A Bump in the Road (38 page)

“JAKE!” I screamed across the room.

“WHAT?” He bolted straight up on the couch.

“Did you listen to this message?”

“No, I heard it was for you and stopped it. Who was it?”

“
The Daily Tribune
. They want to talk to me about something.”

“About what?”

“I have no idea. They want me to call them.”

“So, call them back.”

“What do you think it’s about?”

“Has to be something good, right?”

“I guess.”

“So pick up the phone.”

I grabbed the cordless phone and walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.

“Kyle Tiesdale,” she answered on the first ring.

“Kyle, hi. It’s Clare Finnegan.”

“Hi, Clare! Good to hear from you so soon.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, we’re still receiving feedback from the piece we did several months ago about your blog. You have quite a loyal fan base.”

“I do. They’re great.” My heart started to quicken.

“We’re interested in having you do some occasional pieces for our Life & Style section. Would that be something you’re interested in?”

Um, are you fucking kidding me?

“Wow, yes. Of course I would.”

“Great. Why don’t you pull together some writing samples and e-mail them over to me so I can show my editor and we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds great. Thanks so much, Kyle.”

I hung up the phone and started screaming. Jake ran into the bedroom, looking more than slightly alarmed. I barely squeaked out the news before he hugged me. I picked up Butterscotch and twirled him around. He responded by growling at me and biting my hand. I didn’t mind, though, because I’m going to be a world-famous newspaper columnist!

Only problem is, I have to pull some writing samples out of my ass. But I’ll worry about that later. It’s much more fun to plot my future as an award-winning columnist.

My celebration was short-lived when I realized my baby shower is tomorrow and I’m about to be forced to open gifts in front of everyone and discuss why we haven’t picked a name yet.

Hmmm . . . maybe I can write a sample article on the perils of baby showers?

My alarm went off at 9:30 this morning but I was already awake. I went to bed at midnight but visions of pink and blue confetti and old women demanding more cake kept me awake. I spent most of the night throwing myself around the bed and sighing loudly, hoping Jake would wake up and notice. He just snored away, oblivious to my impending doom and mattress gymnastics. So, I spun like a chicken on a rotisserie for hours while he dreamed about the Bears winning the Super Bowl (and probably a world where his very cranky wife is twenty-five pounds lighter).

I elbowed him when the alarm went off and he jerked suddenly out of his deep sleep and mumbled “Mhhrrhrr” and put his pillow over his head.

“Not today, buddy,” I said as I grabbed his pillow off his head.

“Five more minutes,” he said sleepily, and threw the cover over his head.

“Dream on. This shower is for both of us, so get up.”

Still covered by the duvet, he stuck one hand out and grabbed my thigh. “Shower. Both of us. Yes. Good idea,” he said.

Our sex drives are still going strong during the pregnancy, so no way I passed that up.

Jake and I arrived at Reese’s right at noon for the party. I smoothed my print jersey wrap dress and adjusted my four-inch heels before
ringing the doorbell. I had fidgeted the whole way over and still couldn’t relax.

Reese appeared at the door, dressed in fitted tweed pants covering a tiny bump and a perfectly pressed silk blouse.

“Hey there!” she said brightly, showing a bit too much of her gums. She hugged both of us and led us inside, her baby blond hair swishing with every step.

Julie was inside, standing in front of the George Bush photo, wearing a suede skirt, knee-high boots, and a very low-cut cashmere wrap top, laughing hysterically.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Julie said, wiping her eyes and giving each of us a kiss on the cheek. “Have you seen this shit?” She pointed in the direction of the photo.

We both shrugged, smiled, and rolled our eyes.

She shook her head and handed Jake a baby blue drink. “Have a babytini.”

“A what?” Jake said, holding the drink up and examining it.

“A babytini—Hypnotiq, watermelon schnapps, and pineapple juice. You’ll either die from the alcohol content or the sugar content,” she paused and took a swig, “or both.”

Jake took a sip. “Whoa. You might be driving home,” he said, and handed me the keys.

I looked at Reese, who shrugged and mouthed “Sorry.” I smiled and shrugged. I knew the cocktails were Julie’s idea. I’m sure it was one battle Reese chose to give up, considering the shower was at her house and not a sports bar, like Julie had wanted.

“Congratulations to the both of you!” said a male voice behind us. We turned and saw Matt standing there, holding Grace.

My heart skipped a beat and we both awkwardly said, “Thanks,” not really meeting his eyes. I wanted to reach across the room and choke Matt with my bra for being a lying, cheating bastard.

“Hi, Matt,” Julie said.

Matt looked nervously at her and gave a small wave. We all stood around silently for a minute.

Julie drained her glass and said, “Jake, another one?” He looked relieved and nodded and followed her into the sunroom. I saw Matt blatantly stare at Julie’s ass as she walked away. Grace began to fuss and Matt patted her diaper. “Oh. I think she needs to be changed.” He gave Reese an expectant look and she stared back at him. “Can you help me?” he sputtered out, waiting for Reese to jump and rescue him.

“You can do it. It’s your day today. I have to get ready for the shower,” Reese said. They continued to stare at each other and I became acutely aware I was witnessing some kind of weird marital standoff.

The doorbell rang and I practically tripped over myself, running toward it and yelling, “I’ll get it!”

It was my mom and Sam.

“Hey, honey,” my mom said, and stepped forward and hugged me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of Marilyn Miglin perfume and for a second, the world stopped. There is something about my mother’s perfume that makes me feel like I’m five years old again, watching her put on her makeup before going out to dinner.

Then she let go and I was brought back to reality.

“Hey, Sam,” I finally said to my sister, as she had yet to acknowledge my presence.

“Oh, hey. What’s up,” she said flatly. Turning back to her phone, she walked into the kitchen. “Oh, I
know
. She is such a bitch and—”

Julie walked into the foyer and saw my face. She stepped in front of Sam and grabbed the phone. “This is mine until the party ends.”

Sam put her hands on her hips but Julie extended a babytini toward her. “Trade?”

Needless to say, she shut up.

Within a half hour, all of the guests had arrived, including evil Gwen, who I acted all fake happy to see while silently praying she’d tuck her skirt into her underwear or something while in the bathroom.

Matt finally left with Grace, making Jake the only male at the party, not that he noticed since he’d already had four babytinis by then.

We did all of the standard baby shower things: ate crustless sandwiches, scarfed cake, and made pointless small talk. Everyone wanted to know what we are going to name Mr. Skeletor and when I would say we haven’t decided yet, they seemed to think it was an invitation for suggestions. Sorry, I’m not going to name my kid Billy because Jake’s weird aunt has “always loved the name.”

Unfortunately, I was forced to open gifts in front of everyone and this time it was Julie’s turn to give me a sympathetic look, as it was clearly not her choice. It was fine, though, and we actually got a lot of good shit. Reese got me a day of pampering at a salon, Julie got me a bottle of Belvedere vodka (for after the baby’s born, she explained) and gold leaf earrings, and my mom and Sam bought us the Bugaboo stroller. So our dear child can rest his head in a stroller more expensive than the combined total of everything I’m wearing. Carrie gave us adorable clothes; well, mostly adorable except for the
I LOVE CAMPING
T-shirt. Marianne and Natalie bought us our high chair and car seat, having sent their regrets since Ash Leigh was sick and apparently it takes both of them to care for one small kid. I’m pretty sure Marianne is just pissed I refused to let them throw their own shower. Sorry, thanks but no thanks. I get enough torture being kicked in the ribs all day long without adding Jake’s family to the mix.

The gift opening went pretty quickly and painlessly and pretty soon everyone was gone and it was just Jake and me, Reese, Julie, and my mom and Sam.

And 50 percent of us were drunk.

My mom left soon after, carting Sam out to go home and sleep it off. I knew this was my shot.

“Reese. Julie. Come into the kitchen with me.” I grabbed Reese’s arm and shook it until she let go of the garbage bag she was using to clean up and grabbed Julie’s babytini with my other.

“Oh, God. Come to Jesus meeting. Come to Clare meeting. Whatever,” Julie said as she waved her arms.

“Come into the kitchen,” I ordered, and they followed me, rolling their eyes. “Listen. Guys. I don’t expect you two to be best friends
again. But I love you both and it means so much to me that you did this together. And it was a beautiful shower, even more so because you guys both did it. I just wanted to tell you.”

Julie rolled her eyes and Reese took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“I love you, too. I’m so glad you liked the shower. You’ve been such a great friend and it was a little bumpy, but I think we pulled it off.”

“You guys did more than pull it off, it was the best shower ever.”

I looked at Julie and she suddenly became very interested in Reese’s countertop.

“Julie?”

“What?” she said innocently.

“I’m trying to say thank-you to you guys.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to thank you guys for the shower.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It wasn’t too terrible to work together, was it?”

“Piece of cake,” Reese said.

Julie took a long swig of her drink and set it down.

“Julie?”

“Like she said, piece of cake.”

Knowing this was as close as they would get to a truce, I didn’t push any further. I was in such a good mood I didn’t even mind when I found Jake passed out on Matt and Reese’s bed, empty martini glass in hand.

We lugged everything back from the baby shower and stacked it into the spare bedroom. I poked Jake awake this morning and forced him out of bed. I appointed today The Day We Shall Set Up the Nursery or, more appropriately, The Day When Jake Gets Mad and Says Fuck a Lot While Clare Eats Ice Cream and Cries.

We rented our apartment almost two years ago after moving out of the city. At the time, we were so accustomed to city prices we were shocked,
shocked
, at how much more space we could afford by moving to the ’burbs. We were all, “Oh my God—there are
two
bedrooms! And
two
bathrooms! And closets! There are closets! For clothes! And a kitchen! Yippee!”