Maybe Never (3 page)

But she could tell Riley . . .

When Brendan was sleeping, which was sure to be soon, she would call her from the kitchen and together they would share a couple of screams and strategize about how she should break the news.  Despite herself, Tracy felt a faint glimmer of excitement.
A baby
. God, could she even do this? Be a
mother
?

She shook her head and focused on the task at hand, rifling through one of their kitchen drawers and finding the menu from a nearby Chinese restaurant. Calling in a large chicken noodle soup and a spicy chicken with broccoli order, Tracy headed back downstairs where she found Brendan half-asleep and curled into a body pillow. He looked for a moment like a little boy. Like the little boy they might have. Her heart swelled. In the bathroom she found some Tylenol and brought it to him with a glass of water, and after he took the medication, made herself as comfortable as she could with the weight of Brendan’s head on her abdomen.

When the food came he was still sleeping and Tracy had to slowly move his head from her stomach to go pay for it. There was a damp spot, where he’d been perspiring as he slept. Probably a good sign that the Tylenol was helping. Tracy took the food up to the kitchen and spooned some out for herself, reaching for the phone and calling Riley.

As her friend answered the phone, Tracy could hear in the background the soft cooing noises of the new baby, Cassidy. She was as beautiful as her brother Cullen had been, and of course her parents doted on her. But Tracy especially liked the look on Shawn’s face when he stared at his little girl. It was a different look than he had when he looked at his son, more tender. Tracy’s heart broke a little every time she saw it.

Brendan would be the same way, she knew. If he had a little girl, he would be like Shawn was, or more so. He treated
her
like a little girl sometimes, which she loved.

Tracy took a deep breath. “So guess who’s knocked up?” she said.

As expected, Riley gave a loud and sudden shriek and Tracy laughed. On the other end of the line, Cassidy, startled by the sudden noise began to cry. But even that could not stop Tracy’s happy laughter.

________

“You can look now,” Dr. Kim said as she manipulated the wand, pressing it against Tracy’s abdomen, moving it back and forth.  “See there?”

Tracy looked. It all looked like an amorphous blob to her, but then off to the side, there was a flicker, a rhythmic movement.

“That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor confirmed. “See it?”

Tracy nodded, dumbfounded.

“Looks great. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Tracy nodded again, still unable to speak, but before she even knew it, a tear had escaped the corner of her eye.  Dr. Kim grasped her hand.

“Happy news,”

“Yes,” Tracy finally spoke. “Very happy news.”

At Riley’s insistence, she’d made an appointment for during her lunch break, just to confirm.  And she was glad she had, Tracy thought as she left the doctor’s office. In her purse she had a printout of the ultrasound, graphic evidence that it was real. She was going to be a mother. Tonight when she got home, she would tell Brendan, finally.

Keeping this to herself had been brutal, made easier only by the fact that he’d been sick for three days out of the seven since she’d found out. Time at home with him had been primarily about making sure he was comfortable, bringing him food and changing bed-sheets. She was busy with that and he felt like crap, so it was easy to put off telling him.

But now, with the picture to prove it, she couldn’t wait. She
shouldn’t
.

Tracy stood on the corner of Seventh Avenue and hailed a cab. She seldom visited him unannounced at his office but if there ever was an occasion that warranted it, this was the one. While waiting impatiently for the driver to make his way through the noonday traffic, she tapped her feet and more than once took out the ultrasound to look at it, just one more time.

When she walked into his office, Brendan’s eyes lit up. She was one of only a handful of people he’d given instructions to his assistant to allow back without waiting. He was sitting behind his enormous desk. It was made of reclaimed wood from an old barn in the Pennsylvania countryside Brendan had told her with pride the first time she’d visited him there. He liked things like that—things with a history, things that were once something else and had been remade.  Behind the desk were CD jackets that had been mounted in black lacquer frames, lined up in perfect symmetry and just beneath them, and behind his executive chair, a credenza piled high with files.

Apart from the desk—which contrasted with the modernity of all the other pieces in the room—everything looked crisp and brand new. On the desk itself were more files, paper strewn about and a large Apple computer which Tracy happened to know Brendan scarcely ever used. His work seemed to be conducted by iPad and iPhone these days, which made it harder to get and keep his attention when he was supposed to be just kicking back at home.

But now, surprised by her popping up unexpectedly, he came from behind his desk and pulled her into a hug, kissing her when she raised her chin and got on her toes.

“What’re you doing, slumming down here?” he asked, resuming his seat.

Instead of taking one of the plush chairs opposite him, Tracy went around and pushed his chair back, arranging herself on his lap. Brendan wrapped his arms about her waist and pressed a kiss into the side of her neck.

“Now if you get fresh with me, I’m going to have to call security,” he warned as he kissed her. “Because I have lots of work to do today.”

“Mr. Cole, you asked me to remind you about lunch. It’s almost one-thirty.”

Brendan’s AA’s name was Brett and she was probably about twenty-six. She had a short trendy bob and wore dark synthetic fabrics that looked like they would combust if she went near a flame. When Tracy had once remarked on it to Brendan he’d laughed and told her Brett was a vegan and didn’t believe in wearing any byproducts of living things, not even cotton, which Tracy thought was ridiculous. The toxic fumes from the factories that made Brett’s synthetic clothing probably did exponentially more to harm the environment each year than anything carnivores and people who wore leather and cotton could do in a lifetime.

But the real reason Brett got on Tracy’s nerves was that whenever she was near or had to speak to Brendan, she got this fawning look in her eyes; it was obvious she had a monster-crush on her boss.

“Would you like me to order you that Philly cheesesteak you like from next door?”

Brendan had begun to answer but Tracy spoke over him.

“No, Brett. Mr. Cole won’t be having a Philly cheesesteak today. If you could just bring me the menu, I’ll find something and let you know.”

Brett paused, looking uncertain, waiting for Brendan’s confirmation. Tracy looked at her evenly and for a moment it was like a Mexican stand-off. Finally, Brendan leaned to the side, looking around Tracy, still on his lap, so Brett could see him.

“You heard the Boss-Lady. No cheesesteak today. We’ll see what else they have if you bring us the menu. Thanks, Brett.

“Who names their girl-child Brett anyway?” Tracy muttered when she exited the office.

Brendan laughed. “Stop hating on my staff. You don’t like anyone who works for me, do you?”

“Or
with
you either. They all seem to be eager twenty-something year old women who smile a lot.”

“That’s the music business, sweetheart.”

“Why couldn’t you just be a plumber instead?” Tracy joked, turning around and fidgeting with the button at his collar.

“Here’s the menu, Ms. Emerson.” Brett had returned. Tracy reached a hand behind her without bothering to look at the young woman as she took it.

When she was gone, Tracy got up and went to take one of the other seats, opening the menu to find Brendan something healthy to eat. And while she was here, she may as well get herself something. She was beginning to feel a little nauseous, which happened mostly when she hadn’t eaten. And of course, it also happened when she smelled food. It was a real lose-lose situation this morning sickness thing. Which was more like
all-day sickness
honestly . . .

“Trace.”             

“Hmm?” She turned the menu over in her hands. This restaurant should be named Heart Attack Central. Every other item was some grease-filled, fried or over-sauced . . .

“
Tracy
.”

“Yes, Brendan, what is it?”

She looked up, exasperated that she couldn’t find a simple chicken salad among their seemingly hundreds of selections.

“All kidding aside,” he said. “You need to try to be a little bit nicer to my staff. They’re young, they work hard . . .”

“
What
?”

“I said you need to . . .”

“I heard you,” she said. “I’m just having trouble comprehending what you mean.”

“Trace, c’mon. You know what I mean. Just now you barely looked at the poor girl when she handed you the menu, and when you do look at her, it’s like she just spit in your face or something.

“And when you come in, you never really speak to anyone unless it’s to tell them to do something, and even then, you sound like you’re . . .”

“
Wow
.” She slapped the menu down on his desk.

“I’m just telling you what I see.
I
know you’re better than that. But everyone else around here, going on what they see alone? I’d bet they think you’re a bitch-on-wheels.”

“No wonder I don’t come here more often,” Tracy said dryly.

“Don’t get defensive . . .”

“How can I not get defensive? You’re telling me your staff hates me and that it’s justified.”

“That’s not what I said.” Brendan shook his head, his voice calm.

“And I guess you think you’re helping matters with that ‘Boss-Lady’ crap, like I
run
you or something?”

Brendan grinned at her. “You
do
run me. But only because I let you. Because I love you. And because the kind of shit that keeps you up at night rolls right off my back.”

How was it he always knew what to say?
Just when she’d worked up a good, solid annoyance with him, he could extinguish it like the weak flame on a half-burnt match. But she wasn’t going to let him do it this time; not when she had a perfect right to be angry.

“Well, I don’t have an appetite anymore,” Tracy said, looking away from him, because when she looked at him, she couldn’t possibly maintain her righteous indignation. “Call Brett back in here. Get your disgusting Philly cheesesteak, and clog your arteries for all I care. I’m going back to my office, where people
don’t
think I’m a bitch-on-wheels.”

Brendan leaned back in his chair arms folded behind his head, with the exhausted expression of a man watching a show he’d seen many times before. He heaved a deep sigh and waited. And when he said nothing to indicate he was inclined to stop her from leaving, Tracy stood and grabbed her purse.

“Thanks Tracy,” he said affably. “It’s
always
great when you stop by. See you at home later.”

“Don’t count on it!” she snapped before flouncing out of his office. As she passed Brett’s desk, she made sure to shoot her a withering look.

________

By the time Brendan finally got home at nine that evening, Tracy had begun to believe that he was much more annoyed than she’d recognized, and had opted to spend the night away from her, in the townhouse in Brooklyn. The sound of his keys in the front door and then being dropped on the table in the foyer made her heave a sigh of relief. When she’d stormed out of his office that afternoon, she was so irritated herself, she hadn’t given as much thought as she should have to his mood. What had gotten to her more than anything was that she hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him about the baby, and had allowed her temper to get the best of her.

As she walked away from Brendan’s office, she could hear Dr. Greer’s voice in her head, telling her she needed to learn to ‘identify your triggers, Tracy.’ She’d
identified
them ages ago; it was the
handling
of them that was difficult. Seeing Dr. Greer for a while, hashing through a bunch of old crap from her childhood, trying to mend fences with her family, had been helpful but every once in a while, those ‘triggers’ got the best of her like they had today.

She was in bed when Brendan came in, stretching and circling his neck. Tracy was almost always in bed when he got home. Such was the nature of his work, but even for him, coming in after eight p.m. was late.

He yawned. “Hey,” he said.

Tracy didn’t respond.

“Are we still beefin’?” he asked, pausing before going into the closet. “Because if we are, I’ll save myself the energy trying to get you to talk to me.”

“Brendan, we’re not
beefin’
. I just didn’t like what you had to say today, that’s all.”

“Well like it or not, Tracy, what I said was true. Every word of it. I don’t like having to apologize for you, or overcompensate with niceness because you’ve been terse with someone when you didn’t have to be, or just downright rude.”

Pinpricks of tears had already begun at the backs of her eyes. It was one thing when they were in the middle of a heated argument—in those she could more than hold her own—but when he very calmly and matter-of-factly told her the ways in which she let him down, it reduced her to tears every single time. No one else in the world could make her cry as easily.

Seeing the look on her face, knowing she was close to tears usually broke him down too. It was at about that point that he would come to her and soften his tone, but tonight Brendan simply sighed and walked into his closet where Tracy could hear him removing his clothes.

“
Please
don’t start with the crying,” he said, exasperated. “I’m not telling you anything you shouldn’t know, Tracy. This is shit you learned in the first grade—do unto others . . . you know the rest don’t you?”

If she didn’t know him so well, she would have missed the significance of his tone. This wasn’t Brendan
annoyed
, this was Brendan
mad
. He rarely if ever raised his voice to her. When he was very angry, he didn’t get hot, he instead became very, very cold. Tracy could only guess at what happened after she left his office. He’d probably apologized to Brett. And knowing women as she did, Tracy had no doubt Brett milked it for all it was worth, and perhaps even squeezed out a few tears of her own.