Pursued by the Playboy (20 page)

Kate drank in the sight of his tight rear and lean hips before they disappeared beneath layers of clothing.  With a sigh, she picked up the towel he had dropped earlier and crossed toward the bathroom to hang it up.  “Your car came in?”

“The new ActiveHybrid 7, in Bluewater Metallic.”  He slipped on his watch and grinned.  “Just what the doctor ordered.”

While Marc took care of the paperwork at the dealership, Kate returned home and changed into a pair of loose yoga pants and camisole before climbing back in bed.  Pushing aside the temptation to curl up for a short nap, she powered up her laptop and started working on revisions of a manuscript due for journal submission the following week. 

Despite her best efforts to concentrate, however, her attention kept wandering.  Eventually, she saved her work and opened a new browser window.  Within minutes, she found the information she was looking for, buried in reams of legalese, on university policy regarding stopping the tenure clock for care of a child.  Of course, offic
ial
policy was one thing; practical implementation of it could be quite another.  Until she talked off the record with some of other women in her department, she couldn’t be sure whether requesting maternity leave or invoking the stop the clock provision would potentially harm her case when she came up for tenure in another few years.

At the sound of Marc’s key in the door, she hurriedly shut down her computer and rose to greet him.

Chapter 20

Margaret covered her Royal Doulton teapot in bubble wrap and nestled it in a box filled with other carefully wrapped pieces of china. 

“I think that’s the last of it.”  She surveyed the living and dining room, littered with open cardboard boxes and the detritus of a marathon packing session.

“You’re sure about this?”  Kate had asked her mother the same question in various forms throughout the afternoon. 

“The movers will be here first thing tomorrow morning.  Bit late to reverse course, even if I were of a mind to.  Which I’m not.”

“Well, as long as you’re ready.  I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you out.”

Margaret picked up a roll of packing tape and rotated it slowly, searching for the loose end.  “That’s quite kind of you, Katherine.  Above and beyond the call of duty.”  She glanced at Kate for a moment, then refocused on sealing the box. “But we both know I’ve overstayed my welcome.  I certainly didn’t intend for you to feel like you had to move out while I was staying here.  I’m sorry it came to that.  I shouldn’t have taken my temper out on you.”

Kate sank into the nearest chair before her legs gave out.   This was the first time she’d ever heard her mother apologize.  She was afraid to press and ask whether the apology covered merely the outburst that had precipitated Kate’s departure from her apartment four weeks ago, or if it extended to all the fits of temper that had characterized their stormy relationship over the years.  Even if it was just the anti-depressant talking, or something scripted for Margaret by her therapist, Kate wasn’t about to question the unexpected softening of attitude.  “So when do I get to see this new place of yours?”

“Don’t go expecting too much.  It’s just a little studio off
Easton Road
, on the way to Horsham.  Walking distance from the office.”

“The office?  You mean you got the job?”

“They called Friday
afternoon
.”  Margaret smiled faintly.  “It won’t be official until I sign the paperwork next week, but they sounded pretty interested in having me start as soon as possible.”

Kate hugged her mother and silently thanked whatever gods were smiling down on her.  She had no doubt Lily had applied some pressure on Margaret’s behalf to organize the job so quickly, and made a mental note to thank her for it later.  “We need to celebrate.”

Margaret detached herself from Kate’s embrace.  “I have some scones from Fresh Grocer.  Cranberry-orange.  And some iced tea I made this morning.”

Kate blinked.  “Okay.”

“
I don’t want to make a big deal about it.”  She went to the kitchen, and Kate could hear cabinet doors opening and closing, the clatter of dishes and silverware being arranged on a tray. 

After a few minutes, Kate followed.  She washed her hands at the kitchen sink and took a seat. 

Margaret poured two glasses of iced tea.   “It sounds pretty basic—answering phones, typing, opening and sorting departmental mail, fetching and carrying.  I’ll be like a regular girl Friday.  But it’s my first paying job.”  She cut a scone lengthwise and spread it carefully with a dollop of jam.  “And the apartment is really tiny.  I’m subletting it from the daughter of one of the HR people.  So it’s all provisional, and might still fall through.”

Apparently Kate wasn’t the only one suffering a crisis of confidence lately.  “I’m sure you’ll do fine,
M
om.” 

Margaret sighed.  “It’ll take me a few days to get settled in.  Then maybe you can come by for dinner.  Maybe even bring your young man with you.”

Kate wiped a droplet of condensation from her glass.  “I’d love to come for dinner.  I can’t speak for Marc, though he’s usually pretty busy during the week.  And besides, I’ll be back here in a few days.”

“So this really was about my being here.  I was hoping, since you moved in with him…”  Margaret pinched a stray crumb on the tablecloth.  “I’m sorry.”

Kate swallowed.  A rising tide of nausea kept her from responding.  She took a few deep breaths, then excused herself, barely making it to the bathroom in time.  A tentative knock on the door ten minutes later had her flushing the toilet.

“You okay?”

She washed her hands and face and rinsed out her mouth.  “Fine.  I’ll be out in a sec.”  She waited until her mother’s footsteps receded before opening the door. 

Back at the kitchen table, Margaret took in her pallor, the shadows beneath her eyes, and the beads of sweat popping out above her lip.  “Are you getting sick?”

Kate shook her head, then closed her eyes against a fresh wave of nausea.  “A little under the weather.  It’ll pass.”  She felt a cool dry hand against her forehead, then it was gone. 

“You work too hard.”

“Te
nure track, M
om.  Not for the faint of heart.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes.  “Are you pregnant?”

Kate concentrated on breathing deep.  Did she really want to be having this conversation with her mother?  On the other hand, the truth would be obvious in a few months anyway.  And if she denied it now, there would be a mountain of resentment to work through for years after, if her mother’s track record was anything to go by.

Margaret interrupted her musing.  “You are, aren’t you?” 

Kate sighed, resigned to the inevitable.  “Do I have it tattooed on my forehead?”

“No need for sarcasm, Katherine.” 

“Sorry.”

“Does
Marc
know?”

“No.”

A chair scraped as Margaret moved closer.  “You have options
, you
know
.  Options I didn’t have.  This doesn’t need to get in the way of your career.  You don’t have to get married or give up
everything.  You can choose to do something about this.”

Kate sat immobilized.  Surely her mother wasn’t pushing her to terminate the pregnancy?  She finally found her voice.  “I’m not having an abortion.”

“Okay.  That’s fine.  I’m not saying you should.  But you do need to tell Marc about it.  Unless…he’s not the father?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

“I’m trying to be open-minded, Katherine.  Something my parents definitely were not.”  She paused.  “It’s a different world these days.  Lots of women have children on their own.  Not that I’m saying you need to.  Marc seems like a good man, he’ll stand by you.  Then again, just because he might be willing, doesn’t mean you have to stay with him.  At least not just because you’re having his child.   Look what a disaster that turned out to be with your father and me.”

Kate let the words roll over her, tuning them out.  Her mother was right in one thing, at least:  the world was different now, and she did have options that women of previous generations did not. 

Stopping the tenure clock, for instance, was unheard of even a few years ago.  Tenure was the golden ring of academe, dangled in front of junior faculty as the incentive to work harder, do better research,
bring
in
more grant money,
publish more papers, log more hours teaching and advising students, sit on more committees, collaborate with colleagues both within one’s own institution and outside of it.  In the past there had been no pit stops or opportunities to pause and rest along the path toward the holy grail of tenure.   You had six years to prove yourself worthy, and any time off for having or raising children would erode into that time. 

But the stop-clock provision could potentially, without penalty, extend the time Kate had for racking up sufficiently impressive credentials to support her tenure case.  She’d have to ask around, of course, to verify that the reality matched the promise.  If it did, then she wasn’t jeopardizing her career by choosing to have a child.

When it came right down to it, she had other options too.  Wasn’t Jake always trying to lure her away from the university to join his research team?   She had always balked at the idea, trotting out the ready excuse that she wanted the freedom to pursue her own research interests rather than be limited to research that had direct commercial applications.  But thinking about it now, she realized that working at Jake’s start-up—or even in a larger pharmaceutical company—would not significantly change the focus of her research.  She was looking for ways to diagnose ovarian cancer earlier, searching for genes, markers, proteins—anything, really, that would make early detection possible.  If and when she succeeded, the results would be infinitely marketable.

A job in industry might not be as prestigious, nor would it in the long run guarantee her employment and benefits like a tenured professorship eventually would.  But it would probably pay more in the short run.  Besides, she was smart and confident enough in her abilities as a researcher that she would always be able to find a job if she needed to.

The bottom line was that she was having this baby, no matter what.  She rested a hand on her still-flat abdomen, feeling a surge of protectiveness for the tiny life nestled inside.  Whatever impact this might have on her career, whatever happened in her relationship with Marc, she and her child would be just fine. 

Maybe this was what her father felt, too?  A second chance to get things right.  An opportunity to love, protect, nurture, mold another human being.  Sure, the responsibility was frightening.  What if she messed up, made mistakes, dropped the ball along the way?   Then again, no parent was perfect. Growing up in a dysfunctional home had taught her what
not
to do.  The rest was up to her, and she’d figure it out.  The most important thing was love and patience—wasn’t that what Jake’s mother had always said?  And despite the fact that this pregnancy was unplanned and unexpected, Kate’s initial ambivalence quickly gave way to a burgeoning excitement and anticipation.

The one thing she was not looking forward to was telling Marc.  It would have to be done, she acknowledged. But maybe not yet.  She’d wait until her mother moved out and got settled.  The apartment would need to be cleaned.  It would take Kate a few days to do that, and to move her own things back in.  Then maybe she would invite Marc over for a nice dinner, with candles and soft music, and…

Hell, who was she kidding?  No matter how she dressed it up, he was bound to react with shock.  Just like Kate had initially.  And he might even jump to the same erroneous conclusions as Jake had, that this was something she’d done deliberately.  Would he wash his hands of the situation?  Tell her to get an abortion? 

She bit her lip.  Maybe it was better to wait and say nothing.  At least for a while longer.  Maybe their relationship would simply run its course, and they would part ways amicably.  In which case there would be no need to say anything. 

Of course, eventually, her child would want to know who its father was.  And was it really fair to keep the father himself in the dark?  And what about extended family?  Could she deliberately deprive her child of contact with his aunts and cousins and grandparents, when she knew how very lonely an isolated childhood could be?  She liked Marc’s sisters, and from all accounts his parents sounded pretty wonderful too.  Surely they would accept her child into their charmed circle, even if she and Marc were no longer together?

“Katherine, are you all right?”  Her mother’s voice brought her back to the present. 

Kate blinked, and realized her face was wet.  She accepted a napkin from her mother and wiped her eyes and cheeks, then blew her nose.  For someone who prided herself on her unsentimental approach to life, this second bout of tears in two days was quite lowering.  

She cleared her throat and glanced at her mother.   “I’m fine,” she said, wishing that for once her mother would drop that icy demeanor and just hug her, no questions asked.  That was what Kate planned to do, whenever her child cried:  offer plenty of hugs and kisses.  She swiped her nose with the napkin again and offered a watery smile.  “I’m fine, just a bit hormonal.”