Echoes (31 page)

Sisterchicks Do the Hula

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In five days my best friend, Laurie, and I were scheduled to meet up in Honolulu. What triggered my meltdown was an ordinary box that arrived on my doorstep in the snow. Inside was my maternity bathing suit.

Blithely carrying the box upstairs, I drew the curtains, closed the bedroom door, and peeled off layers of warm clothes. Relieved that the back-ordered item had arrived in time, I wiggled my way into the new swimsuit, slowly turned toward the mirror on the back of the bedroom door, and took in the sight of my blessed belly wrapped in swaddling aqua blue spandex.

First the front view. Then the side. Other side. Twisting my head over my shoulder, I got a glimpse of the backside. Then quickly returned to the front view.

I was shocked! Completely shocked!

The woman in the mirror shook her head at me.
“You’re not considering going out in public wearing that, are you?”

“Yes?” I answered with a woeful sigh. “Although, I didn’t think it would look like this on me.”

“Oh, really? And just what did you think it would look like on you?”

“Well, not like this.”

For months I had been riding high on the “blessed-art-thou-among-women” cloud. I considered it a privilege to carry this baby. I told myself I was participating in a calling that was higher than fashion and charm. Who cares about beauty? The truth was, my body was nurturing new life.

However, truth and beauty had crashed head-on in my bedroom mirror.

“I like this shade of blue,” I declared, trying to be positive.

“Yeah? Well, from where I’m standing, that shade of blue does not appear to be too fond of you, sweetheart.”

“Maybe I could return this one and order the black one instead.”

“Right, because everyone knows that black is always so much more slimming.”

“There was that black one with the little pleated skirt …”

“Okay, yeah, there you go. Because nothing says dainty like Shamu in a tutu.”

“Hey!” I turned away and covered my belly as if to protect Emilee’s ears from this audacious woman. “You don’t have to be rude about it!”

“Look who’s talking.”

I glared over my shoulder at the mannerless minx and found I couldn’t say anything. I could only stare at her. At myself. At what I had become. How did this happen?

How could it be that my two dreams had intersected this way? Innocent little Emilee Rose was my dream baby come true. A trip to Hawaii with Laurie was a dream that had waited patiently for two decades to come true.

But someone had taken my two best dreams and poured them into a single test tube when I wasn’t looking. Now the churning, foaming result bubbled over the top and ended up larger than life in my bedroom mirror. There she stood, defying me to accept the truth.

I was old.

And I was not beautiful. How had those two facts escaped me in the bliss of being a middle-aged life bearer?

Fumbling my way out of the aqua swimsuit and trying to
stop the ridiculous flow of big, globby tears, I turned my back on the mirror and plunged into my roomiest maternity clothes. Leaning against the ruffled pillows that lined our bedroom window seat, I inched back the curtains and let the tears gush.

Outside, an icy January snowstorm was elbowing its way down the eastern seaboard, causing the limbs of our naked elm tree to shiver uncontrollably. Beside me was a tour book of Hawaii. The cover showed shimmering white sand, pristine blue water, and a graceful palm tree stretching toward the ocean as if offering its hand for the waves to kiss. Beautiful people from all over the world came to bask in the sun and stroll along such exotic beaches in this island paradise.

I glanced sympathetically at the quivering elm tree out my window and tried to imagine slender tropical palms in full sunlight, swaying in the breeze, green and full of life.

“That’s right. Think about the beautiful beaches, the sunshine, and all the fun you and Laurie are going to have.”

I blew my nose and glanced at the mirror.

She was still there, delivering her sugary sass.

“Don’t think of the other tourists—those twenty-year-old toothpicks in their bikinis, sauntering down the beach with their long, cellulite-free legs and their flat stomachs. Who cares that you’ll be the only woman on the beach looking like a bright blue Easter egg on parade?”

I picked up a pillow, took aim, and …

The bedroom door swung open, forcing the mirror maven into hiding. My hero entered with a tube of caulking in his hand. “There you are. You okay?”

I clutched the pillow to my middle and nodded.

Darren glanced out the window and then down at the tour book beside me. “I heard this storm is supposed to blow over by Monday. Should be clear sailing when you fly out on Wednesday morning.”

“That’s what I heard, too.” My voice sounded surprisingly steady.

Darren stepped into our bathroom and proceeded to caulk the shower.

“Hope, can you come here and tell me if this looks straight to you?”

I didn’t need to go in there to see if his caulking line was straight. Darren’s repairs were never straight. But they always worked. That’s all that mattered to me.

“Looks good.” I tilted my head ever so slightly so that the line along the base of the shower honestly did appear straight.

He glanced up from his kneeling position. With a tender pat on my belly, he said, “And you look good to me.”

“Bahwaaaaah!” I burst into tears all over again.

“What’s wrong? What did I say?” Darren was on his feet, trying to wrap both arms around me and draw me close. “Why are you crying?”

“How can I possibly look good to you? I’m pregnant! I’m really, really pregnant!”

“Of course you are. Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m going to Hawaii!”

“Yes, you’re going to Hawaii. Come on now, pull yourself together.”

I kept crying.

Darren looked frantic. He stepped back and, fumbling for his roguish smirk, said, “So, is this a hormone thing?”

“No, it’s not a hormone thing! I’m old, Darren! I’m old and pregnant, and I’m going to Hawaii. Can you understand how that makes me feel?”

He couldn’t.

How could I possibly expect my husband to understand all the bizarre things that happen to a woman in spirit and flesh
when a friendly alien takes over her body? He still couldn’t figure out why Laurie and I wanted to fly all the way to Hawaii just to spend a week lounging around a pool, comparing underarm flab, when we could stay home and have the same conversation over the phone for a lot less money.

I took a deep breath. “You know what? I don’t care what anyone says. These screaming purple stretch marks running up my biscuit-dough thighs are stripes of honor.”

“Exactly.”

“I earned every one of those zingers!”

“Of course you did, honey.”

“I am a Mother, with a capital M.”

“Never doubted it for a moment.”

“And everyone knows that aqua is the perfect motherhood color, even in the tropics.”

“Especially in the tropics.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

What my husband had just observed was a 95 percent hormone-induced solar flare. But there was no way on this blue earth that I would reveal that scientific secret to him.

I concluded my little skit by clearing my throat and saying, “I think your caulking looks good. Very nice.”

“Thanks. And I meant what I said. You look good to me, too.”

“Thank you.” I turned with my chin raised in valor and tried to glide gracefully out of the bathroom, my beach-ball belly exiting a full half a second before the rest of me.

Reaching for the much-debated swimsuit, I rolled it up and tucked it into the corner of my suitcase. Over my shoulder I could feel the mirror maven working up a good sass-and-slash comment. Before she had a chance to deliver it, I turned to face
her full on. “Let’s see now. One of us is stuck to a piece of particleboard, and one of us is leaving for Hawaii on Wednesday. Any guesses as to which one you are?”

She didn’t say a word. She knew her place. And I was about to find mine.