A Bump in the Road (40 page)

“Clare. Everything was fine. Let’s drop it.”

I took a deep breath. I could drop it for the frillionth time or I could keep pushing her and hope she would come out of the fog.

“I don’t want to drop it, Reese. You’re obviously hurting. You need to talk about this.”

“No, really, I don’t.”

“Please don’t shut down again. I’m here for you. Talk to me.”

“Clare. Stop. My marriage isn’t your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t.
You
are my concern. That includes your marriage. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. Worry about Julie. She’s the one who needs help. I’m perfectly fine.” Her voice began to rise, something I’ve rarely heard. I knew I should stop. But I didn’t.

“No, you’re not. I’ve never seen you this miserable.” There was silence on the other end.

“I’ll help you through this, if you let me. Please, think of Grace.”

After a long pause, she said, “Clare, I have to go. I can’t discuss this anymore,” and hung up the phone.

I submitted my articles to
The Daily Tribune
today. I’m pretty sure they blow. Kyle told me to write them in the same style as my blog, but without the excessive use of the F word. Which was much, much harder than anticipated.

Fuck.

Poor Jake. He’s been a surrogate therapist, butler, maid, cheerleader, and emotional rock for me since I turned in my articles. This entire situation is very, very Clare. Not only do I have the stress of being almost ready to give birth to my very first, unexpected child, but I’m stressed about two additional things: finishing the details on the Flynn-Shepard wedding and securing an awesome column in the
Tribune
.

What, worrying about feeding, clothing, birthing, naming, and caring for a newborn baby wasn’t enough?

Jake, of course, isn’t worried about anything. He spent the evening dozing, watching sports on the couch while I made a list of possible names. “What do you think of George?” I asked him.

He didn’t even open his eyes. “George who? Costanza?”

“George Finnegan-Grandalski.”

“Oh,” he said, “funny.”

“What?”

“Oh. You weren’t kidding?”

I guess George is out.

What with being convinced our child is going to enter first grade as Mr. Skeletor, my mood did not improve when Dr. Clarke told me today that by the end of the week I’ll be considered full term. Full term means the baby can come out if it feels like it and be healthy, but it probably won’t. So, full term does not mean I get to be done with this pregnancy stuff anytime soon. Which is good and bad. Bad because if I gain any more weight, I think my body will be able to be used as a flotation device in case of an emergency airplane water landing but good because I’m nowhere near ready to care for a newborn.

Holding a helpless little baby in my arms without an instruction manual scares the shit out of me.

Things I’m also afraid of: giving birth, forgetting I have a child and leaving it somewhere inappropriate like a Victoria’s Secret dressing room, forgetting to feed it and letting it starve to death, having an ugly child, having a child who thinks I’m ugly, being an uncool parent, being a parent who won’t let her kid watch an R-rated movie, being a cool parent who buys her kid beer, and accidentally killing or maiming it.

The last one is a horrible, although valid fear. I killed my turtle when I was seven because I noticed when I put it in hot water it would move around a lot, which I thought was “dancing.” My friend came over and I wanted to show her my pet’s trick, so I put it in the hot water and boy, did it dance. And then it stopped.
Forever
. It wasn’t dancing. Boiling alive does not equal dancing.

My panic was not assuaged when I turned on the news tonight and the first story was about a newborn baby that had been kidnapped while the mom was shopping in the mall. Immediately, I began worrying about Skeletor being snatched away by some mentally ill person. By the time Jake got home from dinner with a client, I was lying on the couch, my face buried in a tissue while sobs wracked my body.

“What’s wrong? Are you in labor?” Jake said. He threw down his laptop case on the hardwood floor and a loud
crack
echoed throughout the room as he rushed to my side.

“What was that?” I said, and sat up halfway.

“Forget it. What’s the matter? Is something wrong with the baby?” He grabbed my hand and I could feel his palm beginning to sweat.

“Seriously. I think you just broke your computer,” I said as I struggled to pull myself up into an upright position.

“Fuck it, Clare. What’s going on?”

“Oh, uh . . .” Suddenly, I felt very silly. “It’s just . . . this story . . . um . . . kidnapped baby . . . so sad.” I stared at the crumpled tissue in my hand.

Silence.

“There’s nothing wrong with the baby?”

I shook my head.

“And you’re OK?”

I nodded, still looking down.

“Well, that’s good.” He sat down next to me on the couch. “But my laptop’s pretty much screwed.”

“Sorry. But who cares about a laptop when your child is kidnapped?”

“He isn’t kidnapped, remember?” Jake pointed to my beach-ball-sized stomach.

“You’re missing the point. He could be. There are lots of sick, demented people in this world. People who we can’t protect him from. I mean, I couldn’t even protect my turtle. From
myself
.” I threw my hands up in the air as though I’d lost all hope. I stared at Jake and waited for him to throw himself against the couch in distress and agony, but he simply stared at me. So, I pulled out the most clichéd pregnancy line I could think of: “YOU DON’T EVEN CARE, DO YOU?”

He tried to explain that yes, he would care if Skeletor got kidnapped, but that he isn’t going to worry about it because it isn’t likely, and we are going to be great parents blah, blah, blah. I gave up and
waddled to the kitchen to eat a Popsicle. Jake was almost to the bedroom when I let out the Fat Pregnancy Scream Heard ’Round the World.

He’d eaten all the Popsicles.

He doesn’t care if I kill the baby or if the baby gets kidnapped, and he certainly doesn’t care about his chubby pregnant wife.

Thankfully, the pregnancy psychosis ended when I woke up this morning and I apologized to Jake and took back everything I said last night. Well, at least this one: “You ate those Popsicles on purpose because you hate me. You think I’m fat and ugly. You know what? I hope someone kidnaps you.”

Although I don’t want Jake to get kidnapped, I do worry if Jake thinks I’m fat and ugly right now. Every time I look in the mirror, once I get past the World’s Largest Belly, my eyes migrate to the lovely dimpled cellulite now colonizing on my thighs and butt. He can’t think it’s attractive. But having a big stomach is kind of like having giant boobs, I’d imagine, in the sense that there’s something else to distract him from any other flaws.

It doesn’t help that he’s become too freaked out to have sex anymore. He claimed it would be too weird. Actually what he said was: “I’d feel like the baby could stick his hand out and grab me or something.” That statement alone pretty much killed my sex drive along with his.

At least I can always count on Wifey1025 to boost my self-esteem when I’m feeling like Aaron Spelling’s house in human form. She e-mailed me today and asked what plan I’ve followed for pregnancy fitness since I’m, in her words, “So small and petite and in shape.”

I couldn’t bring myself to admit my fitness routine is clocking how many doughnuts I can fit into my mouth at once, so I was vague and said “cardio.”

Reese met Matt our freshman year of college at one of those gigantic fraternity parties where I ran into everyone I knew and proceeded to say really stupid things to classmates and pray they were just as wasted as I was and wouldn’t remember a thing I said.

I don’t remember how they started talking, but Julie and I found them sucking face on the dance floor. We congratulated her and snapped a few requisite photos before leaving to go back to the dorm and pass out.

Reese came home around nine the next morning, still a little drunk and smiling widely. They dated for the next six years, and two years after graduation, Matt proposed. We all cried and bought cheap champagne and watched
Father of the Bride
.

They got married exactly one year later in a huge beautiful wedding ceremony with four hundred guests. It was Reese’s fairy-tale wedding and she was the princess.

Reese quit teaching when she became pregnant with Grace. She loved her job, she loved her students, but happily walked away to raise her daughter. She thought getting married and having a family was enough. The marriage, kids, big house, expensive car, and housekeeper would be enough. Matt cheating on her didn’t fit into the equation, so it was ignored.

The only thing scarier than the rumors being true is her world becoming gray.

But she’s going to do it.

She’s confronting him tonight.

She called an hour ago and asked if I could watch Grace tonight.

12:00
A.M
.