Expecting: A Novel (8 page)

“Of what?”

“Of all this.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Alan says.

Laurie remains unconvinced.

***

When the lab tech comes into the examining room with the syringe, Alan squeezes Laurie’s hand and says, “Looks just like me.” Laurie squeezes Alan’s hand back but wishes he would shut up. She says a silent prayer.
Please
don’t let Alan say anything about Upchuck
. Then she thinks,
Yeah, that’ll be the
one
request
God
grants
. Nothing about carrying a baby to term. All she’s ever going to get from God is one lousy hunk of time where her husband doesn’t make an Upchuck joke.

Dr. Julian instructs Laurie not to move for thirty minutes, let the supercharged semen do what it’s supposed to do. Alan tells Laurie he can stay here with her, but she says he might as well get a cup of coffee, so he leaves and Laurie is left alone in the examining room.
Well, Upchuck
, she tells the possibly soon-to-be-conceived baby,
this
is
a
special
moment
for
you. One your father and I will always cherish. Nothing says special moment like looking around an examining room at Modigliani prints on the wall and out a window with a fantastic view of a parking lot
.

“I promise not to call you Upchuck,” she whispers. “Just don’t make me write pick-me letters. Grow and thrive, dammit. No ‘blighted’ business. Are you listening? You do your part, I’ll do mine. Is that a deal?”

In the silence of the room, she can hear the
tap
tap
of footsteps in the hallway. A woman’s laugh. And at that moment, Laurie feels a rush, a wave, something light moving in her body, like an extra breath. Or a sigh.

He thought about Nancy Futterman the other day. He’d found one of Nancy’s Christmas card photos in his desk drawer at work; she sends them every year along with a chatty letter describing the latest accomplishments of her two young children. “Trevor is musical!! He loves to bang on the piano. And sometimes Ava sings along!” Nancy was his first girlfriend who “could be the one.” And it scared him back then because who thinks about marriage when they’re in college, even though Nancy Futterman was pretty, with long legs that went on forever, great boobs, and thick blond hair she’d toss like a horse’s mane. “Not a horse, dummy,” she’d say. “I’m practicing to be a stripper. If graduate school doesn’t work out.”

They broke up after graduation when they moved to different cities, no hard feelings; he’s sure she had the same ambivalence about marriage he did. Not that they’d ever discussed marriage—not out loud anyway. Nancy’s husband, Bob, works in real estate, born and raised in Dallas, where they live now. A big Cowboys fan. That’s a negative for Alan, raised in Virginia and in the religion of the Redskins.

Trevor and Ava look like a blend of Nancy and Bob, healthy and blond and happy. Nancy’s family goes on cruises and safaris. Trevor and Ava already know how to ski and snorkel. Alan and Laurie will never catch up.

That’s not a reason to have children
, he tells himself.
To
brag
about
their
accomplishments
in
Christmas
letters. Thank God Laurie and I aren’t that shallow.

And yet, he wonders about Bob and Nancy: When did they make the decision to get pregnant? Did they have any doubts, any problems? Fertility issues? No, that’s stupid. He knows it’s a waste of time to compare his life to anybody else’s. Nobody’s life is perfect. He examines Nancy’s Christmas card. Notices Bob’s eyes are too close together. And squinty. Probably wears glasses but is too vain to put them on for the photo.

Does Nancy ever think about Alan? Not that it matters. He knows he’s better off with Laurie. Even though they’ve gotten slightly out of sync lately. It’s not about blame or guilt with each other. Unless maybe it is. A year of miscarriages and now a fertility doctor. Trying to stay positive is exhausting. And masking disappointment? Equally exhausting. But how long does the friggin’ disappointment have to go on? Why is it so easy for the Nancy Futtermans of the world?

***

“Knock knock.”

Alan looks up and Laurie is standing in the doorway of his office. “Nice surprise,” he says.

She walks over to his desk and kisses him on the cheek. “Good. I hope you’re in the mood for surprises because I have another one.”

He looks in her eyes and they’re brighter than usual. Of course they are, because she’s got that glow again, the pregnancy glow.

They walk outside to the Palmer-Boone patio and watch a group of Palmer-Boone employees play basketball in a corner of the parking lot.

“Did you call Dr. Julian?” Alan asks her.

“Not yet. I just took the home pregnancy test this morning. Let’s hear it for your supercharged sperm.”

“I suppose if it’s a girl, we’ll have to name her Jessica Alba.”

“Jessica’s a pretty name,” Laurie says. She takes a deep breath. “We’re doing this again.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m afraid.”

“Me too,” Alan says. “But don’t worry. I promise I won’t say the third time’s the charm.”

“Nuts. You jinxed it.” Laurie’s smacks Alan on the arm. A friendly smack. He hopes.

“Congratulations,” he says, kissing her.

“Congratulations to you,” she says.

And then they don’t say anything. They don’t know what to say. Alan is sure she is thinking the same thing he is.
Now
what?

***

After Laurie leaves, he goes back to his office and thinks about calling his parents. They’ve been concerned. Not in a bad way; they’re very supportive. But should he tell them? Should he tell
anybody
? It didn’t work out before when he told people. Oh no, is he going to be superstitious this time?

He opens a desk drawer and finds a package of peanut M&M’s, shakes out a few: a red one and a green one. That’s a good sign, right? It’s not as if two brown ones came out. Everybody knows brown M&M’s are unlucky. He pops them in his mouth and realizes the package has been in his desk drawer too long and the peanuts are stale. A bad sign?

He can’t spend nine months worrying about what could go wrong. He grabs an M&M. Whew, a red one. A red M&M must mean everything will be
fantastic
.

He checks his email, considers going on Facebook. But Facebook is silly; he’d resisted it until Peter created a Palmer-Boone softball team page and insisted he join.

Nothing new at the softball group. Alan could tell Peter about Laurie. Peter is married with a ten-month-old baby; he was sympathetic after the first miscarriage. Could Alan explain to Peter how he has an uneasy feeling these days, how it started with Dr. Julian saying, “I can give you a baby”?
Shouldn’t Laurie and I be able to get our
own
baby?
Of course he’s excited at Laurie’s news, but there’s a touch of something else. Fear? A premonition of something terrible about to happen? What would Peter say to him? “Just chill.”

No, he’s not going to tell anybody. Not his parents, not Peter. He’ll wait ten weeks, or fourteen weeks. Or until Laurie shows up at the Palmer-Boone Christmas party with a baby in her arms.

Alan goes to his Facebook profile page. His profile picture is from a softball game where he’s sliding into home plate. It looks like he beat the tag, but he didn’t. The umpire had something in his eye, the run counted, and they won the game.

“Cheater,” Laurie said. “You were out by a mile.”

“Sometimes things go your way,” Alan told her. “It all evens out.”

Does it?
When
do things even out? Why does the squeaky wheel get the grease? Why shouldn’t the wheel that works the hardest, doesn’t behave like an asshole, why shouldn’t
that
wheel get the grease?
Laurie
and
I
were
made
to
be
wonderful
parents. Why do we have to go through this bullshit? We are
unsqueaky wheels
. And we want
our turn
.

***

What would Laurie like for dinner? Alan likes to cook whenever he has a chance. He’ll make dinner for Laurie tonight, something special. Pasta or steak. She brought home ribs the other night from yet another Hidden Valley find. “‘Gen-U-Wine Texas Barb-E-Q,’ that’s on the sign in front,” she told him. “Their spelling sucks, but their ribs kick butt.”

Something Texan? He could make up his own batch of barbecue sauce. Hey, Nancy Futterman is in Texas—maybe she has a recipe. He could send her a message on Facebook. He goes to Search, types
Nancy
Futt
…realizes she uses her married name now. Nancy Campbell. When the names pop up, he sees a “Nancy F. Campbell.” He clicks on her name.

Nancy of the Christmas card photos; she’s standing on a beach in a long, gauzy dress and sun hat, one hand shading her eyes. With her other hand she’s waving at the photographer, as if she’s telling him (Bob?) not to take the picture.

There’s other information listed. Not much though.

Sports: Dallas Cowboys. Mavericks.

Basic Information: Married.

Gender: Female.

If he wants to know anything else, he’ll have to add her as a friend.

Sure, why not? It’s not as if he’ll keep it a secret from Laurie. Laurie has a Facebook page; she’s friends with at least one of her old boyfriends. Probably. It doesn’t mean anything, Alan reconnecting with Nancy. He needs a barbecue recipe. Once they start talking on Facebook, it will be clear they don’t have
anything
in common anymore. What brought them together in the past? Funny, neither of them can put their finger on it.

***

Nancy was great in bed. No, not great. Outstanding. Innovative. Like that cooking show
Chopped
, where the chefs are given strange ingredients to put together for a dish, like kale and Rice Krispies and sake. How do you make something harmonious out of that? Nancy could do it. Give her a deserted putting green, a chocolate milkshake, and a scrunchie, she’d come up with a sexual feast. Surprising, shocking. Always a good time.

Has Nancy ever had sex with her husband Bob on a putting green? In the Christmas photos, Bob looks like a Sex in a Bed with the Lights Off guy. That’s probably where Trevor and Ava were conceived, in a king-sized four-poster, Bob’s ancestral bed. Is that the problem with Alan and Laurie: neither of them brought an ancestral bed to the marriage?

He should click on the friend request. It’s not a big deal. Nancy will be thrilled to hear from him.

Except why hasn’t
she
sent
him
a friend request? Because the Christmas letters are enough. A photocopied letter with a scrawl at the bottom: “Hope you all are doing great! Come and visit us when you’re in Texas! XOXOX, Nancy and Her Crew.”

Alan and Laurie don’t have a Crew. They have each other.

I’m not lonely
, Alan wants to say. Even though he knows that’s not completely true. He shouldn’t feel lonely; he’s happily married. Yes, the past year sucked big time, but look at the news today—Laurie is pregnant. He should be celebrating instead of eating old M&M’s and thinking about an ex-girlfriend.

He could leave the office early, pick up flowers and fixings for dinner. Not barbecue. Pasta. And if it’s not too cold, they can eat outside. Sparkling cider for Laurie, a Red Trolley ale for Alan.

He could tell Nancy the good news. “Guess what? We’re having a baby! We’ll start sending Christmas letters like you guys. What’s Bob up to? He looks like he needs to loosen up. Take him to a putting green, ha-ha. Those were the days. I’d like to see you again sometime, Nancy. I remember your hair tasted good. Funny, who has hair that
tastes
good? But yours was fruity. Was it the shampoo you used? Thinking about you. XOXOX.”

Alan doesn’t type any of this. And when he gets to the XOXOX part, he reaches in the drawer again, finds another peanut M&M, and eats it.

He should be thinking about Laurie. Not Nancy Futterman. It’s ridiculous to think about Nancy Futterman. So what if she has a fabulous life (even with Bob’s squinty eyes)? His life will be
more
fabulous. Who needs stupid Nancy Futterman anyway? Alan is a good man and he’ll be a good husband. He’ll eventually be a good father—assuming it works this time. Which it will.
Booyah.

***

Alan and Laurie eat on the patio and because it’s chilly, they wear sweatshirts with the hoods up. Alan makes Giada “Look at My Boobs” De Laurentiis’s fettuccine with asparagus and a fried egg on top.

“I’m eating this every day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Until morning sickness starts,” Laurie says.

“Maybe it won’t be as bad this time.”

“I’ll survive. Although it’s hideously unfair how much morning sickness I’ve accumulated for one baby.” Laurie wipes her finger around the bottom of her bowl, catching the last yellow bits of yolk. “Tomorrow night will you make chocolate mousse?”

“Yes, whatever you want.”

“Thanks.” She looks at him, touches her stomach. “It feels different. This one. Do you think? Or am I crazy?”

“I think you’re crazy. In a good way. But yeah, it does feel different.” He leans across the table and kisses her. Tastes egg and asparagus and apple cider. Laurie.

***

Laurie goes to bed early and after Alan does the dishes, he sits down at his computer in the office. A few emails from work—he’ll deal with those in the morning. Peter has sent a new softball practice schedule. He thinks about reading it over, then realizes he wants to get into bed with Laurie. Even though she’s asleep, he can wrap his arms around her and listen to her breathe. Listen to her breathing for two.

How did Jack end up dating two girls at the same time? His life has turned into a dumb Jennifer Aniston movie. But it’ll work out, he tells himself. Like replacing the fraternity party fund money. He’s already put back five hundred dollars, courtesy of Westside Cryobank.

Only one close call with the missing money. The SAE auditor showed up; he seemed cool, especially when Danny made everybody G&Ts. But when the auditor checked the accounting books, he found some problems. Including possible embezzlement. Jack’s heart practically stopped beating, but to his surprise, Carter stood up and admitted stealing money from the kitchen fund, only he’d paid it back. But he messed up the books trying to cover his tracks. Carter cried; he felt terrible and he said he’d understand if they kicked him out. The SAE guy was sympathetic (and a little drunk) and told him not to worry. “Honesty is the key, dude,” he said.

For a moment Jack considered doing his own version of throwing himself on the mercy of the court, but since he hadn’t paid back all the money yet, he kept his mouth shut. Maybe the SAE guy has only one pardon per visit and he’s already used that up on Carter. So the next person who turns up dirty is going down. And Jack won’t be that guy.

Once the SAE inspection is done, the house decides to celebrate with parties. Themes are popular, like Bring a Twin Night and Strip Beer Pong. Not that Jack has to worry about his social life—he’s got more than enough going on with juggling Megan and Normandie. He tries to convince himself he feels guilty. They wouldn’t care; they’re probably cheating on him too. So he’s justified.

It would be a bitch to pick one over the other. Megan enjoys shock value, doing things just because she can. Like she’ll stop using deodorant. Or brushing her hair. “Suppose I don’t ever shave my legs again, would you leave me?” she asks him. Jack likes her because she’s never dull. And because Megan is the living, breathing version of everything his mother hates. Not Indian. A Catholic father and Jewish mother. Flirts with Wicca.

Megan ran out of eyeliner one night and used a Sharpie. “You look like Michael Jackson,” Jack told her.

“Smart-ass,” she said. When he fell asleep, she drew a curling Sharpie mustache under his nose and laughed when he couldn’t get it off.

The thought of taking Megan to Northern California for Thanksgiving is appealing. He can imagine Megan dressing for the big meal—something leather or sheer.

Megan takes him to an Avenged Sevenfold concert. She is wearing black thigh-high boots with cutoff shorts. “Maybe I should pierce something,” she says. “But it has to be something people wouldn’t ordinarily pierce. What part of your body would be the most unexpected?”

“A bone through your nose?” Jack suggests.

“Too common. The whole gauge thing is intriguing, but I hate the idea of having huge empty holes in my ears. And earlobes touching your shoulders is
gross
.”

Jack agrees. He doesn’t like gauges—or snakebite piercings below your lower lip. “You could split your tongue,” he suggests.

She thinks that over. “I wonder how much it hurts. And it must be weird when it’s healing. I’d think if you ate something like pretzels—” She shivers. “
Agony
.”

Jack has no desire to pierce his tongue.

“You should get a Prince Albert,” Megan says.

Jack doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t know what that is. Megan knows he doesn’t know. “Your penis. You pierce it. Like with a ring.”

Ow.

Megan leans in close, raises her eyebrows, and smiles. “Or…if you want to go really weird…you could split it.”

“Split what?”

“Your penis.”

Yeah, he’ll bring Megan home for Thanksgiving. “Hi, Mom, I’d like you to meet Megan.”

“Hello, Mrs. Mulani. You have a lovely home. Did Jack tell you he’s having his dick split in two so he’ll have a two-headed penis? I know, he is
so
creative.”

What would his mother say about Normandie? Normandie looks better on the surface, but her killer instinct might be too much. Normandie and his mother in the same room. It would be like a meeting of two alpha dogs. Only one would come out alive.

Normandie is studying for the LSAT. They’re in her tiny single bed. Jack is wearing a T-shirt and boxers; Normandie is in sweat pants and a camisole. “Sleepy time clothes,” she calls them. She allows him to spend the night, but no sex yet. He watches her with her LSAT notes. He’s thinking about sex, and she’s thinking about sample questions. “I’m good at analytical reasoning, and reading comprehension is a breeze,” she says. “It’s the logical reasoning I get screwed up on.”

“Speaking of screwing,” Jack says, but Normandie is deep into her sample question about dental research and bacteria that can induce preterm labor and Jack stops paying attention and doesn’t really care who’s high risk or not, but guesses C and Normandie tells him he’s right and he should consider law school.

Great, another decision he can’t make.

Sort of like not being able to choose between Normandie and Megan.

***

Jack has never met anyone as ambitious as Normandie. She has her life planned out. Law, politics on the side, she wants to be a mover and shaker. “I can’t help it, Jack,” she tells him. “I’m attracted to power.”

Why is she attracted to Jack? It’s a mystery. But a mystery he’ll go along with. She’s such a contrast to Megan…not that that’s a reason to date somebody.

And he knows he shouldn’t be dating two people at the same time. But he’s not in love with Megan
or
Normandie. And he’s sure they’re not in love with him. Which doesn’t make his behavior okay, but he sleeps at night. Besides, how are they going to find out about each other?

Megan’s unpredictability is always so—unpredictable. He never knows which Megan is going to show up. Medea? Miss Adelaide? She’s good at playing roles, but does he know what she’s really like? He guesses that’s part of the attraction.

Normandie is the opposite. Very organized—her life is a schedule. “Okay, tonight after dinner you can come to my apartment and we’ll watch two episodes of
Game
of
Thrones
I TiVoed, but you can’t spend the night because I have to get up early to meet with my Little Sister. Do you know how impressive the Big Sister program looks on your law school application?” When she undresses, she takes her clothes off slowly and folds them into neat piles.

Her body is perfect. She’ll let him see her naked, but there’s still no sex. “I have to maintain some degree of mystery, don’t I?” she says to him. She would never use a Sharpie as eyeliner. Normandie thinks tattoos are pathetic, an obvious attempt at attention. “What kind of person wants to go through life having people look at them and interpret their body art? It’s as desperate as a vanity plate.”

Megan has one tattoo—not a butterfly on the small of her back, but a wolverine above her right hipbone. Because she thinks wolverines are fierce.

Sometimes Jack imagines Normandie and Megan in bed together. They remind him of salt and pepper shakers his mother has, shaped like tiny bears that fit together as if they’re hugging. Would Normandie and Megan do that? No, if they knew about each other, there would be broken bones involved. Probably Jack’s.

What would Jack’s mother think of Normandie? “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mulani,” Normandie would say with a firm handshake. “Jack’s told me so much about you. Except he didn’t say you look more like his sister than his mother.” Exactly the kind of thing his mother would be impressed with. And if Normandie mentioned her SAT scores and ambitions—bingo, who cares if she’s not from India? Test scores and a life plan trump
anything
.

Together, Normandie and his mother would turn on him. He imagines the family sitting around the table, his mother patting Normandie’s hand and looking at Jack. “Isn’t it a shame? All that talent, those brains, and he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life.” Normandie will nod, agree. Jack’s mother will sigh. “I’m sure Jack’s told you about his sister, Subhra. Subhra got the overambitious genes and Jack got…” She’ll trail off and Normandie will smile sympathetically.

“Jack has your eyes, Mrs. Mulani. And your kind heart.”

***

Jack won’t think about Normandie and Megan. He’ll concentrate on his Western civ paper. He’s sitting outside at Falafel King in Westwood and he checks what he’s typed on his laptop so far. His name, the class, the name of the teacher, “Metaphor of the Sun in Plato’s ‘Allegory of the Cave.’” That’s it.

“Hello, stranger,” a voice says, and Jack looks up to see Normandie. She’s wearing a skirt and blazer, practicing her courtroom wardrobe. Jack nods hello and she slips into the chair beside him. “My class got canceled so I thought I’d hang out around here until my next one.”

“Want some lunch?”

“I ate already. Is that iced tea?”

Jack nods and pushes his drink over to her. She sips from his straw, looks up at him and nods at his computer.

“Western civ paper,” he tells her.

“How’s it going?”

“Great.”

“Econ would be better for you. I think you’ve got an econ brain. You should get an MBA. Did you ever consider arts management? That’s an interesting field. I could bring you some reading material.”

Jack nods. Sometimes Normandie is overwhelming. Sometimes she reminds him too much of his mother.

“I could help you study for the GRE,” she says. “I’ve got standardized testing down. It’s not just knowledge; it’s how they figure out the questions, like the traps they put in to catch you. I should start my own standardized test prep service.”

She’d make a fortune. Jack could put up the initial capital, invest in Normandie. His parents might go for that. Jack thinks if his mother met Normandie and had the opportunity, she’d divorce Jack from the family and adopt Normandie.

“Yeah, I’d love your help. I’m not sure about getting an MBA though,” he says.

“You’re right. I think you need to concentrate on graduating. This century.”

Jack laughs. She’s not wrong; he knows that. He pops a falafel ball in his mouth. But at least she’s offering a plan. What’s wrong with business school? Three more years of putting off a career decision? That sounds perfect.

“Fucking shit, you are
so
not going to believe this.”

Megan has appeared at the table.

“She broke her leg in five places,” Megan says to Jack. “Not that I’m glad because that would be cruel but—
five
. Pins, surgery, she is
fucked
.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. Normandie is looking at Megan. Megan is wearing fingerless gloves, a “Stop Shark Finning” T-shirt, leggings. And a sombrero. “Who broke her leg?” he finally asks.

“Jyll. Miss Adelaide. She’s out of
Guys
and
Dolls
. And I’m in. Go
me
.” Megan does a spin, crosses her arms in front of her chest, and sings, “I love you, a bushel and a peck. Bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”

“
Guys
and
Dolls
is one of my favorite musicals,” Normandie says.

Normandie is sitting beside Jack. Talking to Megan.

Megan nods at Normandie. “The guy who’s Sky Masterson is incredible—gorgeous, gay, of course, and he’s got this Josh Groban voice, only more fuckable, you know what I mean?”

“When is it?” Normandie says. “I’d love to go.”

“Two weeks. Oh my God, I have so much to do, I’m going to be rehearsing all the time.” Megan turns to Jack.

What’s Megan going to say? Something about his potential Prince Albert? “How’d she break her leg?” he asks.

“Goofy,” Megan says, leaning over and picking at Jack’s potato chips. “Ski trip.”

“That doesn’t sound so goofy.” Normandie is smiling at Megan.

“She fell on the steps outside her condo.” Megan eats another chip and licks the salt off her fingers. “When do you want tickets? I can leave two for you at the box office,” she tells Normandie. “Just name the day.”

Normandie looks at Jack. Before she can open her mouth he speaks first. “I want to go opening night. Won’t that be like the best performance?”

“Maybe, assuming I’m ready.” Megan sighs. “Jyll’s anorexic, so they’ll have to let out her costumes.” She checks her watch. “Damn, I’m supposed to be at rehearsal. Hope I don’t break my leg.” She starts off, looks back at Normandie. “Let me know about the tickets.” And she’s gone.

Jack exhales. Has he been holding his breath this whole time? He thinks so; that must be why he feels almost ready to pass out. Dodged that bullet,
whew
. He pops the last bit of his falafel into his mouth and takes a sip of iced tea.

“I think your friend will make a great Miss Adelaide,” Normandie says. “She’s got so much personality.”

Jack nods, his mouth is full of falafel and tea.

Normandie tucks her hair behind her ears, smiles at Jack. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”