Some Women (18 page)

“I'm not hungry, but it's fine if you guys want something,” she relented, silently reminding herself that this may be all Max needed before heading out of town again.

“Excellent. I'm going to have the pancakes.”

“Me too!” Fern almost shrieked. “They're my favorite. At the place we usually go, I get them with chocolate chips and
strawberries. Do you think they'll have that here?” She scrunched her perfect nose, with its constellation of freckles.

“I'm sure we can arrange that.” Max patted her on the head like a real father would.

“I like mine with lots of syrup. What about you?”

“It's the only way to eat them!”

For the next forty-five minutes or so, Piper sat in relative silence as Max and Fern's conversation bounced back and forth like a tennis ball at the U.S. Open. She was a fifth wheel, which—as it happened—didn't really bother her. She had little, at least nothing nice, to say to Max. And wasn't this the purpose of the meeting anyway—so Fern could satisfy her enduring curiosity and Max could . . . What? Ease his guilt? Did he even feel guilty? If so, he certainly hadn't displayed many signs of it.

By the time the waitress finally brought the check—two stacks of pancakes, two chocolate milk shakes, and a shared apple pie with vanilla ice cream later—it was already well after three o'clock.

“Mom, can you believe Max knows how to ice-skate, just like I do?”

“Imagine that!” Piper feigned excitement, mainly relieved that Fern hadn't called him Dad.

“Can we go together? Please, Mom?”

“We'll have to see about that. Max and I can discuss it at another time.” Piper scooted out of the booth and reached for her coat and Fern's, which were hanging on the hook beside her.

“I meant now.” Fern didn't move. “I want to go skating now.”

“Well, that's not possible. You don't even have your ice skates with you.”

“I can rent them. Ali Donner does it all the time when she comes
with me and . . .” She paused. “Todd.” His name was barely audible.

“Good for Ali.”

“This is so unfair.” Fern balled her hands into fists. “I knew you were going to be like this.”

“Fern.” Piper's voice was laced with irritation. Max looked away as she shot her daughter a stern look with widened eyes, to indicate that she wasn't messing around.

Fern bowed her head, and suddenly Piper felt shameful to be depriving her of such a simple pleasure. Furthermore, she was sick of being the bad guy. “Fine.”

“What?” Fern's head popped up in surprise. “We can go?”

“We can go.
You
can go. I'll stand on the sidelines.”

“Yes! You're the best mom ever. Did you hear that, Max? She said we could go!”

“Thank you.” He smiled appreciatively at Piper. “This means a lot to me.”

•   •   •

Five hours later, Piper and Fern finally arrived back at their house. In Fern's words, it had been the best day of her life. So there was that. Max and Fern must have circled the rink a hundred times, until Fern had begged to sit at the crappy snack bar and partake in a greasy dinner of corn dogs and soggy French fries washed down with an alarmingly red strawberry Slurpee. As they walked through the front door, Fern was still chattering a mile a minute. She had done so the whole way home—a welcome change from their muted ride to the diner earlier that afternoon. Todd was sitting in the living room in the dark, with the lights from the
television flickering around him. He didn't get up to greet them, nor did he say anything at all. That was when it hit her. She'd promised him they'd be home for dinner.

“Why don't you go shower and get ready for bed?” She nudged Fern toward the stairs.

“Okay, Mom.” Apparently they were on good terms again.

“I'll come up and tuck you in soon,” Piper called after her, before walking into the living room and sitting down on the sofa next to Todd. “Hey. I'm so sorry I didn't think to call.”

“Hey.” He didn't look at her.

“I'm sorry we're late.” She reached out to stroke his arm, but he recoiled as her hand came near. He'd never done that before. Sure, she'd sensed that there'd been a strain between them since Max's arrival, but he'd always maintained that he understood her predicament. And that he supported her unconditionally, no matter what happened.

“I am too.”

“Fern just got so carried away, and I felt like . . .” He put his hand up to stop her from speaking.

“I don't want an excuse, Piper.”

“Then what do you want? Anything.” Her voice had taken on a slight pleading note.

“I don't know.” He shook his head. “I'm going to bed.”

“I'll come with you.” She stood too.

“Do what you want. I don't feel like talking right now, though.”

“Okay.” He turned to walk away. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

But he was already gone.

“You lie back and relax,” Dr. Ho instructed, as Mackenzie squirmed on the abrasive medical-exam paper in her struggle to find a comfortable position.

When Annabel had suggested acupuncture as a possible fertility treatment, Mackenzie had envisioned more of a spa-type experience,
not
the dingy home office of a five-foot-four, elderly Asian man. “He was a renowned physician in China, and then when he immigrated to the United States, he became an acupuncturist. Three women I know who tried everything from Clomid to intrauterine insemination to in vitro fertilization were pregnant within four months of seeing Dr. Ho,” Annabel had insisted. And then added, “What do you have to lose?”

Nothing
was the answer. Except, perhaps, the remaining dregs of her sanity. And whether that was still intact was already debatable. The thing was, Mackenzie did not like needles. At all. But when
Annabel had furthered her point by declaring that her friend's thirteen-year-old daughter Rebecca's asthma had also been cured by Dr. Ho's magical pricks, Mackenzie had given in. If a mere teenager could do it, so could she. She hoped. Especially since her conversation with Trevor about seeing a fertility specialist had not achieved the result she'd desired or expected, and she'd been forced to cancel their appointment with Dr. Billingsly. It was uncharacteristic of him to deny her anything, much less dig his heels in about something she'd thought they both wanted, but what could she do? It took two to tango.

In a fit of desperation, Mackenzie had mentioned her frustration to her mother-in-law. Against her better judgment, but she hadn't been in the most lucid state of mind. Rationally, the last thing she wanted was for Trevor to feel like he couldn't trust her or that when she didn't get her way, she went running to his mother behind his back. Still, this felt different. If CeCe was pushing her, she was surely pushing Trevor even harder, which was typically all it took. As anticipated, CeCe had been both surprised and troubled by her son's unwillingness to do whatever it took to produce a grandchild for her. And she'd promised Mackenzie that she'd work on him, even if it took a little time and some clever maneuvering. Translation:
manipulating
.

In the interest of full disclosure—
Okay, well, maybe not
full
disclosure
—she had shared with Trevor her plans to see Dr. Ho. He'd scoffed at the idea, which had riled her. She'd told him he was obviously far too close-minded to acknowledge the legitimacy of alternative medicine. Of course, she'd failed to admit that she wasn't exactly a fervent believer either. They'd bickered, not heatedly, but bickered nonetheless—which they never did—and Mackenzie had been left feeling alone in her pursuit to bear his child.
Their
child. She'd even started to question if something had changed between them.

There'd always been a certain formality to their relationship, though lately Trevor had seemed even more aloof than usual. She knew he was distracted by issues at work; he was, in fact, the one who had to tidy up the shrapnel after every one of CeCe's famous firing storms. Still, she couldn't dispose of her hunch that something wasn't right. Yet when she'd made mention of it to him, Trevor had said she was crazy to think anything was wrong between them and that he was merely stressed out, maybe more so than usual. Then CeCe had taken it one step further in communicating her belief that perhaps the idea of going to a fertility specialist was making Trevor feel like less of a man, and that it was Mackenzie's responsibility to offset that emotion by paying him extra attention and bolstering his frail ego.

Ultimately, Trevor had told her to do whatever she felt was best in the way of acupuncture, and that he'd support her no matter what, even if she thought covering her body in glue, diving into a pit of feathers, and skipping across their lawn while tweeting like a bird would do the trick. That had gone a long way toward lightening the mood.

“When you start trying for pregnant?” Dr. Ho focused his beady brown eyes on Mackenzie's exposed belly, as if steep concentration alone might make it swell. She wondered exactly how long he'd lived in America.

“About three years.”

“I see.” He nodded sagely, as if the number held some philosophical truth. “You move bowels often?”

“Excuse me?”

“You go to bathroom regular? Number two?” Dr. Ho scurried around the cramped space like a squirrel gathering nuts—all ninety pounds of him. Only his nuts came in the form of shiny, sharp pins.

Why on earth hadn't she taken Annabel up on her offer to accompany her, rather than agreeing to meet her for lunch afterward? She could really use someone's hand to death-grip at the moment.

“Um, yeah. I guess so.” Mackenzie flinched as Dr. Ho yanked one of his needles from its plastic tube. The waxy white paper beneath her shifted, leaving the bottom half of each of her legs affixed to the cheap synthetic exam table.

“You have any allergies? Any medical conditions?” Dr. Ho cross-examined her as he darted around, dotting strategic spots on her body with iodine. At one point he even produced a tiny tape measure for optimal precision.

“Not that I know of.” Mackenzie's voice splintered as one lone tear trickled down the right side of her face until it met a loose blond tendril that had freed itself from her ponytail. Why was she doing this? Why was she in this little office with this little doctor, getting punctured like a pincushion? Was this really necessary when they had the means to employ a real physician with the support of traditional scientific techniques to his credit? It was impossible to say until you came to the realization that you were willing to try just about anything.

Mackenzie's heart began to throb and the tears started rolling faster and harder from the corners of her eyes, dripping down into her ears. She took a deep breath as the first needle pierced her lower abdomen. And then she exhaled, relieved to have survived it without writhing in pain.

“That's it?” She sniffed, tilting her head upward to make sure the needle had gone in. Sure enough, there it was, sticking up like a flagpole directly under her belly button. Dr. Ho offered a brisk nod but said nothing, and he remained silent as he continued to stick her like a live voodoo doll.

Even though the needles didn't really hurt, the mere fact that she resembled a porcupine made her vaguely queasy, and she thought it better not to watch him in action. Instead, Mackenzie scanned the room, in search of something else to focus on.
Anything else
to focus on. Unfortunately, the stark white walls of Dr. Ho's cubiclelike office were as suffocating as a Jewish mother on her daughter's wedding day. Mackenzie coached herself to ignore the mild claustrophobia she'd been subject to since one very misguided visit to the tanning salon in college, when her friend Gigi had convinced her that bronzing her porcelain skin would make her glow. Unfortunately, the only glow she'd experienced had been from the torrential perspiration that had commenced the moment she'd closed the top of the tanning bed over her body.

Find something to zone in on,
she implored herself, and spotted a vibrant Chinese calendar on the wall in front of her, sandwiched between an anatomical poster and three white lab coats hanging on a succession of metal hooks. Did Dr. Ho have a different coat for each kind of acupuncture?
Ah, you have back problem. Let me wear coat number two today.

“I apply heat now.” Dr. Ho scuttled to the corner of the room, and Mackenzie craned her neck to observe him until he turned back toward her with a small hot stone clasped by silver tongs, and proceeded to hover it over each needle. She welcomed the warmth, unaware until that moment that she'd broken a cold sweat and was shivering.

“Okay. That's all. We done.” Dr. Ho spoke in a clipped tone while offering Mackenzie the first smile she'd seen from him thus far. He proceeded to pluck out each needle out like the expert he apparently was.

“So, what's wrong with me?” She released her long hair from the ponytail holder, allowing the strands to dangle off the side of the table like an assemblage of party streamers.

“Low kidney energy. You need come back.” Dr. Ho nodded conclusively.

“Low kidney energy?” Mackenzie shot upright. “Oh, my God! Am I'm going to need
dialysis
?”

“No. Kidneys are fine,” Dr. Ho replied pragmatically, signaling Mackenzie to get off the table. Clearly, there were other patients to prick.

“What does that mean,
kidneys are fine
? You just said they were low on energy.” She slid off the table, with the exam paper adhering to her left butt cheek. “Do I need to go to the hospital and have tests?”

Mackenzie felt suddenly short of breath. She didn't drink alcohol excessively. She didn't have diabetes or high blood pressure—not even a history of either in her family. She had lost a few pounds lately, quite unintentionally, probably due to the residual stress from not being able to conceive. But she certainly wasn't one of those women who followed a strict diet. Unlike Annabel.

“No hospital.” He laughed nervously. Did he find this funny? “Low kidney energy not to do with kidneys. You come back next week.” It wasn't a question.

“Um, okay. I guess.” Mackenzie peeled the wax paper from her moist flesh. “What do I owe you?”

“One hundred thirty dollars. Cash.”

She nodded obediently, rifling through her purse to find her wallet, before handing over three crisp bills. She would have expected the loss of her dignity to cost more.