The next morning consisted of vacuuming, organizing some cupboards, and some yard work I’d been putting off. It was hard to believe it was Christmas Eve until I turned on the TV for company and was assaulted by bells and ho-ho-hos.
I turned it off and wondered what Stormy was doing for the holiday. Before I’d told her about the baby, we’d talked about her coming over, but I hadn’t talked to her since then, and Jared’s family would be getting together too. Did I really expect her to choose me, who she was angry with, or to be surrounded by her cousins and grandparents? Should I call her and ask?
Maybe I should call Jared. I entertained that thought for about two seconds. What would he say? Would I have to tell him about Paul? I couldn’t ignore the fact that, for the third time in my life, a baby was pushing the man I loved away from me. Why? Why me? What was I doing wrong that I couldn’t make this work? I had to shake off those thoughts. I was seeing this through, and understanding wasn’t the most important thing right now. I
had
to stop feeling sorry for myself.
When I ran out of distractions and felt anxiety creeping in, I thought of Paige. I hadn’t talked to her much since she’d given me Dr. Cortez’s number, and I worried I had been in too much of a fog to really thank her properly—I sensed she was being cautious with me as well since I’d been such a mess. I was pretty sure she wasn’t working today, so I called her cell phone.
“Hi, Daisy,” she said when she answered. I could tell from the whooshing background noise that she was driving, but I didn’t hear the boys.
“Hey,” I said. I updated her on the appointment I’d made with Dr. Cortez and thanked her again for the referral. My mother pointing out how ungracious I had been in the past spurred me to make sure I was very clear on my gratitude.
“I’m glad everything’s working out,” Paige said. “You’ll like Dr. Cortez. He’s a really great doctor.”
“Good,” I said, trying not to remember that Amy had said the same thing about Dr. Christiansen. “So what are you doing for the holidays, driving back to Utah?”
“No,” Paige said, and I noted the flatness in her voice. A controlled kind of flat. “The office opens back up on Tuesday. I’m on my way back from Vegas.”
“Vegas?” I was confused.
“I met Doug halfway between his place and mine. He’s taking the boys for Christmas.”
“Ohh,” I said, everything lining up. “Are you okay?”
She was quiet long enough that I knew she was trying to keep herself reined in. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” I said. She didn’t take the bait, and I expounded. “What time do you think you’ll be home?”
“Probably around six—why?”
“Do you have plans?”
“Does drowning in a tub of pralines and cream count?”
“Totally counts,” I said with a chuckle. My idea was set.
“Then I have plans.”
I wondered how much it took out of her to try to make a joke when her heart was breaking. Actually, I thought I already knew the cost. I’d done it before. Many times. I was doing it now.
“You drive safe, okay?” I said.
“I will,” she said with a sigh. “Let me know how your appointment goes next week.”
We ended the call, and I looked at the clock. Plenty of time to brighten someone else’s day—funny how that brightened mine, too.
At 5:40, I pulled into Paige’s apartment complex. She wasn’t there yet, so I listened to NPR and waited. It was almost 6:15 before she pulled in. She must have recognized my car because she stepped out while looking at me.
With my belly growing, it was harder to pull myself out of the car than it used to be, but I smiled once I stood. “I brought Chinese,” I said, not adding that we’d probably need to reheat it. We met on the sidewalk outside the doors to her complex.
She held up a plastic bag. “I worried I wouldn’t have enough ice cream so I stocked up. Sorry I’m late.”
I shrugged. “I hear pralines and cream goes really well with Schezwan chicken.”
Paige smiled, but I could see she was feeling a little battered. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’ve been a single mom most of my life.” Whoa, what a weird thing to say. It was true though, which was even weirder. “But this is the first holiday I’ve spent without at least one of my kids.”
“I’m so sorry,” Paige commiserated as she opened the door.
“Stormy didn’t even come to get her presents,” I admitted as we walked inside. “What happened in Vegas?”
Paige’s eyes filled with tears. “It was awful,” she said, her voice squeaking. She wrapped her arms across her chest, the bag of ice cream banging against her hip as she entered the building while I held the door. “Nathan was bawling when Doug left with him. I cried for the first fifty miles. Cursed for the next ten. I can’t believe a judge felt like it was okay for a three-year-old to be taken away from his mother for so long. This summer Doug plans to take him for
eight
weeks. I’m going to petition the courts to wait until he’s older. He can’t leave me for two months. He’s so little.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
She looked up at me. “Want to know what’s really pathetic?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I wore sweats and a baseball cap when I left this morning.” She was currently dressed in very flattering straight-leg jeans, a gauzy teal top over a white T-shirt, and cute little silver ballet flats. “I stopped at In-N-Out to change my clothes and do my hair and makeup before we met up,” she said, waving to her makeup-free face, which she’d obviously cried off many miles ago. But her hair looked great, smooth and sleek. “Why did I do that, Daisy? What was I trying to prove?”
“That you’re okay,” I said.
“But I am so not okay,” she said, tears overflowing as we stepped out of the elevator. She didn’t even try to wipe them away; she just dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door to her apartment. We went inside and she hung up her purse before staring at the rug in her entryway. “This is all so wrong. It’s
Christmas.
”
She was preaching to the choir, which meant I had nothing to offer other than commiseration. “It really stinks.”
“Like a dead skunk—which I passed about thirty miles ago.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Paul left. I don’t know when or if he’s coming home.”
“I’m sorry, Daisy,” she said, finally wiping at her eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to shrug it off. “Kind of a dead-skunk holiday for me, too.”
I shook my head—I wasn’t trying to turn the attention to my own problems. “The point is that we’re both on our own for the holiday. I thought maybe we could watch
It’s a Wonderful Life.
It’s playing on two different cable stations, I think.”
“Ugh,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not up for that.”
“What about
Scrooged
?” I said from behind her as we headed toward the kitchen—that ice cream needed to get in the freezer. “It’s the best irreverent Christmas movie out there, next to
8 Crazy Nights,
but that’s actually about Chanukah.”
Paige gave me a small smile over her shoulder as she pulled open the freezer and put the ice cream—bag and all—inside. “I don’t think I could handle
The Muppets Christmas Carol
right now.”
“How about something like
Jurassic Park
?” I asked, following her into the living room and kicking off my shoes—I swear my feet were already swelling. “You can stream in Netflix, right?”
Her smile got a little wider. “Now
that
sounds perfect.”
On Christmas day, Paige came to my house—not as many toys to make her frown or Christmas decorations to remind her of what she was missing. We had a
Lord of the Rings
movie marathon—extended versions—and used the break between movie one and movie two to make brownies.
Her ex called halfway through the second movie, and I paused the action while she talked to her boys. She was such a tender, nurturing mother, and I tried not to compare my style to hers too much. I’d never been very good at the soft and squishy parts of motherhood. Maybe because I had been so young when I started, or because I had to keep a roof over our heads. But Paige was doing that too. I had always looked forward to a weekend without the girls, and while I’d never been alone for a holiday before, I’d wished I was more than once—it was so much work trying to keep them sufficiently entertained.
“Man, I miss them,” Paige said.
I hadn’t realized she’d finished the call, or that I was on the brink of tears as regret washed over me.
“Has she called?” Paige asked, seeing right through me.
I shook my head while swallowing the lump in my throat, embarrassed to be so transparent even though I appreciated that we could understand one another. “It’s okay, though,” I said, letting out a breath and pulling myself back together. “Now let’s watch Aragorn kick the snot out of those Uruk-hai.”
After the second movie ended, we decided to throw together some pasta, and in the process we started talking about the Christian symbolism in the movies. I was impressed with things she found that I hadn’t seen, but I called a few she hadn’t considered such as the way Saruman tempted Gandolph to use his powers to support Sauron just as Satan tempted Christ, and how Aragorn makes the sign of the cross over Boromir as he’s dying.
“Huh. Didn’t catch that one either,” Paige said. “You really do know your Christianity.”
I shrugged but felt pride instead of frustration with my religious background. On my way home from Paige’s last night, I’d passed a Catholic church all lit up for midnight Mass. I hadn’t stopped but part of me had wanted to. Maybe next year.
“So do you,” I said, taking my plate of fettuccine to the table. “I didn’t realize Mormons were Christian until we met.”
“Yeah, lots of people don’t think we’re Christian. I don’t really know why—the name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“I didn’t know why either,” I said, twirling some fettuccine onto my fork.
“So you were raised religious?” Paige asked, and I could hear the careful nature of her comment. I remembered the defensive position she’d had to take during the first book group and wondered if she got that a lot.
“I was raised Catholic,” I said. “Very Catholic.”
“You’re not practicing anymore?”
“No,” I said, trying not to feel uncomfortable, but I did. When was the last time I’d discussed religion with anyone? “I had some negative experiences.”
“Yeah,” Paige said. “I’ve had a few moments of that myself.” She paused then looked up sharply. “Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t have stopped going or anything. I’m not trying to be judgmental.”
She spoke fast and scared, and I smiled. “I didn’t feel judged,” I said. “Church just didn’t work for me. It doesn’t bug me to say that.”
“How about God? Do you believe in Him? I’m just curious.”
I thought about what my mom had said, how church was a vehicle to God, and how well that blended with the conversation we’d had at book group when we’d discussed
The Poisonwood Bible.
“I believe in God,” I said. “I’m not sure I like Him all the time, though.”
I could tell Paige was uncomfortable with that, but she didn’t say anything, so I quickly changed the subject back to the movies. “And what about the whole
Return of the King
? It’s only the base foundation of all Christianity, awaiting the Second Coming. Am I right?”
It ended up being a very good day. We were both hurting, and yet we had found some sisterhood together. I was grateful. At the end of the night, after we had beat the Tolkien discussions to death, Paige asked me what I was going to do now that Paul had left.
“The house is Paul’s,” I said. “I’m not on the mortgage, and he makes the payments. I keep hoping he’s going to come home and have a different opinion, but I feel silly holding my breath. I guess I need to look for an apartment.” I paused, letting the idea settle like a hammer on my toe. I took a deep breath and tried to shrug as I pinched off a corner of a leftover brownie. “This is still so
Twilight Zone.
”
Paige gave me a sympathetic smile. “The office isn’t open on Monday, so I have the day off. What if we go look at apartments and maternity clothes?”
“Sounds horrible,” I said, brushing crumbs from my fingers.
“We could get pedicures, too,” she said.
“Okay, you talked me in to it.”
I was only half paying attention when Paige and I went out on Monday. We found two apartments that looked good. One wouldn’t be ready for a month, but the other one was available now and not far from Paige. I was so not happy about returning to apartment life, but I tried not to make a big deal about it due to the fact that Paige was in an apartment, and I didn’t want to sound like a snob.
We also found a few maternity boutiques. I pretty much bought whatever Paige said looked good since it all looked ridiculous to me. I was such a zeppelin. The pedicures were the best part—I chose red for the season I didn’t feel much enamored with. At the end of the day, I gave her a big hug, thanking her profusely for making the holiday bearable.
“Right back at ya,” Paige said. “You totally saved me.”
I went back to work on Tuesday despite the fact that half the office didn’t come in. I heard nothing from Paul, and Wednesday became almost the same day as Tuesday, except that I wore a different whale costume to work. On my way home Wednesday night, I stopped at the apartment complex near Paige’s place in Tustin. The manager met me at the door of the available apartment, and I walked through it with new eyes, trying to quell my resentment of having to make yet another change in my life.
“Let me think on it a little longer,” I said, forcing a smile as we headed out of a place that didn’t seem as though it would ever really feel like home. Would the people below me have late-night parties? Would someone down the hall cook with onions too often? I hated living in apartments.
I went home to a dinner of leftover fettuccine in an empty house. I texted Stormy to tell her I loved her. She didn’t text back. I cried myself to sleep for the fourth night in a row.
Thursday afternoon I left the office early to go to my appointment with Dr. Cortez. He tried looking for the baby’s gender, but the appointment was instead dominated by the discovery that the placenta was covering part of my cervix—placenta previa, he called it.
“It should move up as the baby grows and expands the uterus,” Dr. Cortez said, the hint of a lilt to his words. “But avoid lifting or aerobic exercise until your next appointment, okay? And give me a call if you have any cramping or spotting.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I didn’t realize until I was getting dressed that I hadn’t even looked at the monitor when he did the ultrasound. Not that I’d ever been able to tell what it was on the screen anyway, but why hadn’t I even looked?
I was invited to a New Year’s party by a neighbor I talked to only a few times a year. Paige had a date with a guy named Derryl that she didn’t talk about much but smiled over every time she said his name. I was glad she was going out, but a little jealous too. Livvy called and invited me to her house for the holiday. I was touched, but had already committed to my neighbor’s party, which turned into a total bore. I was in bed by ten, spent New Year’s Day catching up on a scrapbook I’d abandoned five years earlier, and breathed a sigh of relief when I went to bed that night.
The holidays were over. I had survived.
At work, I finally let myself think about the fact that I hadn’t seen or heard from my husband in a week and a half. Nothing. I suspected that he’d come home for clothes once or twice while I was at work last week, but he’d managed to avoid me entirely. I called the manager of the apartment complex I’d looked at and asked if the unit was still available.
“Yes,” he said eagerly. “You could move in tomorrow.”
“How about Saturday?” I had the brief reminder that Saturday was book group night and grimaced. I’d thrown my copy of
Silas Marner
at Paige and never gotten it back. But I wanted to go. Maybe it could be my reward after I moved all day. I’m sure the girls in the group wouldn’t mind that I hadn’t finished the book.
I made an appointment to sign the contract the next morning. Then I dejunked every closet in the house while playing my
Forrest Gump
soundtrack at full blast. I didn’t have any boxes to pack things in yet, but left my closet fodder in piles and stacks throughout the house so that only Paul’s stuff went back in the newly cleaned closet. I cried the whole time.
The next morning I lay in bed too long. Everything had become so real and so heavy. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t go to work. I couldn’t
do
this. But I did get out of bed, feeling sore and heavy, and got ready for work. I did what I had always done—pulled myself up by my bootstraps and got on with my life, even though I felt dead inside. I stopped at the apartment complex on my way into the office and signed the contract. I’d pick up keys on Friday. Wow.
At the office, I took the stairs in hopes that I could stave off the insane weight gain that had me in its sights. By the last floor, my belly was hurting, and I was breathing hard. Was I already
that
big that it hurt to do normal things? No more Szechuan chicken and pralines and cream for me. In between work projects, I called the utility companies to get things switched over and hired a moving company to come to the house at eight o’clock Saturday morning. Every time emotion threatened to overcome me, I took a breath and pushed it away. There was too much to do to waste time with so many
feelings.
At eleven, I took a break to use the bathroom. That’s when I realized I was bleeding.