—the one who was quiet as a mouse. The one who would never have said all these things.

  This was a sign. This was an argument she had lost. She tried to replay the argument in her head. She gave herself extra time to come up with zingy replies. There were none. Sheila was right. Single motherhood was a bad idea. Any fool could see that.

  …

  Jane finally went out with Dick-Richard. If she wanted motherhood, she was going to have to attain wifehood first. They went for dim sum in
Chinatown. She made sure that she thought of three things to ask him about, so that she could keep the conversation going. She shouldn't have bothered. Dick-Richard needed no drawing out. He was both talker and topic. Before the first dish arrived, she learned that he had recently been living with a girlfriend but had moved out when she started “using the M-word.”

  A small alarm went off in Jane's head. Two small alarms, in fact. One alarm responded to his running away from a live-in girlfriend who was looking toward marriage, and another alarm sounded because he used the expression “the M-word.”

  He had just started temping, but he didn't like it. He was going to go back to telemarketing next week, where he could make his own hours. It was important to be available for auditions.

  Another alarm. Does anyone like telemarketers?

  Oh, don't worry. He didn't sell things over the phone. He took surveys and helped companies identify potential customers so that someone else could call and sell things. But he assured her that he was going to make it as an actor. He had come to the city from the bad streets of Nebraska, and had given himself two years to succeed. That was eleven years ago, and he now realized how immature his timetable had been.

  He described a handful of roles he had played. He gave a detailed description of what it's like to be an extra in a Woody Allen movie. Apparently, Woody doesn't talk to the extras. What a snob. He reenacted his entrance in a play, and everyone in the restaurant stared at him.

  Jane wondered if dating had always been such a trial. Could she add this night to the long list of reasons why she didn't date? Should she call or e-mail Peter from high school? Would he be just as annoying?

  It was eight-thirty She was free to eat quite a lot and to study Dick-Richard. For a few minutes, she thought of him as a potential, unwitting sperm donor. What if she slept with him and—oops—got pregnant? Was that an honorable goal—to be a victim of some accidental twist of fate? Maybe he would be a willing sperm donor. She could take her temperature a lot, and when it reached fertilization numbers, she could have sex with this guy. But should she? And would he be a good donor?

  “Ouch. Too much ice in this drink. I have rotten teeth. I was jinxed—both my parents had bad teeth—and blind as bats too. It's so unfair.”

  Done. She wanted nothing to do with this man or his gene pool. She wanted the last two hours of her life back, starting with the part where she tried on three different blouses for this date.

  Dick-Richard kept talking. It didn't seem possible that there was more to say, but he was resourceful.

  Jane didn't steer the conversation. She couldn't. But somehow, he started talking about children. It may have been a response to Jane observing a family gathering at a nearby table. The children switched easily between Chinese (Cantonese? Mandarin?) and English. The adults spoke only Chinese. The children were restless, but not unruly. They seemed happy. Jane may have been staring at them, she wasn't sure. She knew she hadn't spoken for a long while.

  Dick-Richard saw his date looking at children and announced, “I don't want to have any more children.”

  Any. More. Which word jarred her more? Hard to say.

  And that's when he started talking about a woman he left behind in Nebraska. A very young woman who told him that she was on the Pill, but wasn't. She lied to him. She got pregnant and tried to get him to marry her. He fled to the big city instead, and pursued his dream of stardom.

  “I've never met the kid, and I don't want to. People say that women should have a choice, fine. But what about me? Why didn't I have a choice? Where was my choice?”

  Jane might have answered him, but that would only have prolonged the evening.

  He finished digging his grave by describing how the awful mother used to put her weeping child on the phone to him. When the child said, “Hi, Daddy” Dick-Richard hung up on him.

  Jane signaled for the check. It was 9:15, and if she hurried, she could salvage this evening with a bubble bath.

  Richard studied the check, all serious and mathematical.

  “Let's see, you owe a little more, since I didn't have any dumplings, so it's—”

  “I thought we could just split it.”

  “I didn't have any dumplings. You ate them all. I really wanted one. I wasn't going to say anything.”

  Jane smiled for the first time all evening. He wasn't going to say anything? Not say anything? As in, “not talking”?

  “Richard. Allow me.”

  She paid the check, left a hefty tip, wound her way through the tables and out of the restaurant. If she'd had a hat, there might have been a Mary Tyler Moore moment here. She was free. She was happy. She wasn't just free from Richard, either. There was a calm inside her that Calgon could never have created. Jane was going to be just fine.

  “Look, you don't have to get all huffy about it. I'll split the check with you. After all, it's our first date. Or, were you expecting me to pay? That is so sexist, you know. Just because I'm the man and I make more money and I rape and I plunder and blah-blah-blah. You say you want equality, but you women are all just talk.”

  She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Good night, Dick-Richard. Thanks for a lovely evening.”

  Chinatown's streets are too crowded to allow a happy girl to skip, so Jane was skipping on the inside. The joy sustained until her cell phone rang. How could it be good news? Had she given Dick-Richard her cell phone number? Was there a crisis at work?

  “Hi, it's me, Ray. Whatcha doin’?”

  “Oh, I just finished my date.”

  “It's nine-thirty Which means … Oh, dear. Martini?”

  “Yup.”

  …

  They met at their favorite bar, Necessary Evils. Ray wanted help writing a review of an expensive production of Ibsen's Ghosts. He wanted lots of ways to describe “bad.” A fun drinking game for Jane & Ray:

  Mary Kate & Ashley Do Ibsen!

  Made me think fondly of that bout with salmonella. Good times.

  Theater as only Helen Keller could have appreciated it.

  He had the clap. We had to clap. The end.

  And then they got silly. Ray called a halt to the process when they started to write the entire review in Dr. Seuss rhymes. That's never a good sign.

  He prodded her for details about her date and heard enough about Dick-Richard's career to know that he didn't really have one. Clearly, he was not worthy of our Jane. He ordered her another.

  “Ray. You're making me drink martinis, but, hello, what are you drinking?”

  “Celery soda.”

  Ray explained that he was abstaining from alcohol, carbs, red meat, sugar, fat, dairy, radio, and television.

  “What does that leave you?”

  “Ibsen and celery soda. I didn't know being beautiful was going to be so dull. No wonder models all look so vacant. They live in a bubble. A quiet, flavorless bubble. But I'm not complaining. I want to make a real choice here. My body is a temple and yeah, okay, whatever. I was thinking that it might be great to grow up to be that guy who eats tree bark, never catches a cold, and has perfect, glowing skin. Does that sound realistic?”

  Jane sipped her martini. Ray had gone through several romantic crises before, and even the occasional career crisis. But Jane couldn't remember any previous identity crisis. Ray was always Ray. A human collage of good qualities plus a bitchy sense of humor.

  “Wait.” Jane worried about how worried she sounded. “Does this mean you're not allowed to mock bad actors, crappy writers, and pretentious directors anymore? Because I need you to do that for me. I need you to be mean about these glamorous, beautiful people. Please promise me that you'll never get so healthy that you'll be all serene and generous to them.”

  “Never. It purges toxins.”

  …

  Ray walked her home because he wanted to be sure that no Dick-Richard-Actor was waiting for her. He wasn't. Ray often thought that Jane was a perfect candidate for a stalker: kind, bighearted, pretty, and lacking in peripheral v
ision.

  “Are you disappointed that this guy was such a disappointment?” “No. The heart, she is intact. I was just sort of hoping.” Ray groaned. “Oh. Hope. That's the worst. You bruised?” She wasn't. She hadn't raised her hopes about this one date. Okay it was the first one in a long while, but she was sailing along.

  “I just keep looking for signs, you know? About the baby. About whether or not I should really be doing it. Meeting a nice potential-daddy would have been a good sign, don't you think?”

  “You know, I've been thinking a lot about this whole baby thing too. And I have to ask you: Does the whole universe have to put up big, flashing neon signs saying, Jane, go ahead and have a baby? I mean, is that necessary?” “Absolutely”

  “Here's my sign to you: Do it. I really hope you go through with it. And I hope … Can you include me too?” Jane hugged and hugged and hugged him.

  …

  Jane took a break from work to look through the notes she had taken at the CSM meeting. Maria had given her a document entitled, “So You Want to Adopt From China.” Karen had given her details about a Families with Children from China meeting that would take place tonight, on the Upper West Side. If she rushed out of work on time, she would make it.

  Jane walked past the community center three times before she saw the dripping sign announcing an FCC meeting. Jane shook off the rain and located Karen by her red hair. She was sitting in the front, perched at the edge of her seat. She had a small, pastel notebook and pen. The meeting hadn't started yet, but she was ready to write down anything interesting or useful. She was jumpy.

  Jane sat down next to her and wondered about Karen's caffeine intake when she leaned over and whispered, “Hey! Jane! So glad you're here! They'll be starting soon! I'm so jazzed!”

  Jane didn't see Teresa step in late, and slip into the seat directly behind her. Despite the rain and wind, Teresa looked perfect. Her hair never frizzed, her lipstick in place. Teresa had control. She tapped Jane on the shoulder and mouthed “Hello.”

  The demographics for this meeting included married men and women, and some children. During the welcome speech, someone passed around (hooray) brochures, literature, and fun fact sheets. There was a duplicate of Maria's “So You Want to Adopt From China” document. The place felt chaotic and warm. Jane took it all in.