... and Baby Makes Two (30 page)

Ray brought Burton, who wanted to know all about the medical needs of babies too. Burton towered over everyone in the room. He seemed too big for the furniture. But he found a comfy sofa and took half of it. Jane wondered if this was going to be a Little Red Bathing Suit moment for these two. They would see these lovely babies and—

“Everyone please sit. I need quiet.” Dr. Val clip-clopped into the room.

Dr. Val was tired. She had recently been profiled in
New York
magazine and was coping with new fame. Apparently she didn't like it. She didn't like the chitter-chattering people in her living room either. She gathered her props and began.

“Let's start with fungal diaper rash” was how she began, and she never got any cheerier than that. She moved on to fevers.

She urged everyone to use rectal thermometers, and then talked about the levels of fever and what a small child could tolerate. She extolled the virtues of good old soap and water. She told a story of a young man who had leprosy. He thought he might clean his diseased flesh with alcohol, but that caused it all to fall off. He should have used, you guessed it, soap and water.

Dr. Val talked about problems with nutrition, bonding, sleeping, pooping, adjusting in general. She shared disturbing Polaroids of hideous diseases, then quizzed her students to make a diagnosis.

“That's an example of rickets! Correct!” Jane wondered why Dr. Val sounded so thrilled.

Then Dr. Val gave advice for Life at Home: “I recommend you make your own baby food. Just get a blender or a food processor and throw in some chicken and veggies, and you've got a delicious meal for your child. And you'll save a fortune, believe me. Save that money for Harvard.”

Teresa looked pale green. Burton's expression matched hers. Karen had stopped taking notes after the leprosy story. Jane wanted to giggle at the whole scene. She didn't know why, but she knew that the giggle would not be appreciated. Peter caught her eye and silently warned her not to giggle. Ray kept his eyes on his notepad. But he was biting his lip, clearly suppressing his sarcasm.

“The child's bedroom should be plain and simple, using quiet colors. Not overstimulating. Keep the toys down to a minimum. Simple rag dolls will do. Your daughter will love them, and you can save that money for Harvard.”

Dr. Val made sense, and yet Jane wanted to do the opposite of every piece of advice offered. She didn't know why.

“Any questions?”

…

After the presentation, they were all outside, and Teresa spoke first.

“Drink. Now.”

At the bar, they vented and laughed. Maybe Dr. Val was right about all her dire warnings, and maybe she was wrong. But they needed to escape the memory of those gruesome Polaroids.

“Is anyone else hungry? I'm going to order some food,” said Arlene.

“Uh-oh. There goes Harvard.”

Jane sat back and saw that it was all right here. Everyone was laughing, eating, talking. For a moment, there was no stress about travel, impending motherhood, or extra wheels on her relationship. There weren't even any lists.

Ray and Burton were holding hands. Burton whispered something in Ray's ear, which caused a head shake/eye roll from Ray. The restaurant was noisy, with all the conversation from every table rising up like a cloud and raining down on the diners. Jane had trouble hearing individual words but enjoyed the whole downpour.

Peter was holding her hand. He looked even more relaxed than
when he was asleep. This was all going to work. It was all right here. His smile was wide and easy. He held one of her hands with both of his. He leaned in and kissed Jane.

“Did you hear that? I said, ‘Dr. Val needs a little Dr. Valium.' Come on, that was a good one—for me.”

Jane laughed. He kissed her again and looked very pleased with himself over his little joke.

And then everything changed. His face. His hands. His chair. The smile dropped, the eyes changed, and the muscles around his neck tilted his head up. He let go of Jane's hand as if it were on fire. He moved his chair away. He could only move it about an inch, but he did move it. He was now buddy-buddy next to Teresa, who didn't notice. Jane felt herself sinking into the ocean. The cold ocean. Peter turned around.

“Mom. Dad. What are you guys doing here?” Peter's parents were part of a large group that had just entered the restaurant. City Seniors.

“We just went to the reading at the Ninety-second Street Y,” said Mr. Mandell. “Wallace Somebody. Duller than dishwater.”

“Your father fell asleep. I had to punch him awake a couple of times to stop him from snoring. And who is this?” Mrs. Mandell looked at Jane.

Peter stood up. He looked like he wanted to move his parents away from the table. Or shield them from a hail of bullets.

“Oh, this is a bunch of friends of mine.” He named everyone at the table, travel companions included. He circled the table with names, and then: “And you remember Jane. Jane Howe? We went to high school together. Sort of. We were in different classes. But the same school. High school. Can you believe it—we're neighbors.”

Mr. and Mrs. Mandell hugged and kissed Jane, and of course they remembered her, because she hadn't changed a bit. Jane managed to say “Hello” and even “How are you,” but she looked again at Peter, who wasn't being Peter anymore.

“Bianca told us about Christmas in Australia,” said Mr. Mandell,
returning his attention to his son. “You lucky duck. It'll be summer there.”

Jane sank back into her chair. Ray reached across the table and held her hand. The Mandells talked about family stuff, doctor visits, and Bianca. They waved good-bye to the old high school pal that Peter had run into. Mr. and Mrs. Mandell returned to their table. Ray kept hold of Jane's hand. No one at the table spoke. Peter couldn't seem to sit back down.

“Jane. Can we talk about this? Outside maybe? Or can we go home?”

“Sure,” said Jane. “After all, we're neighbors.”

“Jane.”

“Neighbors. Jesus.”

“Please. Not here.”

She pulled her hand away from Ray. She was out the door as if she were wearing a jet pack. In one of those rare New York moments, there was a cab right there, right outside the restaurant. Jane opened the door and slammed it in time to see Peter racing after her. She looked back. There were no other taxis. Hah!

She didn't want to cry in a taxi. Then again, perhaps she should cry, get it out of her system and be all cried out by the time Peter got home. Neighbor Peter. Old high school friend Peter. She let the city lights hypnotize her for a while. Traffic was light, another rare New York moment. Jane decided that she needed to look at Beth's picture for a while. That would make her feel better. Thank God she kept it in her purse.

And that was when she realized she had left the restaurant without her purse. No money. No keys. That was all she needed to push her over the edge. She began to cry. The driver looked back at her, but said nothing.

“Excuse me? Driver? I left my purse in the restaurant. I have no money on me. If you can wait a little while, my”—what should she call Peter?—“my friend will pay you. I'm sorry. I never do this. I promise I'll pay you.”

…

Jane and the driver sat in front of Jane's building, with the meter running, for nearly fifteen minutes. Finally another cab pulled over. It was Peter. He carried Jane's purse. He walked over to Jane, who took her purse and said, “Pay the man.”

Upstairs, Jane wished she had gathered thoughts or lists. Everything was a mess all around and inside her. Chaos. She hated chaos. She saw her face distorted in a window. She looked like a gargoyle. She circled the living room and let her face get uglier. Peter was walking carefully up the stairs. He looked like a penitent saint. His face was childlike and sad as he put his hands over his heart.

“What? What, Peter? What was that? Who are you? And who am I? And what's going on? Answer me!” She knew that this was a tough question to answer, but she didn't care. She sat down. Peter was still standing. It looked like she was expecting a performance. Peter looked like he had stage fright.

“I haven't told them. Obviously. They think that Bianca and I are—”

“Spending Christmas in Australia,” Jane finished for him.

“You have the baby coming so soon. I didn't want to burden you with all this.”

“You're quite a guy”

“I'm sorry” He said this several times. He went to the kitchen and made Jane a cup of tea. When he returned with it, Jane was ten degrees less brittle.

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

“You mentioned that.” Jane almost smiled. The tea was a nice gesture. Okay so he was reluctant to tell his Catholic parents about his pending divorce. Give the guy a break.

“So”—she leaned in—“when are you going to tell them?”

Peter backed away. “See, that's the thing. Bianca and I—we haven't actually— We aren't really, legally, technically separated.”

Jane was just starting to get it. Lies. All those lies. Bianca really
was planning Christmas in Australia, wasn't she? Bianca knew nothing of Jane, of Beth, of anything here. Jane was a fool.

“Bianca knows that I'm not happy. She knows that I want children. But she doesn't actually know about you, or the adoption.” Peter looked lighter, unburdened of all these lies. Jane was having trouble seeing over the top of them.

“My parents are really strict Catholics, Jane. I told you that. And so is Bianca. I can't just come home one day and say, ‘Oh, by the way, I'm going to move in with this girl and adopt a baby with her in China.' I can't say that.”

“I see. You can do it. You just can't say it.”

“Look. I was scared. You wouldn't let the adoption wait for me. You wouldn't move into a house with me. I swear, if you had, I would have made the break with Bianca. But you don't need me. In fact, I bet you'll get all wrapped up in your new life as a mother and forget I'm even here. Is there room for me in your life?”

He sounded a lot less timid now. His voice had some power to it, and he kept going.

“So I kept a safety net. I admit it. I didn't want to make a break until I was sure that this—that you and I—that we were really going to work out. Is that so awful? I was scared. Is that a crime? And once everything worked out, I could end my marriage in my own time. I need it to be really gradual. In slow, small steps.”

“Yes, I know what ‘gradual' means. And I know what all this means. This means that you can't—”

She couldn't finish. His words were landing like an anvil on her head. And the tears she had managed to swallow in the cab took over her throat. Peter tried to console her, but she pushed him away. She wouldn't take comfort from him, since this was all his fault. Or was it all her fault? Shouldn't she have seen this? Wasn't she an idiot? Shouldn't she have known that she couldn't have all this happiness?

“Get out,” she managed to say after a while.

He protested. Tried to get her to look at him. None of it was successful.

He had to leave. This married, lying Catholic man had to leave.

…

The good thing about having a less-wonderful job was that Jane could call in sick without guilt or fear of big work pile-up. Jane called in sick. Peter tried phoning her. From her caller ID she saw that he was back at his little studio apartment. Wait, that was Biancas old apartment, and he had never given it up. The lying, lying liar. He couldn't even break a lease.

Jane picked up the phone when Ray called.

“I'm supposed to interview Nathan Lane at noon, but you have me for the morning. Will that do?” he asked.

“Get over here.”

Jane stayed in pajamas and bathrobe for maximum pathetic effect. She took Peter's remaining belongings and packed them in trash bags.

Ray looked so clean and polished for Mr. Lane. Jane straightened her robe, but Ray just wanted to hug her for a long time. She cried some more and worried that she was ruining his beautiful shirt. They settled in the kitchen over tea and peanut butter cups, breakfast of the heartbroken.

“He can't commit to me because he can't commit to breaking his first commitment. That's it. He's under-committed because he's over-committed.”

“He ought to
be
committed.” Ray took the obvious one. “For letting you slip away.”

“I wish I could fast-forward to ‘over it' and be all okay”

“No, you don't. That's a bad wish. Just let it happen, Jane. Think about how you'll teach your daughter to deal with sadness. Don't tell her to fast-forward and—”

“My daughter?” Jane had pushed aside thoughts of motherhood,
but now they were back. Peter was gone, and Jane was facing single motherhood once again.

“Maybe …” She didn't want to finish this sentence, but she did. “Maybe I should cancel the adoption.”

Ray's whole body changed. His voice was strident as he said, “You do, and I'll never speak to you again. I mean it. I will not be friends with you if you cancel this adoption.” He sounded like he meant it.

“But what about—”

“No. Sorry, I know you're all sad and abandoned and all that, but you have a bigger responsibility now. And her name is Beth. Go right ahead and feel sorry for yourself for a while. You're entitled. But you're adopting that kid, missy”

“You knew all along. You never liked Peter, did you?”

Ray let his shoulders droop as he tried a low-wattage grin. He looked under his eyebrows at Jane.

“Actually, I did like him. Maybe that's why I felt so jealous. And I thought you two were a good match. Didn't you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, tried to look mature, and said, “It might not be wise for me to do this alone.”

“Not wise? Jane, I wish you could hear yourself. Now, I've got a big Broadway star waiting for me, so I don't have time to walk you through this whole thing. We'll fast-forward to this one part: You can be a mother. I'll help you. Your friends will help you. Even Howard will help you. Eventually. Anyway, isn't it bad enough that Peter got to break your heart? Don't let him break this too.”