Expecting: A Novel (17 page)

Jack reaches for his phone. “Give it back.”

Normandie moves away from him. “You shit,” she says quietly.

“What?”

“You shitty shit.” She flings the phone at his head. It makes a cracking sound and Jack hopes that’s the phone and not the side of his skull.

“You said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Then why is she having your baby?”

Normandie’s voice is growing louder. She snatches the phone from the floor and holds it in front of Jack and there is Laurie’s ultrasound. Baby Buddy.

“Shitty shit
shit
,” Normandie says as she picks up her wineglass and throws the contents at him. He tries to duck, but he’s too late and now Normandie is swinging at him, again and again, not viciously, more like angry little slaps. She pulls at his sleeve and he hears something rip. Jack can feel blood on his face. He picks up his phone. It makes a
click
click
sound. Not a good sign.

“I’m sorry,” Normandie says. She sits at the table and taps her empty wineglass. She seems calm now. “I shouldn’t drink red wine. Something about the sulfites—I get this nutty chemical reaction in my brain.” She looks as if she’s about to cry. “I feel awful. A relationship shouldn’t end in a bar with somebody throwing things. I don’t blame you if you hate me.”

Jack sighs. “I don’t hate you.”

Normandie nods. “Good. Maybe we could go to a movie sometime.”

“Maybe.” Yeah, when hell freezes over.

“Well. I hope you and your girlfriend and your baby have a nice life,” Normandie says.

“Sure. Thanks.” He’s wondering how you take out a restraining order against somebody. But he might not have to—hopefully Normandie is gone for good. And even though his face has blood on it and his shirt is ripped and his phone is broken and he smells like wine, yeah, life could be a lot worse.

He looks at his watch. Oh. He’s supposed to be at Laurie’s house in an hour to meet Alan.

What is the ideal menu for a dinner to introduce your husband to your baby’s father for the first time? There doesn’t seem much point in trying to find the answer to that on Google.

Laurie decides the meal should be simple; everything needs to feel down-home and comfortable. Jack will be nervous, Alan will be nervous, and Laurie will be nervous about
them
being nervous.

No, no one will be nervous. The evening is about coming together. What do Alan and Jack have in common? Men like baseball—they can watch a Dodgers game. Perfect.

Except Jack is from the Bay Area and probably a Giants fan. Alan and Jack will start to watch the game, and it’s okay at first but soon falls apart with shouting and name-calling, and it will end like that game in 1965 where Giants pitcher Juan Marichal hit Dodgers catcher Johnny Roseboro in the head with his bat.

So they won’t watch baseball. Or have serious cocktails on the menu either. Cocktails could send the wrong message—Jack might think they’re alcoholics. Wine and beer. She’ll get a six-pack of Red Trolley. Chips and salsa. The good salsa, with mango.

She considered asking Alan to grill. It would keep him busy. On the other hand, it would also give him an excuse to only care about grilling. “Sorry, honey, too busy. Have to keep an eye on the coals.” Laurie wants Alan to be engaged tonight, part of the conversation.

She’s found a spinach lasagna recipe in
Cooking
Light
. The photo looks spectacular, something every starving college boy will want to gobble up. She’ll get a nice loaf of La Brea Bakery bread from the market, crush garlic, mix it with butter, and make her own garlic spread. Simple and much better than the frozen kind.

Dessert? Pregnancy has tipped Laurie’s chocolate addiction into the danger zone. If she and Alan took a trip to the Hershey’s chocolate factory in Pennsylvania and she were allowed near a giant vat of steaming chocolate, she’d jump in before anyone could stop her.

Fruit would be more sensible for dessert, something to complement the lasagna. She settles on a fruit tart with a light (
ha
-
ha, we’ll see how light it ends up
) chocolate drizzle on top. She realizes if she makes the drizzle, she’ll have an entire saucepan of warm chocolate sauce. The thought of that makes her want to skip making lasagna and move straight to dessert.

She begins her dinner preparations. What will making dinner be like once the baby comes? Laurie sees herself pureeing vegetables and fruit, making her own yogurt. Baby Buddy will eat like a king. But when will Laurie have time to make dinner? Will Laurie and Alan be forced to live off microwaved food and takeout? Will they learn to like pureed chicken and peas?

The lasagna’s in the oven; the garlic bread spread is ready. She’ll make a salad, but that can wait. She looks around, readjusts rugs, books in the bookshelf, makes sure nothing is dusty. The chances of Jack noticing her clean, orderly house are slim to none, but it feels like the right thing to do. The baby’s room is almost done. Alan still hasn’t put the crib together, but he’s brought it inside from the garage. Sometimes at night she sits in the rocking chair/glider and imagines herself with baby Buddy on her shoulder. She’s singing to him, rocking him to sleep. “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,” that’s what her mother used to sing to her. It’s funny she remembers that. Has the sensation of rocking brought the memory back? Generations of mothers rocking and singing to their babies, different but still the same. What song did Jack’s mother sing to him? She’ll have to ask Jack. She wonders if he remembers.

***

Laurie wants to make sure Jack thinks her house is the right place for Buddy to grow up—safe and full of love. Alan and I might appear to be a bit tense around each other, but ignore that. Concentrate on the lack of dust bunnies on the floor and check out the moderately sized backyard with a fence. No way will Buddy escape and chase his ball into the street where he’ll be run over by a UPS truck.

Did you see? We don’t have a hot tub. And if we did, we’d lock it up with a gigantic chain so baby Buddy couldn’t get in it unless he had an acetylene torch.

We plan to buy a swing set eventually—naturally one made out of nonasbestos-laced wood. We’ve talked about putting in a pool, but we’ll wait until the baby’s older. And if we do, we’ll hire a full-time lifeguard. Just in case Buddy figures out how to break through the super triple-locked French doors or back kitchen door or babyproofed windows. Did you notice the windows only open three inches? Perfect for keeping a baby from falling out, not so great when you’re trying to keep your house cool in the summer without using air-conditioning.

We’re going to be good parents, Jack. Really. We promise.

***

Alan comes home late. Terrible traffic, he has a headache and he’s afraid it will turn into a migraine. Some warning light went off in his car and he can’t find the car instruction manual. Does Laurie know where it is? If it’s not in the car, it might be in the kitchen cabinet, she tells him. Alan opens the cabinet door but can only find instructions for the new baby monitor, the new baby gate, and the new baby seat. “What the
hell
?” he says as he tosses everything back inside.

Laurie wonders if she should make a pitcher of Manhattans.

“I don’t have time to handle this right now.” Alan looks at Laurie. She’s smiling at him, her most gentle, nonconfrontational smile.

Alan takes a deep breath. Smiles back. “Okay. I’m going to go outside and walk in again. Start over.”

“You don’t have to do that. Want something to drink?”

Alan opens the refrigerator. “You got Red Trolley. My favorite.” He takes out a beer and opens it.

“Glass?”

“Bottle’s fine.” He takes a big sip, and his eyes roll back in his head in mock ecstasy. “And I can’t find my BlackBerry—I probably left it here. You know, one of those days where everything goes wrong.”

“That never happens to me,” Laurie says. “My days start out perfectly and only get more and more perfect as they go on.”

Alan laughs and holds up his beer. “How about I have a couple of these babies, we get into bed, and catch up on all the
Modern
Family
episodes we missed?”

“Jack’s coming.” Laurie keeps the gentle smile on her face.

“Tonight?” Alan looks around, notices the dining room table is set for three. Nice linens, candles, wineglasses.

“He should be here any minute. We’re having lasagna.”

“I had lasagna for lunch.” Alan sighs. “I better look for that BlackBerry.” He walks out of the room. Laurie could run after him. Or start the salad.

***

She’s chopping tomatoes. Is it wrong to imagine Alan’s face on them as she slices them sharply down the middle? He’s
known
about Jack coming to dinner. She saw him put it in his BlackBerry. Oh, but his BlackBerry is missing. She can hear him in the office, the sound of drawers opening and closing, an occasional, “Shit.”

They’ve only been to two Lamaze classes so far, and she’s not perfect with her breathing yet, but she takes a couple cleansing breaths and feels herself calming down.

When the doorbell rings, she runs to the door.
Breathe, breathe
. Jack is standing on the front porch. Does he have a black eye? And is the side of his face bloody?

“It’s a long story,” he says as he holds out a bouquet of flowers. It
used
to be a bouquet; now it’s more like a dozen flowers bent over and twisted and held together by crumpled plastic paper.

“Come in. Are you okay?”

She takes him to the kitchen where she can get a better look at his face. It’s swollen and there’s a cut above his left eye.

“Sorry I’m late, I wanted to call. But my phone…it’s not working anymore.”

“Did you get in a fight? Were you robbed?”

“It’s my own fault. Sort of.”

“This is going to sting.” Laurie wets a paper towel and wipes the blood off Jack’s face. As she bends in close, she realizes he smells like wine. Was he so worried about tonight he stopped to get a drink before he came to the house? But got in a fight? That doesn’t sound like Jack.

“Ow,” he says.

“I think it looks worse than it is. But you’re going to have a shiner.”

Jack makes a face, grimaces again when he realizes that makes his face hurt more.

“I need another beer.” Alan has appeared from his office. He looks at Laurie hovering over Jack’s face. He opens his mouth to say something, chooses not to, and goes to the fridge instead.

“Alan. This is Jack.” Laurie steps away from Jack; she’s gotten off most of the blood. Jack looks better, but she notices the front of his shirt is stained with…blood? No, wine. And one sleeve is ripped.

Alan takes in Jack’s shirt, his face. “I’d hate to see the other guy.”

“Jack ran into a light post,” Laurie says. And the minute the words are out of her mouth, she realizes how lame that sounds. Why do people say they ran into a light post instead of saying something that might sound moderately realistic? Car accident. Tripped over the cat in the dark and fell down the stairs. Who runs into a light post, Buster Keaton?

“Would you like a beer, Jack?” Alan asks. “Although it appears you’ve got a head start on me.” He laughs. Jack laughs back, a deer in the headlights look in his eyes.

“Let me get some ice for your face,” Laurie says.

Alan pops open a beer for Jack and gets another one for himself.

“Thank you, Mr. Gaines,” Jack says.

“Alan. We’re family, aren’t we? One big happy.”

Laurie goes to the freezer and finds an ice pack, wraps it in a dish towel, and gives it to Jack. “This’ll make you feel better.” She looks on the counter and sees the flowers. “And I’ll get a vase for these. Aren’t they pretty, Alan?”

Alan looks at the flowers, at Jack. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say that everything is great and we’re all incredibly lucky to be having a baby together?”

***

Alan has gone back in his office to look for the missing BlackBerry. Laurie watches Jack sip nervously at his beer.

“Alan’s in a terrible mood. He’s not usually like this,” she says. “The missing BlackBerry and he had car problems.”

“I should come back another time.”

“No. Once we find the BlackBerry, everything will be super.” She hopes.

Jack is eating chips and salsa as if he hasn’t had a meal in days. “Oops,” he says as he drops a wad of salsa on his shirt.

“Want me to get a paper towel?”

Jack shakes his head. “I think I’m going have to throw away this shirt anyway. Maybe I can use it as a napkin.” He smiles, but it makes his face hurt again and the dark under his eye is getting more purple. “Thanks for telling your husband I ran into a light post.”

“If you want to tell me what happened—you’re not in trouble, are you?”

Jack sighs. “Women. I was dumb. I didn’t break up with one before I started going out with the other one.”

“So one of them attacked you?”

“Sort of. And she threw my phone at me.”

“But it’s done now? She’s out of your life?”

“Oh, yeah. All done.” He puts more chips in his mouth, sips his beer, looks at Laurie’s stomach. “How do you feel?”

“Good. I’m getting bigger. Third trimester. Packing on the baby weight.”

“Yeah, you do look bigger,” Jack says. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. You look great. Really.” He blushes bright red.

“Thank you,” Laurie says.

***

In the office, Laurie finds Alan on his hands and knees looking under the guest bed. “You still haven’t found it?”

“No,” he says.

“Let me look. Go out there and talk to Jack.”

“He’s been in a fight. Is he in a gang?”

“I forgot to tell you, he’s the leader of the UCLA Crips. His crew is waiting outside. You didn’t see his gang tattoos?”

“Funny,” Alan says. He finishes his beer and Laurie can’t remember if that’s his first or second one.

“Don’t be mean,” she calls out to him, but he’s gone and she’s not sure he’s heard her.

He’s managed to make a mess of the desk. Drawers are open, papers scattered on the floor. Laurie tries to think where Alan could have left his BlackBerry. She retraces his daily routine—shower, breakfast, checks his emails… She looks over at the computer. It’s on. She should turn it off, hits a key to make sure there isn’t something to save, just in case.

Alan’s on Facebook. They’ve always joked about Facebook, how it’s a waste of time and invades your privacy. But naturally they both ended up with Facebook accounts.

Alan’s wall is up and filled with posts from some of his college friends, Dodgers updates from Peter, several funny fake headlines from
The
Onion
. A chat message pops up at the bottom of the screen.

“Missing U,” it says. Laurie clicks on the name and sees a picture of an attractive woman with silvery blond hair. Nancy F. Campbell. Studied at William and Mary. Lives in Dallas, Texas. A row of photos underneath. Nancy and her husband in a sailboat. Two young children wearing snow skis.

Nancy of the Christmas letters. Alan’s old college girlfriend. Nancy F. for Futterman.

It would be stupid to click on Alan’s messages. Not to mention an invasion of his privacy. She shouldn’t do it. Instead, she’ll walk out into the living room, join Jack and Alan.

Missing U.

What, Nancy can’t type “you”?

Unless it’s a mistake. Laurie is jumping to conclusions. After dinner, when Jack is gone, she’ll ask Alan about Nancy. Tell him when she was looking for the BlackBerry, she went to turn off the computer and there was Alan’s Facebook page and a message from Nancy appeared. Naturally Laurie is curious. Not in a nasty, suspicious way, but in a regular, “You’re chatting with Nancy, your old college girlfriend” way. And Alan will say, “Yeah, we found each other on Facebook. She’s happily married with two kids. I told her I’m happily married and my gorgeous beloved perfect-in-every-way wife is pregnant. That’s it.”

That’s it.

That’s not it. Laurie clicks on messages. There are dozens from Nancy, complaining how Bob is never home, how they’ve talked about divorce. Alan’s response to that, “I know what you mean.”