When Girlfriends Step Up (31 page)

“You’ll do a marvelous job, Robin. And you’ll have your best friends, and your boyfriend who loves you madly, right there for you. You won’t be alone. Not a thing to be scared about.”

I gripped my fingers around his coat lapels and pulled myself up to his lips, stealing one more fiery kiss before we had to get back to work.

Chapter Twenty-One

That weekend the thing that my baby books referred to as nesting kicked in, and that meant the baby was on its way. Tonight? Tomorrow? In a week or two? Who knew? I was still four weeks away from my due date, but what if Rose decided she was ready to come now? In a state of panic, I had called Dr. Jane Buschardi’s office, thinking I was going to go into early labor. The nurse told me that nesting did not mean broken water was right around the corner. I needed to take it easy, keep on nesting—getting everything situated just right for Baby—but not panic. Unless I was having contractions or my water actually broke, there was no cause for alarm.

I’d given Bobby quite a scare that Friday night while I told him how I’d read all about nesting and all about false labor scares. And how I was worried I’d be one among the many women who went into early labor. Before I could reassure Bobby that the doctor’s office told me I didn’t have anything to worry about, he called to the waiter to bring our check and instantly started helping me out of my seat. “I’m prepared!” he’d said. “Completely prepared! I know the quickest route to the hospital. I’ve Googled it.”

You can imagine the surprise on his face when all I could do was sit there in the middle of the restaurant and laugh while he urged me to get a move on to the hospital. At least I knew I was in good hands if I found myself going into labor with only Bobby around. He
had
, after all, searched for the quickest route to the hospital.
 

I knew I was in good hands, too, if it was just Lara and me at home when my water broke. I’d been choking on and hacking up a nut the other day when Lara practically had the car running and ready to go before she realized I was only acting too stupid to chew and swallow properly. Not even close to going into labor.

Jackie let Andrew know that she was on call with me and would dash off to the hospital whenever she got the go ahead.
 

Sophie and Claire already had Plans A, B, C, and D sketched out for when I’d go into labor, with Conner an integral part in Plans B and C…or D. I wasn’t sure; I just knew they were locked, loaded, and ready for action when the time came. They even had a large drawing board set up in Claire’s dining room mapping out the most convenient routes to the hospital depending on the current location and time of day. No messing around.

Emily must have been able to find herself an internet connection with more ease as of late, since we were messaging back and forth one to two times a week. She repeatedly said she’d be home in time for the birth. That particular plan I was unsettled about. With all my nesting going on, and plenty of thoughts of going into an early labor buzzing about, I was beginning to have my doubts that world-traveling-Emily would be able to make it in time.

We weren’t sure when Rose would make her grand appearance, obviously, so each of us had to be ready to go from zero to sixty at all times. I was all about going one hundred percent natural with her birth, so that meant no planned Cesarean (unless medically necessary), no scheduled birthday, not even any pain relief treatments. Nope, I was going to try this rite of passage as nature intended it. And my Lamaze instructor Sky insisted that a natural birth was “the most holy and fulfilling of methods.” Time would only tell.

We’ll see what happens when I’m writhing in agony. One can only imagine…

The plus with nesting meant that the baby’s room was finally complete, and the house was as baby-ready and baby-proof as it could be—electrical outlets stopped up, special locks on all of the lower cabinets and cupboards, and door stoppers that’d keep Rose from smashing her tiny fingers when she started crawling. Now all we needed was show time!
 

“The baby’s room is done, at last,” I said, cranking the musical mobile Bobby finished attaching to the crib.

“Look at this!” I said to Lara, who popped her head into my room. “Is this not the most precious gift ever?”

Lara squealed with delight when she saw the singing crib mobile.

“It’s Bobby’s gift for Rose. Custom made.”

“This baby online shop lets you custom design these things,” Bobby had said when he gave it to me, looking the slightest bit proud of his smart purchase. “The little hanging toy things. The music. Pretty neat idea to be able to customize it all.”

The mobile was playing the original 1950s Bobby Day version of “Rockin’ Robin,” and five small, soft mobile charms hung suspended above the crib: a bird, a rose, a book, a painting palette, and a heart.

“That is
the
most adorable mobile I’ve ever seen. And ‘Rockin’ Robin.’ For Robin?”

Bobby nodded. “Probably going to keep Rose up more than lull her to sleep, but I couldn’t resist.” He put his arm around my waist.

“And each little charm is something special,” I pointed out. “Personal.”

“Yeah, you never know,” he said. “Rose may turn out to be a great artist, or cover designer or something, just like her mom.”

I looked up at Bobby, into his trusting eyes, at his beautiful face, his one-day-plus five o’clock shadow balancing that look of suave and gruff positively perfectly. I gave him a light kiss and hugged him close.

How am I so lucky?
And to put so much thought into a gift for a baby that he’s never even met. For a baby that’s not even his.

***

“Do you have any idea what you want to do for your birthday?” I asked Lara over dinner. “The big two-nine is
tomorrow
. You haven’t told us what you want to do at all.”

Lara shrugged nonchalantly, soaking up a piece of bread in olive oil. “I don’t really care about it this year.”

“It’s your last year in your twenties! Some people think that’s cause for celebration.”

“Or mourning.” She bit off a chunky bite of sopping bread.

“Talk about grim, sheesh. Maybe we
want
to do something for you.”

The girls and I’d talked about doing something for Lara, in spite of her not so much as giving us a hint at what she wanted to do, or wanted as a gift. We ran the usual ideas by her: night out somewhere, dinner at her favorite restaurant, a movie, a ballet or a show, a spa date, gift card somewhere—all to no avail.

“It falls on a Tuesday this year; not ideal for going out and…I don’t really feel like doing anything. I’ll have more birthdays. We can do something fun next year.”

I detected a slight indication of Lara’s feeling down and out in the love department. Sometimes she’d get so focused on her being single, then she’d become transfixed on the ludicrous notion that she’d be single forever, then she’d indubitably spiral into a silent pit of somberness that I swore was a mild case of depression. Even Claire, who worked in the medical field and saw a fair share of disabled and elderly patients who were in need of medical attention for depression, thought that sometimes Lara might benefit from a little dose of pick-me-up via Zoloft. Whenever we brought this up, Lara would dismiss it as her simply being a normal, average person who got sad now and then—nothing she couldn’t handle. Perhaps she was right, but I hated seeing her like this. And for the past few months, particularly once Bobby and I became more serious, I thought her brief bouts of depression were getting worse and more frequent.

“Are you getting down on yourself about your love life, Lara?” I didn’t want to pry or upset her further. I was concerned.

“Lack thereof, you mean.” She pushed her plate away, half its contents still uneaten. “I guess I didn’t see myself turning the corner towards thirty and still being single. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally happy for
you
, Robin, even if I’m a little envious of what you have with Bobby. Please don’t take it the wrong way. I just didn’t think I’d be twenty-nine and single.”

“It’ll happen, Lara. Eventually, it’ll happen.” I reached out and stroked back her loose hair. “Don’t worry, baby doll.”

She immediately broke down, releasing what was probably a long-withheld dam of tears.

“I don’t want to be that freaky cat lady who’s alone, Robin. Thirty. Forty. Fucking
fifty
and alone!” She slammed her elbows down onto the table with such force the plates rattled and inched forward. “Alone, Robin! Me and Beebee. A freaky cat lady, shuffling about in her bathrobe and hair curlers, eating cheese balls and watching daytime dramas.” She stuffed her face into her hands and continued her rant. “Living vicariously through those romances. Alone. Old and alone. And all dried up at fifty.”

“Lara,” I murmured, wrapping her in a hug. “Don’t cry, honey. Shhh. Don’t you worry. You know, at least you’ve got your sense of humor about you.”

“Don’t make jokes!” she cried out in half-laugh, half-tears. “I’m being serious.”

“Oh come now. Cheese balls, daytime soaps, and hair curlers? Doesn’t sound like my Lara. Have you forgotten who you are?” I rubbed her back. “You’re Lara the camp counselor. The girl who was there for three goofballs who didn’t know their Sigma Chis from their libraries. Who didn’t know the best bakery near campus when they needed a study boost.” I pulled her chin towards me, looking her in her tearful, glassy blue eyes. “The girl who’s always been the leader of the pack. Who’s been an inspiration to stay in school, go after our dreams, get kickass careers…be
strong
women!” I drew closer to her and said in earnest, “The woman who helped keep the glue between two best friends, who went to hell and back. You’re an amazing and
beautiful
woman, Lara. I couldn’t live without you. You stood by, full of hope and encouragement, making me see and making Sophie see that no jackass or stupid one-night stand is worth coming between us and tearing apart our friendship. You’re our glue, Lara, and any man who can’t see that—who can’t see that you’re a shining star with so much to offer, that he’d be lucky to have—is not worth it.”

She cried more painful tears, pulling me close tightly. “Oh, Robin,” she sobbed, her voice muffled against me. “It hurts. It hurts so much.”
 

I let her cry, rubbing her back and holding her close, telling her, “Everything will be all right, dear. Everything will be all right.”

Slowly she began to pull herself together, wiping back her tears, trying her damnedest to stave off another wash of them. “I just want to experience love. A real love like you have with Bobby. I want that for myself. Why am I the only girl who can’t seem to get her love life in order?”

I laughed in mirth. Was she kidding? “Lara,” I started, wavering between feeling comedic and sorry. “You may think it’s great and all—and it is, don’t get me wrong—that I’ve fallen in love with Bobby. But don’t forget that I
am
pregnant with one of our best friend’s ex-boyfriend’s baby. Not exactly a
Little House on the Prairie
quaint love story, all right?” She tittered. “And have you forgotten about Sophie? She’s not riding the love express train, either. Emily? Well, who the hell knows there. And Jackie? Come on. That girl’s always riding some express train, but it ain’t the love line. Honestly, aside from Claire, are any of us in a long-standing,
healthy
relationship?” She shrugged and jutted out her bottom lip. “Actually, come to think of it, it’s kind of depressing overall, isn’t it? None of us are really hitting the jackpot of love, huh?”

She shared a small laugh again with me, and then I said, “A really wise girl once told me to let the chips fall where they may.” She rolled her eyes as she cracked a smile. “And, what’s that proverb?” I theatrically tapped my temple. “Ah, yes! Good things come to those who wait. That’s how it goes, right? Your time will come, Lara.” I grabbed her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Your time—your Prince Charming—
will
come.”

She dried her tears with a napkin and pushed back her hair with an elastic headband, apologizing for her abrupt fit.
 

“We all have our tantrums, girl,” I said. “Now finish up your dinner. I saw that new Bradley Cooper film on Netflix. Should be good for a few laughs. And, cat lady, you could use a few of those.”

She balled up a crumb of bread and tossed it at me. “Hey, watch it, preggers!”

***

I moved as fast as I could manage, clutching the underside of my bulging belly, trying to make it to the toilet before my bladder burst and released all over the hardwood floors.
 

Come on, Robin, move it, move it, move it.
 

Then a surge of pain kicked in, like the sharp pang I felt a minute earlier. It wasn’t Rose doing her routine evening kickboxing, and it wasn’t indigestion. Ow! There it was again. Then another, this one twice as sharp as the last. And then another…

“Uh!” I groused, shooting straight up, darkness enveloping me.

Where am I?

I looked to my left, my right, all around as I sat up, now wide-awake in bed. I was unable to focus on any light in the room; nothing but the ominous pitch black.

What time is it?

I slowly began to realize that I was in my bed, awaking from a nightmare.

11:03,
the alarm clock read.

I threw my blankets off, feeling clammy. I noticed I soaked my nightshirt straight through.

What a nightmare.
 

I couldn’t recall what I was dreaming. Then, as I climbed out of bed to make my way to the kitchen for a drink of water to replenish the likely gallon I’d sweated away in panic, the subject of the nightmare became clear. It became true!
 

I gripped my sides. A biting pang hit me and I drew in a quick breath. I took two or three paces towards the door, my eyes eventually adjusting to the darkness. I was able to see the outline of the door thanks to the green light cast by the alarm clock. Then another searing shot of pain. This one stopped me dead in my tracks.

Am I still dreaming?