Читать книгу Making Babies - Wendy Warren - Страница 11

“So let me get this straight.” Gordon Shapiro, Elaine’s best friend since they’d studied for their bar and bat mitzvahs together over two decades ago, gazed curiously across a green Formica-topped table. “Your new landlord is your ex-husband’s divorce lawyer, and you may have slept with him—the lawyer, not the ex—but you’re not sure.”

Elaine nodded. “Right.”

“Hmm.” Gordon shook his head. “I feel terrible then.”

“You do. Why?”

“In high school I voted you ‘Most dull.’”

Elaine plucked a Splenda packet out of a ceramic dish on the kitchen table and threw it at her old friend. “I always suspected you were the one who put me over the top.” At six feet one inch and two hundred pounds, Gordon looked like a handsome linebacker, but he commiserated like a big, cuddly teddy bear.

Laying her head on the table, Elaine groaned. “What am I going to do? I can’t stay there if he owns it. And I’ll never find a two-bedroom in a great area with that kind of rent.” She thumped the table with her fist. “Damn him.”

Reaching for the latte he’d made Elaine and which she hadn’t yet touched, Gordon carried it to the kitchen counter.

“So tell me,” he said, fiddling with the controls of his new cappuccino machine, “if you’re not even sure you slept together, why are you so angry with him?”

“Because he offered me five years of guaranteed rent control!”

“Ah, right.” He nodded. “That bastard.”

Elaine sat up and shook her head. Gordon Shapiro had loved her through braces and Retinol A, through bad hair and bad jobs and through Kevin. He knew her as well as anyone, better than most. She leaned far over the table to explain. “Mitch Ryder thinks I’m going to be alone for five years. He slept with me, and he thinks I’m going to be alone that long.”

“You don’t know for sure that he slept with you.”

“Well, according to the evidence we know he saw me naked.”

“Right.” Gordon frowned. “That’s not good then.”

Elaine slumped over the table again. While Gordon made fresh lattes, she rose, crossed to the kitchen window and stared out.

She’d always loved visiting Gordon on Friday evenings. He lived three blocks from a large synagogue in the northwest section of Portland. Come twilight, families would pass by Gordon’s window, walking to shul together—mothers, fathers and children attractively dressed yet relaxed and happy as they started the Jewish Sabbath by strolling together.

“We used to do that,” Elaine murmured, leaning her shoulder against the window frame and her forehead against the glass. “When I was in grammar school, my parents would take Sam and me to temple every Friday night, and the rabbi would say a prayer for families. All the parents would put their hands on top of their kids’ heads and bless them. My dad’s hands were so big he could reach down and tickle my cheek with his pinkie. It was the best feeling in the whole world.”

Watching her, Gordon smiled back. “Better than Wavy Gravy?” He named their very favorite Ben & Jerry’s flavor. “I stocked up.”

She shrugged apologetically. “Yeah. Better than that.” She looked out again. “Even as a kid, I couldn’t wait to be the parent someday.” In an instant she was assailed by the real reason for the ache inside her, and her eyes began to well. “I’m so scared to have a baby on my own, Gordon. I don’t want to be scared, but I am. I’m even more afraid that I’ll chicken out.”

Gordon sympathized, but had little idea how to soothe such a pain. “Maybe you should start dating,” he said.

“What?” It was freakish how quickly her heart started to pound. The memory of falling asleep on Mitch’s shoulder rose instantly to mind. “I don’t want to date.”

“Nobody wants to date. It’s what you do so you can get to the good stuff.”

“Pass. The ‘good stuff’ is highly overrated, anyway.”

Gordon returned to the table with a fresh latte and a bowl of popcorn and sat. “I consider it my personal duty as your best friend to tell you ‘Nuh-uh.’ Honey, you were with Kevin way too long.”

“Yeah, well not so long that I don’t remember dating. It’s not worth the anxiety. All you do between dates is exfoliate and worry. Does he like me? Will he call again? Should I call him?”

“I love wondering that.”

Elaine shuddered. “Not me. Anyway, I’ve got more important things to think about. I’ve got to find a birth partner. I’ve always wanted to try natural childbirth, so I’ll need someone who can go to classes with me and help me breathe and—” Gordon was cringing already. Elaine’s heart plummeted. “Not your cup of tea, hmm?”

Looking up at her, his eyes full of affection and regret, Gordon said, “Sorry, pumpkin. You know how I am with blood.”

“But the miracle of birth—”

Gordon shook his head.

Elaine sighed. She’d known it was too much to hope for, but figured it was worth a shot. Gordon had been surprised but supportive when she’d first related her decision to have a family, but he’d never been that nuts about kids, even when he was one. This wasn’t going to be like the movies, where two single friends raised a child together.

Elaine could feel depression threaten as the dreaded “if onlys” floated through her mind. If only she’d married more wisely. If only she were married now to someone who would rub cocoa butter on her stomach and bring home books on attachment parenting and read aloud from them in bed. If only…

She turned again to gaze out the window. The one thing she had promised herself she would not do after her divorce was stay angry or get stuck in some postdivorce time warp. She’d spent twelve years of her marriage acting like Doris Day on Valium. Happy, happy, happy. The only thing worse would be to turn into Divorced Doris in need of Prozac.

“I’m not ruining this for you, am I?” Gordon asked, concern filling his voice.

She turned toward her friend and had to smile. He looked so guilty. “Nope. Not even close,” she assured him and knew suddenly it was true. The fact was that every stumbling block she thought of only made her want to have a baby more. “I’m going to do it, Gordy. I’ll just take the next logical step and worry about the rest later. I’m through with the picket fence fantasy.” She gave him a huge brave smile. “Come Monday morning, Gordo, I’m visiting a sperm bank.”

After an initial blink of surprise, Gordon nodded. “Now that I can get on board with. I’ll go with you.”

Elaine laughed. “We’ll see, Gordon.”

At 5:00 a.m. Saturday morning, Elaine’s eyes snapped open. She rolled over, burying her face in a pile of cool, soft pillows, but awakened again at five-thirty, six-fifteen and a quarter to seven.

Birds sang outside her bedroom window, the morning light poked around the lowered shade, teasing her, and she was helpless to resist its lure. For the first time in ages she had something more exciting than breakfast to get up for.

Showering quickly, she dressed for a day of running around in weather that was supposed to inch toward seventy. Indian summer. It was amazing, really, what a change in perspective could do. Yesterday, she’d been exhausted, older than her years. Today she felt fit and alive.

Ready and able to make a baby.

The conviction that she could pursue her dream on her own had not waned overnight. Today and tomorrow she planned to do as much research as she could. By Monday morning she’d be ready to get the ball rolling.

Inspired by the idea that she was finally in charge of her dreams, Elaine was too hyped to sit still. She took a brisk walk through the neighborhood then drove to Pappaccino’s for a toasted bagel and a hazelnut latte while she waited for the stores to open.

Come 10:00 a.m., her first stop was Barnes & Noble, followed by the library, where she checked out several books and researched alternative insemination on the Internet until an assistant librarian kicked her off the computer.

After the library, Elaine hit the craft store, Babies R Us, and PetCo to look—only look for now—at the puppies. Eventually she wanted her child to be raised around animals. Thoughts of country homes with space to roam flitted through her head as she laughed at the gymnastics of an exuberant Lab puppy before she made her seventh and last stop before home—the health food store.

Grabbing a basket, she wandered the aisles, acquainting herself with sprouted grains, fermented soybeans and “natural” chickens that, according to the literature they came with, had been raised at a veritable Club Med for poultry. Unfortunately she couldn’t bear the thought of eating something so happy, so she pressed on to the organic dairy case. If she was going to make a baby, she had to prepare her body. Good nutrition was a cornerstone of fertility.

By the time Elaine arrived home, laden with shopping bags and information, perspiration trickled beneath her T-shirt, her limbs felt rubbery and her stomach howled for food. She could have killed for a burger—the kind someone else made and which took three minutes, max, to serve up—but fast food was strictly off-limits from now on. She consoled her tummy by promising to feed it a yummy tempeh Reuben sandwich as soon as she got all the perishables put away.

Low blood sugar was probably the reason she didn’t react strongly when she saw the Toyota truck parked outside the duplex. Mitch was back. Not that she was surprised. He owned the building, after all, and he had said he was going to work weekends fixing it up. What he did with his duplex was his business; all she had to figure out was whether she intended to stay here or not.

Or not would have been ahead by a mile except that Elaine couldn’t imagine being able to afford anything more appropriate given her current job, her savings…and her plans. Which meant, of course, that she was going to have to call a truce with her landlord. She didn’t want his rock-bottom rent; she refused to accept it. Why he considered her his personal charity case, she didn’t know and refused to ponder. Stress interfered with ovulation.

Business, pure and simple—that’s all she wanted to think about where Mitch Ryder was concerned. Decent housing at a fair-to-both-of-them price was the deal she was determined to strike. When she found a better job, she would find better housing. Or, at least, comparable housing with a different landlord.

Hefting two of the grocery bags into her arms, Elaine lugged them up the porch steps, setting them by the front door while she fiddled with her house keys.

The apartment unit next to hers had been vacant since she’d moved in. Today the windows were open for the first time and she heard someone, Mitch evidently, working inside. Rhythmic hammering filled the air.

Elaine quickly decided to unload her purchases and feed herself before she faced him.

He had other ideas.

On her second trip from the car to her front door, she turned with three shopping bags in her arms to find him striding toward her, a scowl of displeasure directed her way. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Surprised, Elaine had to think about it a minute. “I’m carrying my packages to the house,” she said mildly, deliberately meeting his scowl with a frown of concern. “That’s not a violation of my rental agreement, is it?”

Mitch scowled harder. “Funny.” He reached for the bundles, all the bundles, in her arms without asking. “I mean, what are you doing carrying so much at one time?”

After a futile protest, Elaine plunked her hands on her hips and eyed her purloined bags. “What are you doing carrying so much at one time?”

The scowl cleared briefly to make room for surprise. Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you one of those women?” He hitched his chin at her, indicating she should continue moving toward the door. “The kind who wants to believe she can do everything without a man?”

You have no idea. She nearly laughed out loud, but he didn’t appear to be in a laughing mood and the packages were heavy, so she let them in the door without further ado. Mitch followed her to the kitchen.

“Just set it all on the counter, thanks.”

He elbowed the first bags she’d brought in farther back and placed his in front of them. “You were busy today.”

As she nodded, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her just how busy she’d been.

Mitch cocked a brow. “Do you have anything else in your car?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get it. You start unpacking and make yourself something to eat.”

Elaine was inclined to be grateful. Kevin had stopped helping with groceries so long ago, he’d completely missed the “Paper or plastic?” revolution. On the other hand, she figured Mitch’s authoritative tone and her newly avowed status as one of those women made her honor-bound to decline.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll get the rest of my things and then—”

Grrrrrr. Her stomach protested decisively.

Mitch shook his head at her. “Eat something, Elaine. You have a great body, but your legs are skinny.” Without waiting for or inviting a reply, he turned and strode out of the duplex.

Elaine stared after him speechlessly. For a recently divorced woman with Ben & Jerry’s running through her veins, those words were music to her ears.

Mitch headed for Elaine’s red Volvo to bring in the rest of her purchases.

He’d been hard at work since quarter to nine this morning, surprised to find Elaine gone so early, but deciding it was better that way. No arguing, no verbal sparring. He’d get more work done.

Except that his peaceful morning hadn’t been nearly as enjoyable as his contentious evening the night before with Elaine.

After he’d left her, he’d ended up having dinner with his sister, who had been useless in decoding Elaine’s behavior. To his question, “Why would a woman get so damned riled about a rent discount?” M.D. had replied, “No idea.” Then she’d ordered steak, rare, and a scotch and water from the waiter at Jake’s. Mitch had gotten the picture: If he wanted to know how a woman’s mind worked, he would have to ask someone who thought like a woman, which pretty much ruled out M.D.

In lieu of ruminating about Elaine, he’d decided simply to distract himself. The physical work today had felt good, and he’d been congratulating himself on not wussing out by hiring someone to handle the minor repairs in the vacant unit when Elaine wobbled by the window, lugging the first group of grocery bags. Once again he’d had a nearly instantaneous protective response. Carrying all those heavy bags, he’d thought, can’t be good for her.

Jeez! Was part of his brain misfiring? Had a crucial synapse died? As of last night, Elaine Lowry is only a tenant, he reminded himself.

Reaching into the open rear door of her car, Mitch saw that the remaining bags held books. There were two plastic bags with a bookstore logo and a large canvas bag that had Multnomah County Library printed on the side. Some of the library books had spilled out onto the seat.

Leaning farther into the car to scoop them up, Mitch realized he was curious about what Elaine read and about the sheer quantity of reading material. Come to think of it, though, having a plethora of books seemed to fit her image. Underneath the quirky outspoken feminist lurked a shy, bookish heart. Definitely the quiet evening at home with a cup of tea and fuzzy slippers type. Though the women Mitch dated were happier in sophisticated restaurants and clubs than they were ensconced on their own sofas, Mitch liked that about Elaine. He liked—

What the hell?

He looked more closely at the books on the back seat.

Fertility Nutrition.

Soy Drinks for Hormonal Health.

Dragging the canvas bag closer, he pulled out more books.

Yoga and Your Pregnant Body.

Baby’s First Year.

When he dug into the Barnes & Noble bag, the first book he withdrew was Forty Thousand Names for Baby.

He felt as if steam were shooting from his ears, like a character in one of the Saturday morning cartoons he and M.D. used to sneak into the TV room to watch. What the bloody hell…

Pregnant? Was Elaine pregnant? The image of her womanly body entered his mind and lodged there as he slammed the door and strode back to the apartment with her books.

She was in front of the refrigerator, bending over as she squeezed vegetables into the crisper, her shorts inching up to expose a generous amount of smooth, lightly tanned skin. Had he actually called those shapely legs skinny?

Mitch dropped the book bags to the floor. Elaine glanced over her shoulder and smiled, the first genuine smile she’d given him since he’d shown up yesterday. The curve of her lips was as sweet and sexy as…as her other curves.

Feeling his mouth go dry, Mitch stood uselessly and stared until Elaine requested, “Would you hand me the rutabaga?”

He stared dumbly, making no response at all. She pointed. “The rutabaga. It’s right there by your—”

Mitch took the pointing hand and abruptly hauled Elaine to her feet, ignoring her surprise while his gaze fell immediately to her breasts, her stomach, looking, he supposed, for evidence and trying hard to dismiss the churning sense of…what? Of something acutely uncomfortable in the center of his gut.

How far along was she? When had she decided to get pregnant? Had she decided to?

And then it hit him. She was living here alone. No sign of anyone residing here with her and no mention—so far—of anyone moving in. No ring on her finger.

“Who is he?” The question sounded like Mitch had forgotten to move his jaws when he asked it.

Elaine reclaimed her wrist from his grasp with effort. “What is the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” Mitch bit out, referring to her wrist only. He still wanted information. “Who,” he said, controlling his temper with an effort he could only characterize as monumental, “is the sonovabitch who got you pregnant?”

For just a second, Elaine thought she might have blacked out and missed something. She eyed Mitch suspiciously. “Are you deranged?”

With one swift move, he grabbed her library bag, spilled its contents onto the partly cleared counter and waved his hand accusingly.

Oh, the books. She looked from them to Mitchell, who, at the moment, appeared as darkly forbidding as a character from The Scarlet Letter. Amusement tugged at her. He looked like he wanted to avenge her honor.

Biting the inside of her lip, she shrugged. “Just a boy I know.”

Mitch stepped forward with awful menace. “A boy you know?” he repeated as if he wanted to give her a chance to amend that.

“Well…” She reconsidered. “Knew.”

Watching him, Elaine almost wished she could pull a little plug to release some of the pressure she could practically see building in his head. “Don’t get so upset. I’m raising the baby on my own.”

“You had unprotected sex!”

“I suppose that would be true. Yes.”

“With a minor!” Mitch practically roared.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Elaine laughed. Taking her first stab ever at playing absolutely fluff-headed, she rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t a miner. There aren’t even any mines around here. He worked for Lou’s Hardware. On school breaks.”

Mitch appeared to be in serious danger of becoming a cardiac statistic.

Elaine had no idea what had got into her. She was normally such an agreeable person. Yesterday afternoon after Stephanie’s unpleasant arrival, something in her had broken loose. She’d lost her final grip on the calm, circumspect, unchallenging woman she had become. She was going wild, and she rather liked it.

She did not, however, want to be responsible for Mitch having to start on blood pressure medication.

With her bottom still backed against the fridge, she leaned her upper body toward him. “I’m kidding,” she said, noticing for the first time that his scowl turned positively boyish when he became confused. “I’m not pregnant,” she clarified. “It was just a joke.”

“A joke.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not pregnant?”

“No.”

Mitch glanced at the bags near his feet and pointed. “What about the books?”

“You must not have looked at all of them.” Reaching into the Barnes & Noble bag, she handed him two thin volumes. Alternatives in Conception and Daddy Invisible—Everything You Wanted to Know About Artificial Insemination But Were Afraid to Ask.

“I am planning to have a baby,” she elaborated. “On my own.”

Mitch studied the titles, flipped the Daddy Invisible book over and scanned the back cover.

Crossing her arms again, Elaine leaned back against the refrigerator and waited patiently for the light to dawn.

It did. Mitch tapped the word Artificial. “You’re going to use…”

“A sperm donor. Yes.”

“Ooo-kay.” He tossed the books onto the counter and released some of the tension with a breath. “Whew. You know, I thought maybe you were getting reckless since your divorce. Some women do. They go temporarily…” He made a circling motion near his temple and whistled.

“Insane?” Elaine laughed. “No.”

“No.” Smiling, pressing his thumb and two fingers against his eyelids, Mitch chuckled with her. In a move so unexpected, Elaine never saw it coming, Mitch put both hands on the freezer unit above her head, bracketing her with his arms and growling into her stunned, upturned face. “You’re Just Out Of Your Ever-Lovin’ Mind!”