Maybe in Another Life (18 page)

“This is so exciting! I mean, I’ll have to eat this with a knife and fork.” It’s way too big for me to eat on my own. I resolve to wait and share it with Henry tonight. I hand it back to Ethan. “Can you put it on the table?”

“You don’t want it now?”

I do sort of want it now, but I’d rather wait for Henry. I shake my head.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says. “About how you are feeling.”

I wave him off. “I’m OK. I’m feeling good. There are some ups and downs, but you’ve caught me at an up moment. Word on the street is I get to try out my wheelchair today.” I watch as the look on Ethan’s face changes. I get a glimpse, just for a moment, of how sad it must be to hear me excited about a wheelchair. But I refuse to be brought down about this. This is where I’m at in life. I need a wheelchair.
That’s OK.
Onward and upward.

Ethan looks off to the side and then down at the floor. He’s looking everywhere but at me.

“What’s up?” I ask. “What’s bothering you?”

“It just all seems so senseless,” he says, looking up at me. “The idea of you being hit by a car. Almost losing you. When I heard what happened to you, I immediately thought . . . you know, she should have been with me instead. If I had been able to persuade you to stay out with me, you wouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road when . . . I mean, what if this all could have been prevented if I’d . . . done something different?”

It’s sort of absurd, isn’t it? How we grab on to facts and
consequences looking to blame or exonerate ourselves? This has nothing to do with him. I chose to go home with Gabby and Mark because that’s the choice I made. Nine billion choices I’ve made over the course of my life could have changed where I am right now and where I’m headed. There’s no sense focusing on just one. Unless you want to punish yourself.

“I’ve looked at this problem up, down, and sideways,” I tell him. “I’ve lain in this bed for days wondering if we were all supposed to do something different.”

“And?”

“And . . . it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

“I’m saying things happen for a reason. I’m saying there’s a point to this. I didn’t stick around with you that night because I wasn’t supposed to. That wasn’t what I was meant to do.”

He looks at me. He doesn’t say anything.

“You know,” I continue, “maybe you and I would have gone out that night and stayed out partying and drinking until the early morning. And maybe we could have walked around the city all night, talking about our feelings and rehashing old times. Or maybe we would have left that bar and gone to another bar, where we ran into Matt Damon, and he would say that we seemed like really cool people and he wanted to give us a hundred million dollars to start a cinnamon roll factory.”

Ethan laughs.

“We don’t know what would have happened. But
whatever would have happened wasn’t
supposed
to happen.”

“You really believe that?” Ethan says.

“I think I have to,” I tell him. “Otherwise, my life is an absolute disaster.”

Otherwise, my baby is gone for no reason.

“But yes,” I say. “I
really do believe that. I believe I’m destined for something. We are all destined for something. And I believe that the universe, or God, or whatever you want to call it, I believe it keeps us on the right path. And I believe I was supposed to choose Gabby. I wasn’t supposed to stay with you.”

Ethan is quiet. And then he looks up at me and says, “OK. It wasn’t . . . I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Besides,” I say, trying to make a joke, “let’s be honest. If I’d stuck around with you, we’d just have ended up making out and ruining everything. This way is better. This way, we can finally be friends. Good, real friends.”

He looks at me, looks me right in the eye. We don’t say anything to each other for a moment.

Ethan finally speaks up. “Hannah, I—”

He stops halfway through his sentence when Henry comes walking in the door.

“Oh, sorry,” Henry says. “I didn’t know you had visitors.”

I feel myself perk up at the sight of him. He’s wearing the same blue scrubs from last night.

“I thought you were night shift,” I say. “Deanna is my day nurse.”

“I’m covering,” he says. “Just for this morning. I’ll come back if I’m interrupting.”

“Oh,” Ethan says.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” I say over him.

Ethan gathers himself and looks at me. “You know what? I should be getting to work,” he says.

“OK. You’ll come visit me again soon?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Or maybe you’ll be out of here in a few days.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” he says, “enjoy the cinnamon roll.”

Henry laughs. “This is a girl who loves her cinnamon rolls,” he says.

Ethan looks at him. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I brought her one.”

I
took three pregnancy tests in the bathroom of the CVS just down the street from Gabby’s place. I could have left Charlemagne in the car, but I felt terrible doing that, even with the windows cracked, so I put her in the backpack and brought her with me. She yipped in the bathroom once or twice, but no one seemed to care.

All three sticks were positive. And there wasn’t a single part of me that was surprised.

Now it’s almost nine p.m., and I’m pulling up in front of Gabby’s. She must hear my car, because she looks out the window. I see her and laugh. She looks like a crotchety old lady. I’m half expecting her to call out, “What’s all that racket?”

By the time I open her front door, Charlemagne trailing behind me on the leash, Gabby is standing on the other side of the door. I feel bad about what I’m doing, by the way. I feel bad about bringing a dog into Mark’s house. I know he’s allergic, and I’m doing it anyway. But I couldn’t stay with Ethan. And I couldn’t abandon Charlemagne. So here we are.

“You bought a car?” Gabby says. She’s in her pajamas.

“Where’s Mark?” I ask her. Charlemagne is behind me. I don’t think Gabby can see her.

“He’s working late again,” Gabby says.

“I have some news,” I tell her.

“I know, you bought a car.”

“Well, I have more news.”

Charlemagne yips. Gabby looks at me askance.

I pull Charlemagne around to the front.

“You have a dog?”

“I am adopting her,” I tell her. “I’m really sorry.”

“You are adopting a dog?”

“Is it OK if she stays here just for tonight? I bought Mark a whole bunch of allergy pills.” I take the five packages of medication that I got in the over-the-counter antihistamine aisle.

Gabby looks at me. “Uh . . . I guess?”

“Great. Thank you. I have news.”

“You have more news?”

I nod, but Gabby continues to stare at me. I stare back, unsure if she’s really prepared for this. Unsure if I’m really prepared for this.

“We should maybe sit down,” I tell her.

“I need to sit down for this?”

“
I
need to,” I tell her.

We move over to her couch. I pick up Charlemagne and put her in my lap. Quickly, Charlemagne moves off me and sits on the sofa. I see Gabby waver about whether she wants a dog on her sofa, so I pick up Charlemagne and put her on the floor.

“I’m pregnant.”

Hearing it out loud, hearing the words come out of my mouth, brings forth a flood of emotions. I start to cry. I bury my head in my hands.

Gabby doesn’t say much at first, but soon I feel her hands on my wrists. I feel her pull my hands away from my face. I feel her take her fingers and put them on my chin, forcing me to face her.

“You know it’s going to be OK, right?” she says.

I look at her through my tears. I nod and do my best to say “Yes.”

“Does Ethan know?” Gabby asks.

I shake my head. “No one does. Except you. And Charlemagne.”

“Who is Charlemagne?” she asks me.

I look at the dog and point to her.

“Oh,” Gabby says. “Right. Makes sense. I didn’t think we were still naming people Charlemagne.”

I start crying again.

“Hey,” she says. “Come on. This is good news.”

“I know,” I say through my tears.

“It’s Michael’s,” she says, as if it’s just dawning on her.

“Yeah,” I say. Charlemagne starts whining and jumping, trying to join us on the couch. Gabby looks at her and then picks her up and puts her in my lap. She curls up and closes her eyes. I do feel better, honestly, having her in my lap.

“OK, stop crying for a minute,” Gabby says.

I sniffle and look at her.

“We are going to handle this, and we are going to be fine.”

“We?”

“Well, I’m not going to let you go through this alone, you moron,” she says. The way she says the word
moron
makes me feel more loved than I’ve felt in a long time. She says it as if I’d be a complete idiot to think I was ever alone. And to know that the idea is absolutely absurd to her, to know that it’s so far-fetched as to make me a moron, it’s a nice feeling. “You know, years from now, you’re going to look back on this as the best thing that ever happened to you, right?”

I snort at her. “I’m having a baby with a married man, and I’m pretty sure it’s
going to ruin my relationship with my new old boyfriend.”

“First of all,” she says, “let’s not go assuming things. You never know what Ethan will say.”

“You know what I’m pretty sure he’s not going to say? ‘Hey, Hannah, I’m super excited to take on the responsibilities of raising another man’s baby.’ ”

I’m right, of course. Which is why Gabby changes the subject. “You are going to love this baby,” she says. “You know that, right? You are such a loving person. You have so much love to give, and you are so loyal to the people you love. Do you have any idea what a great mom you are going to be? Do you have any idea how loved this kid is going to be? The love it will have from its Aunt Gabby will eclipse the sun.”

I laugh, despite myself.

“Hannah, you can do this. And one day soon, you’re not going to imagine how you ever found meaning in your life before you did.” Maybe she’s right.

“What if your dad fires me before I’m even hired? ‘Hi. Hello. You gave me this job when you thought I wasn’t pregnant, and now you’re stuck with me.’ ”

“This is why you puked at dinner,” Gabby says.

“Should have been your dad’s first clue.” To be honest, it probably should have been my first clue.

“Would you listen to yourself? We’re talking about my dad. The man who picked up the boutonnieres for our dates to the prom. My dad once sat there with a pair of tweezers pulling tiny pieces of glass out of your foot when you dropped my mom’s favorite crystal vase.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” I say.

“But that’s my point. My dad loves you. Not like ‘Oh, I’m
telling you my dad loves you.’ I mean, he has love in his heart for you. My father loves you. Both my parents do. They like being there for you. My dad’s not going to fire you when he finds out you’re pregnant. He and my mom are going to jump for joy and tell everyone who will listen that the generation of grandchildren is finally arriving.”

I laugh.

“Also, he can’t fire you for being pregnant. It’s illegal. That’s Human Resources 101.”

The minute she says “human resources,” I remember talking to Joyce. I remember her telling me I have insurance and maternity leave. For a flash, I almost feel as if Gabby is right. That things will be OK.

“OK,” I say. “So I still have a job.”

“And you still have me, and my parents, and Mark, and . . .” She looks at the dog and smiles. “And Charlemagne.”

“I have to call Michael and tell him, right?”

“Yes? No?” she says. “I have no idea. But I’ll think about it with you. We’ll weigh the pros and cons.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we will come up with an answer. And then you’ll do it.”

She makes it sound so easy.

“And Ethan might not leave me?”

“He might not,” she says, although I can tell by her voice that she has less confidence in this one. “But I can tell you, if he does, it’s because it wasn’t meant to be.”

“You think things are meant to be?” I ask her. For some reason, I think I’ll feel better if things are meant to be. It gets me off the hook, doesn’t it? If things are meant to be, it means I don’t have to worry so much about consequences and
mistakes. I can take my hands off the wheel. Believing in fate is like living on cruise control.

“Are you kidding? I absolutely do. There is a force out there, call it what you will. I happen to believe that it’s God,” she says. “But it pushes us in the right direction, keeps us on the right path. If Ethan says he can’t handle the fact that you’re pregnant, he’s not the one for you. You were meant for someone else. And we will handle
that
together, too. We will handle all of this together.”

I close my eyes briefly, and when I open them, the world seems a little brighter. “So what do I do now?”

“Tomorrow morning, we’re getting you prenatal vitamins and making an appointment to see an OB/GYN so we can figure out how far along you are.”

“It would have to be at least eight weeks,” I tell her. “I haven’t slept with Michael in a while.”

“OK,” she says. “So we know that. Still, we’ll make the appointment.”

“Oh, no,” I say out loud. “I had a beer. Last week at the bar.”

“It’s OK,” I hear her say. “It’s going to be fine. It happens. You weren’t wasted. I saw you.”

I am a terrible mother. Already. Already I am a terrible mother.

“You’re not a terrible mother if that’s what you’re worried about,” Gabby says, knowing how my brain works almost better than I do. She picks Charlemagne up off my lap and gestures for me to get up. She leads the two of us into my bedroom. “It happens. And it’s OK. And starting tomorrow morning, you’re going to learn all the things you have to stop doing and all of the things you have to start doing. And you’re going to be phenomenal at all of it.”

“You really think that?” I ask her.

“I really think that,” she says.

I put on my pajamas. She gets in on one side of the bed. Charlemagne lies down with her.

“She’s a cute one, this little Charlemagne,” Gabby says. “How did she end up at my house?”