So Much for My Happy Ending (14 page)

I
pulled a copy of
What to Expect When You're Expecting
from the shelf at Borders and handed it to Caleb, who was already weighted down with an armload of books. “You already have that one,” he grumbled.

“No, you're thinking of
What to Eat While You're Expecting.
It's the companion book to this one.”

“April, you bought five books yesterday, you've selected eight books so far today and you're still shopping. The Library of Congress doesn't have this many books.”

“Well I guess the buyers over at the Library of Congress aren't properly motivated.” I pulled out a book by Dr. Sears and tucked it under my arm.

“Whatever happened to asking the moms and grandmas for advice? Or has that kind of thing gone out with the family sit-down dinner?”

“I'm waiting until the end of the first trimester to tell my family about the baby.” I found yet another book and balanced it on top of the others Caleb was holding. The stack in his arms now reached his chin.

“Can we talk about this?”

I gave him a noncommittal shrug and he awkwardly directed me over to a reading bench where he happily dropped the books on the floor in front of us. We both sat down and silently stared at the pile for a few moments before Caleb spoke. “Usually when a woman buys this many books about pregnancy it's because she's thrilled to pieces about playing the mommy role but—” he made some kind of vague gesture with his hands as if he was trying to pick up some kind of psychic reading from my aura “—I'm not sensing a lot of joyous excitement from you. If anything, you seem…nervous.”

“Are you using
nervous
as a euphemism for scared shitless?”

“Okay, we can go with that.” Caleb put his arm over my shoulder. “Are you worried that you won't live up to the Donna Reed standard of motherhood, or is there something else?”

I picked at a thread that was sticking out of the thigh-high slit in my skirt. “Of course, what else would I be scared about?”

Caleb picked up one of the books and started casually thumbing through it. “You know it wouldn't make you a bad person if you were worried about the impact this was going to have on
your
life.”

“I want this child to know that he or she is wanted,” I whispered. “I don't want him to ever think otherwise.”

“The way you did.” Caleb closed the book and picked up another. “And right now you don't feel like you want him enough.”

“Wow, Caleb, did you go out and get a degree in psychology while I wasn't looking?”

“No, but I watch a lot of
Oprah.
” He tapped his finger against the book he had been perusing. “Listen to this. ‘Many men don't bond with their unborn children to the same degree as their pregnant wives. This does not mean that they will be bad fathers. Many of these men turn into superdads the minute their children take their first breath. So don't worry if your husband isn't singing lullabies to your belly. We are all individuals and we all emotionally connect to our children at different times and in different ways.'”

“But Tad does sing to my belly.”

“Mmm, so we have a little role reversal going on.” He took hold of my index finger and placed it on the last line of the paragraph he had read. “‘Different times and in different ways,' April. It doesn't matter if it's the mom or the dad, the message is the same. You can be a good parent even if you aren't overwhelmed by feelings of maternal love the minute a sperm makes contact with your egg.”

I took the book from Caleb and stared at the words without reading them. “I'm twenty-six. I used to think that at this age I'd be getting ready to graduate with a Ph.D. in art history.” I shrugged. “That's never going to happen. I'm going to be a buyer at Dawson's instead, and even that ambition will be left unfulfilled if Blakely finds out about this pregnancy before promoting me.”

We both fell silent as we watched a harried-looking woman usher three small children to the escalator.

“You told me awhile ago that you didn't want to be a curator anymore,” Caleb reminded me. “You said that you were happy at Dawson's.”

“And you believed me?”

“No. But I was fairly sure you believed you.”

I looked away from him. I didn't want to cry.

“Lots of moms go back to school, April.”

I shook my head. “Pregnant or not, I was never going to be a curator. It's just that now I feel like I have to give up on the fantasy.”

“You don't have to give up on anything.” Caleb checked my expression to see if he was reaching me. He apparently surmised that he wasn't because he threw his hands up in defeat. “So what's with all the books?”

“I know this is going to sound terrible, but I'm pregnant because I behaved…irresponsibly.”

“It doesn't sound terrible, just honest.”

“Well, I'm going to be responsible about this. I'm going to eat the right foods, do the right exercises, select the right birthing center…the whole deal. This child is going to be well taken care of from day one.”

“Uh-huh.” Caleb pulled another five books off the floor. He checked the table of contents of the first one and turned to the page he desired. “‘It is important that women maintain a diet high in complex carbohydrates throughout the length of their pregnancies,'” he read aloud. He picked up the next and turned a few pages before reading, “‘Pregnant women should adopt a high-protein, low-carb diet.'” He reached for book three. “‘If you're longing for a bagel and cream cheese, eat it, likewise if you have a hankering for prime rib.' Your body knows best…unless you're craving spicy foods, in which case you should throw yourself off the nearest bridge because you're most likely pregnant with the Antichrist.”

“It doesn't say that.”

“No, it doesn't, but you see my point. You could read each and every one of these books and all you're going to get is confused. Find three that are written with a viewpoint you relate to and stick to those.”

“So you're telling me that moderation is key. Huh, where were you when I was buying out the shoe department with Allie last week?”

“What do you mean where was I? There was a men's sample sale at the Fashion Center.”

 

I went home with only two books and several grocery bags full of the foods recommended in the latest issue of
Fit Pregnancy
. Okay, there was a Twinkie in there, too. I unloaded it first and held it up to eye level so that I could better admire it. Not one of the pregnancy books had recommended Twinkies. But maybe that was the problem with today's youth. We were spoiling them with too much healthy food and exercise. Maybe we needed to toughen them up by teaching them how to survive the horrors of trans fat. I was using my fingertips to pull open the opaque plastic wrapper when the phone rang. It was a sign from God. I wasn't supposed to eat this. I almost threw the treat away but I couldn't quite get myself to do it. I ended up stuffing the Twinkie in my purse instead. That way it could be like the unsmoked cigarette carried around by a former addict as a badge of honor. I picked up the phone a second before the answering machine got it.

“Yello.”

“April, it's Nick.”

“Hey, Nick, what's up?” I hadn't talked to our landlord since before Tad and I had moved into his place. Tad dealt with all the little details of our life, such as paying the rent.

“Is Tad there?”

“Nope, he may not be for a while. Can I help you with anything?”

“Well, you could pay me the rent for starters.”

“Oh…” I glanced at the calendar, February was more than half over. “I'm sorry, didn't Tad pay you yet?”

“Not for this month, and he's been late with it every single time. I know his business is going through a transition period but I can only be so lenient, even for a friend.”

I dropped onto a kitchen chair. Why would Tad fall behind on the rent? “I'm…I'm so sorry. Tad's been busy, he must have done something silly like written the check but forgotten to send it out or something. He would never be late on purpose.”

Nick didn't say anything.

I ran my nails up and down my leg self-consciously. “I'll send you a check today. Twenty-five hundred for February, and how much is the late fee?”

“You owe thirty-one hundred for February.”

“Excuse me?” I was on my feet again. “I understand if you've attached a penalty for us being late, but seven hundred dollars is a little steep.”

“I'm not attaching any penalty at all, although I probably should. Your rent is thirty-one hundred dollars.”

“Are you even familiar with San Francisco's rent-control laws? You can't raise rent on existing tenants at a rate higher than, like, two percent a year. Give me a break!”

“I've been giving you a break by not demanding the rent when it's due. Your lease agreement clearly states that the rent is thirty-one hundred dollars. Now, are you going to pay me or are you going to find a new place to live?”

I couldn't believe this. I had only met Nick a few times but he had seemed like a decent and reasonable guy. Obviously my asshole radar had been malfunctioning on the days he'd been around. “I'm going to talk to Tad about this. If we owe you anything, we will pay you. Otherwise I strongly suggest that you rethink your extortion tactics because I
will
drag your sorry butt to court.” I hung up the phone and ignored it when it rang again. He was so not going to get away with this. I started pacing back and forth across the hallway. Tad thought Nick was his friend. Maybe not a close friend but certainly not someone who would screw him over.

Who did he think he was kidding? Just because my name wasn't on the lease didn't mean that Tad hadn't told me exactly what it said. I walked into the guest room where we kept all our important files. I pulled out the top drawer of a wooden file cabinet with so much force that it almost came tumbling out. I reached the back of the files without being able to locate the lease. I then searched through the drawer beneath it. Finally I went to the drawer closest to the floor. I yanked it with the same force as I had used on the others, which almost caused the whole damn cabinet to fall on top of me. But the drawer didn't open. I tugged at it again, more gently this time. It was locked.

I fell back from my squatting position and sat on the floor with my knees sticking straight up in the air. Why had Tad locked the cabinet? I studied the lock and laughed. If Tad thought that lock was going to keep anyone out he had some serious gaps in his education.
I
could pick that. I was actually pretty good at picking locks. My mother and I had been evicted on two occasions when I was a kid. The first time it had happened the landlord had changed the locks on the apartment, so when Mom's boyfriend du jour escorted us back home from a weekend nature retreat we found ourselves unable to get to our things. Mom's boyfriend had used the opportunity to teach us both how to pick locks…so we would be “prepared for next time.” I got to my feet and retrieved a bobby pin from the bathroom and stuck one end of it in the keyhole. “Easy peasy,” I murmured as the drawer sprung open. I flipped through a few files that pertained to Tad's company. Finally I found the lease.

My eyes stopped when they got to the figure $3,100 per month.

I heard the front door open and close. “April?” Tad's voice traveled through the walls that separated us, but I didn't respond. I just stared at the lease.

“April.” This time he said my name in the teasing manner of a lover expecting to play some kind of flirtatious version of hide-and-seek. Still, I was silent. I listened to the sound of Tad's footsteps as they moved through the living room to the kitchen and finally down the hall to where I was.

“Aha, I found you. Why didn't…” his voice trailed off as he looked at the paper I was holding.

“You fucking bastard.” I barely recognized my own voice. I dangled the lease in the air, holding it by the corner as if it were a soiled handkerchief.

Tad was silent for a long time.

“You broke into the bottom drawer,” he said flatly.

Was he accusing me of wrongdoing?
Me?
I felt my whole body start to tremble. “Don't go there. Don't even think of going there. You've been lying to me. I told you that I wouldn't pay more than twenty-five hundred for this place and you told me you talked Nick down. Why did you lie to me, Tad?”

“April…”

“WHY!”

“Don't talk to me like that!”

Was he kidding? He had been lying to my face for months and now he was worried about my tone of voice? Like some disobedient little child who couldn't handle having his mommy yell at him? I could barely speak, barely even look at him. I thrust the paper forward in his direction. “Why?”

Tad looked at the cabinet. He gently took the lease out of my hand and then took the key to the file drawer out of his wallet. I watched as he returned the lease to its original location and then locked it in the drawer. He straightened up and slowly, so slowly, replaced the key. “I'm not going to talk about this right now.”