Vintage (21 page)

“Cooking and sewing are useful skills,
beti,
” Amithi said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. If she showed her frustration, she would have lost.

“Maybe they’re useful for you,” Jayana replied. “But I’m not going to be a housewife like you. I’m going to work in a museum.”

“What kind of museum?”

“An art museum. So I can meet famous artists, like Picasso. I learned about him in art history.”

“Well, that’s going to be difficult, seeing that Picasso is dead,” Amithi said, happy to still be an authority on something.

Jayana rolled her eyes. “I know that. I said artists
like
Picasso.”

“I see.” Amithi looked down at her embroidery work. “You know, sewing is like being an artist. It involves making things. Some artists even use textiles.”

“I know, Mom, but it’s not the same as what you do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because your work doesn’t hang in a museum. No one sees it.”

“You and your father see it. And the people I give it to see it.”

“Yeah, but we don’t count.”

Amithi had always considered herself worldly, having lived on two continents. It was funny, then, how an adolescent could draw a definite boundary around Amithi’s world and, with just a few sentences, make it seem small.

INVENTORY ITEM
: nightgown

APPROXIMATE DATE
: 1975

CONDITION
: excellent

ITEM DESCRIPTION
: White nightgown with the tags still on it. Flutter sleeves. Rosebud embroidery along the square neckline.

SOURCE
: swap meet

April

AT DR. HONG’S OFFICE
, a nurse-practitioner tightened an inflatable cuff around April’s arm with a few squeezes of a hand pump.

The nurse peered down at the gauge. “Is your blood pressure usually on the high side?”

April shook her head. “I’ve never had any problems with it.”

“And you said you’ve been having some cramping?”

“On and off all last night and today,” April said.

“Hmmm.”

This was not a noise April wanted to hear at her doctor’s office. She was grateful, for the thousandth time since she found out she was pregnant, that she’d qualified for free health insurance through the state. She couldn’t imagine what all these doctor visits would cost without it.

“If you’ll just excuse me for a minute, I’m going to take a look at your chart and consult with Dr. Hong.” The nurse’s clogs squeaked against the tile floor as she left the room.

If her blood pressure had been high a minute ago, April was sure it was even higher now. She tried without success to stop the cascade of catastrophic thoughts that crowded her brain, tumbling in circles like wet clothes in a washing machine. Maybe she had preeclampsia or one of those other horrible-sounding conditions she’d read about in the pregnancy books. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt the baby move.

Instead of the nurse-practitioner, Dr. Hong came through the door with another woman in tow. Now April really began to panic. If everything were fine, the nurse-practitioner would have no reason to waste the doctor’s time on a basic thing like vital signs.

“Am I having a miscarriage?” April asked.

“April, this is our radiology tech,” Dr. Hong said as the other woman rolled an ultrasound machine over to the bedside. “We’re going to get a look at the baby.”

April noticed that Dr. Hong hadn’t answered her question, which she took as another bad sign.

Dr. Hong pushed aside April’s hospital gown and squirted goo on her belly. The radiology tech moved the cold wand across her skin, and April shut her eyes.

“I don’t hear anything,” April said. “Am I supposed to hear something?”

“We’re just trying to locate the fetus,” Dr. Hong said.

April didn’t remember it taking this long the last time she had an ultrasound. “Is my baby okay?”

Please, please let my baby be okay.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Dr. Hong said. “And from the looks of it, he or she is doing just fine. Why don’t you open your eyes? I think you’ll want to see this.”

April looked at the ultrasound screen, where a little sprout-looking thing with a big head waved two tiny arms and two tiny legs.

“Oh, thank God,” April whispered.

The tech tapped at some buttons on the machine. “I’m just taking some measurements,” she said. “But so far everything looks normal.”

April stared in wonderment at the baby—
her
baby—wishing Charlie were there for this moment. Her mom, too.

“I see from my nurse’s notes that your blood pressure numbers are high,” said the doctor. “Have you been dealing with a lot of stress lately?”

“I guess you could say that.”

The tech finished taking her measurements and printed out a black and white picture. She handed it to April and said, “You take it easy, now.”

The tech left the room and Dr. Hong sat down at a small computer desk. She hit a few keys and pulled up a screen full of data. Normally, April would have been comforted at the sight of all those numbers, but today they just looked ominous and incomprehensible, like a language she didn’t know how to read. It had been a relief to see that the baby was okay, but there were still all sorts of things that could go wrong.

“Do I have preeclampsia?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, but we can’t rule it out yet,” the doctor replied. “The protein levels in your urine sample came back normal, and you don’t have any swelling—”

“Are you kidding me?” April gestured toward her middle.

Dr. Hong laughed. “I mean abnormal swelling, like in your face or your arms and legs. Swelling of the abdomen is, as you know, perfectly normal. Anyway, besides the high blood pressure, you don’t have any of the telltale signs of preeclampsia. But just to be on the safe side, I’m going to order you on modified bed rest. I suspect the slight rise in your blood pressure is stress related and will go down on its own, but the bed rest will help that happen faster.”

“What do you mean by modified bed rest?” April asked. “Do I have to be in bed all the time?” She pictured herself lying around, her muscles and mind atrophying as her pregnancy wore on.

“No. You can sit on the couch with your feet elevated, and you can get up to go to the bathroom or shower, but I don’t want you lifting anything heavier than five pounds. I don’t want you going out and running errands or going to work or anything. And no sex.”

“Well, the work and the sex won’t be a problem,” April said. “But my mom’s house is on the market and I’ve gotta get it cleaned out.”

“Then you’ll have to ask someone or hire someone to do that for you. Do you need a note for your employer?”

“That won’t be necessary. I lost my summer internship because I kind of blew up at my boss.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dr. Hong typed something. “And how would you describe your mood lately?”

April didn’t want to answer the question.

“There’s no right or wrong answer here.” Dr. Hong’s eyes crinkled at the edges as she put on a sympathetic expression. “Just answer honestly.”

April knew what was going on. She was being screened for depression, or some other mental health issue. Like her mom. She got the same series of questions at every office visit. Usually, she answered with a benign response like “a little tired, but otherwise okay.” Lately, though, April felt as though her life were a balloon she’d been holding by a string and, despite her careful calculations, she’d somehow lost her grip on it. She could see it floating away and she needed to jump up and grab it before it drifted too far.

“April?”

She focused on Dr. Hong’s face, but her voice sounded distant.

April hugged the thin cotton gown to her body. She shivered, feeling exposed.

“I’m going to take your response to mean ‘not good,’” Dr. Hong said. She removed her glasses. “All women are at risk of postpartum depression, but as you know, with your family history, you’re at greater risk, so I want to make sure we monitor you, not just after the birth, but now, too. Just to be extra cautious.”

April thought about the note Violet had found in her mom’s pocket. “How am I supposed to know if something is actually wrong or I’m just being hormonal?” she asked.

“It’s a good question. Your hormones are certainly on overdrive during pregnancy, so some emotional swings are to be expected. But if you start to feel like your moods are affecting your ability to go about living your daily life, then please let me know.”

“Like freaking out at my boss, you mean?”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions over a single incident.” Dr. Hong gave April a small smile. “Don’t beat yourself up too much about what happened. A lot of pregnant women have moments where they don’t feel quite like themselves. It might be worth it to talk to your boss.”

April respected Dr. Hong, but she doubted talking to Violet would do much good. If she was going to get her internship back, then she would need to perform some sort of penance to make up for the trust she’d destroyed. A mere apology wouldn’t cut it.

When she got home, April rummaged through the kitchen for some snacks to keep within arm’s reach to avoid having to get up for multiple trips. She put on one of her mom’s loose-fitting nightgown-and-robe sets, since her own pajamas no longer fit her, and settled into the couch with her laptop, trying not to think about how many hours she’d be spending in this same spot.

She checked her e-mail and saw another new message from Charlie sitting in her inbox. All she had to do was ask and she knew he would come over. He’d probably feel sorry for her and she was pretty sure she could take advantage of that. It would be nice to see him, and even nicer to have him wait on her. But having Charlie around for a little while would only make it all the harder when he left for Boston in the fall, and anyway, she wasn’t ready to forgive him for the things he’d said and for calling off the wedding without so much as a phone call to let her know that cancellation cards were in the mail. Remembering Dr. Hong’s advice to avoid stress as much as possible, she hit delete without opening the message.

The next several days passed in a groggy fog. April quickly grew tired of surfing the Internet and watching TV, and she didn’t have any good books to read. She spent her time either sleeping out of sheer boredom or examining her problems like they were wriggling specimens on a lab slide. All of the plans she’d made in the last several months had fallen apart. The wedding, her ideas for the store . . . she couldn’t help feeling like she’d even failed her child in some way. She knew how hard it had been for her mom to support and raise her as a single parent. Now she would have to face the same challenges, at an even younger age than her mother had.

She hoped Charlie would be a part of their child’s life. She even hoped, when she allowed herself to admit it, that there was still a chance for the three of them to be together, as a family. But she knew that after Charlie moved to Boston, it wouldn’t be long before he built a life independent of hers. She’d seen it happen with her own father. The way that his contact became less frequent over the years, until he finally cut her off completely.

Maybe Charlie would visit them on breaks from school, at first. He’d probably come to their baby’s first birthday party. And, of course, he’d be legally obligated to send child support, though she imagined it wouldn’t be much, given his student status. But for the everyday events—the doctor’s appointments, the bedtime stories, the first steps—Charlie would be hundreds of miles away. And it broke her heart.

So slow and uneventful was her time on bed rest that April didn’t even know what day of the week it was when she got a call from Lane Lawton. She stared down at the name on the caller ID, debating whether or not to answer. She didn’t want to have to explain to Lane that, since they’d last spoken, she’d not only lost her job, but possibly was losing her mind as well. Then she thought of her mother, and how she used to shut people out when she needed them most.

April picked up the phone.

Lane’s voice sounded worried. “April? I haven’t seen you at rehearsals for the revue, and when I asked Violet about it, she said you were no longer interning at the store. Is everything okay? How’s the baby?”

“The baby is fine, but I’m on bed rest.”

“Oh, you poor—Danny, you get off that right now—sorry, what I meant to say is you poor thing. I had to be on bed rest for a while with my third, so I know it’s no picnic. Can I come over with a meal or something?”

April looked down at her unwashed nightgown and was about to refuse, but again she thought of her mom and said, “That would be amazing.”

“I can come over tonight after the kids—hands
out
of the butter dish, thank you, now go over to the sink and wash your hands.”

“If this is a bad time, I can call you back.”

“It’s not a bad time, just a regular old afternoon. Listen, I’ll come by after the kids are in bed tonight.”

That evening, Lane let herself in, despite the fact that she’d never been to April’s house. She showed up with a Tupperware and handed April a stack of shiny gossip magazines.

“Oh, my God,” April said as she looked at the feuding celebrity couple on the cover of one of the magazines. “How did you know what I needed without me even asking?”

“Like I said, I was laid up during my last pregnancy, too. The only thing that kept me from being miserable was reading about other people’s miseries,” Lane said. “Do you mind if I open your cupboards to look for dishes? I brought you some dinner.”

“Sure, dishes are in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

April heard some clanging from the kitchen, and Lane came back with a bowl full of pasta salad and a fork. She handed them to April. “I don’t care if you’re not hungry. I can guarantee you that baby is hungry.”

“Thanks.” April took a bite of pasta. “This is the only thing I’ve eaten all week that isn’t some variation of a peanut butter sandwich.”

“I have to make a ton of food for my boys, anyway, so it’s no trouble to make a little more,” said Lane. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”