After my bath, I stand in front of the mirror, appraising myself. Not as I once would've, wondering if Tony would find me attractive. (After all, the one time he'd seen me naked at that point, the view was unexpected and quick.) This time, for the first time in seventeen years, I'm wondering if anyone could tell. Of course, that's silly. I can't be more than a couple months along.
And I don't know for sure. It's possible that the nausea was just from Marge's cooking. (I'm glad I fired her, even if it does leave me without a housekeeper again.) As for my period, well, I am 42 and I've been under a great deal of stress since just before I left Iowa. But I have this feeling that I am pregnant.
And I can't tell anyone. Yes, I have my friends and family, but they would all tell me to tell Tony and I just can't. I know what he, on some level still the old-fashioned Brooklyn Italian man that he was eight years ago, would do, would say. He'd insist we get back together. And, yes, that's what everyone wants, me included. But not like that. I wouldn't want him to come back to me out of a sense of obligation, especially when it would mean giving up his successful career.
Sam has flown out there for the ceremony honoring him as Outstanding New Teacher of the Year. She's so proud of him. As am I, but it is no longer my place to celebrate his victories with him.
But what about congratulating him on impending fatherhood? Oh, how different this would be if we had stayed together! Yes, we'd have to endure some teasing about a conception out of wedlock, but it would be good-natured teasing. And as we were engaged, we could've had a quiet ceremony in Branford. But what if I'd felt more trapped than ever in that small town?
And I don't want Tony to feel trapped, even if he'd be happy to be trapped, at least initially. I don't want him to have regrets.
What about my regrets? I believe in a woman's right to choose, but I don't know what I want to choose for myself. The thing is, I really do want this baby. I've wanted Tony's baby for a long time, ever since we sat for little Clint, although that desire was subconscious at first. I even dreamed of being pregnant and living in Brooklyn!
But I wanted him with me of course. This would be having a baby whose father lives several states away. If Tony were totally out of my life, like if he were married to someone else or living in another country, then I might be able to think of myself as a single mother. And I know from experience that I could manage that. Jonathan has turned out well, although, OK, I had Tony's help for half Jonathan's life. I think I could do it again, especially since I have more money and experience than I had then.
I am a little worried about my age, but I could start taking better care of myself, especially if I get a good housekeeper, someone who doesn't make nauseating meals. And, yes, of course I wish that person could be Tony, but that time has passed.
Still, I will need to tell him if I am really pregnant. I'll need to make clear I'm not asking anything from him, financially or emotionally, although I would like him to have much more of an involvement with the baby than Michael has had with Jonathan. I can't picture Tony as anything less than a doting father, but he wouldn't have to live with us. Our child could maybe spend summers with Tony. We could be civilized about this.
I keep wishing I could talk to Mother about this, but she would insist it was Fate, when it was just simply my misjudging my cycle. I remember that night vividly, the night I'm sure we conceived, because it was the one time we weren't protected.
I was dreaming of making love with Tony, only it wasn't like the old days when there wasn't anything I could do about it except, ahem, quietly deal with it myself. Barely awake, I reached for him, wanting to feel him inside me.
"Angela, what are you doing?" He sounded as startled as the time I "seduced" him as distraction when I wanted to order a moo-cow creamer from the shopping channel. I didn't get very far with that seduction, but this time we were lying in bed.
"I want you, Tony!" I gasped.
"Baby, let me wake up more. And don't we need—"
"It's not my fertile time. And you're Catholic. Let's use the rhythm method."
He chuckled. "Father Marconi will be thrilled."
"You're not going to tell him, are you?"
"I was kidding."
And then we locked eyes and soon we were making love intently. I needed very little foreplay, because of my dream. I found out afterwards that he had been dreaming of me, which was why he was as ready as I was. We'd been sexually active from the first week I moved into his one-bedroom apartment, no longer waiting till we were married, because we were so close to being married, we thought. But, enjoyable as the sex was (and, yes, it was as good as we'd hoped, if not better), it had always been more cautious, not this passionate midnight recklessness.
And now here's the result. Of course, I might not be pregnant. But I will find out as soon as I can. If I'm not, well, there's no need for anyone to know what I thought. If I am—
Damn, the doorbell's ringing. I don't want to deal with anyone right now. Hopefully Mother or Jonathan will get it. I took a nap after supper and before my bath, so I'm not sure how late it is.
I quickly throw on my robe and wrap my hair in a towel-turban. I glance at my clock on my way through my bedroom. Midnight. Jonathan had better not be breaking curfew! As for Mother, I gave up on enforcing any kind of curfew back when she was in college.
…
Even though I said, "No kiddin'!" when Angela told me "I got the job" on the basis of my "qualifications" (mostly smooching), I'm still not as confident as I sound. This was a big risk, coming back. And obviously I'm not back as just her housekeeper.
This all happened so quickly, although I know the family would laugh at that, after all the years that I've known her. The awards ceremony ended at 5, and Mona called me when Sam and I got back to my apartment. She said Angela had fired yet another housekeeper. She's called me every time, with un-subtle hints that I should "fill the vacancy."
But this time I just said, "Thanks, Mone," and hung up with a quick goodbye.
Sam looked at me and said, "Dad, I think that award is awesome, but you know who would really like to see it?"
I nodded. And then she gave me her plane ticket for tomorrow morning, to trade in for the next flight to New York. She's staying overnight at my place, which is a sacrifice considering she and Hank are still newlyweds. But she said it was more urgent for me to get to Oak Hills Drive.
So I called a taxi and headed for the airport. I was in such a daze that I didn't change or pack. I was in my tux, carrying my award, which got me funny looks at both airports, but I hardly noticed. I just kept hoping that Angela would understand that I don't want to live without her anymore. Of course, I was afraid she'd be noble and self-sacrificing again, and I'd find myself going back to Branford with my tail between my legs.
And there was a point when I thought she would make me leave. I'd have to go wake up Hank in the apartment over the garage and explain why I wanted to sleep on the couch. I didn't think Angela would let me stay in the main house.
But here she is in my arms, again responding to my kissing. I can't believe this is real. And she looks just the way she did when we met eight years ago, except even more beautiful, glowing with happiness.
I really want to take to her bed, but it might be rushing things to get that intimate after our break. And this time, maybe we should wait till we're married. Are we engaged again? I don't mind proposing again, but I don't want to go through all we went through with getting engaged last time.
I break away, good though her lips taste. "Angela, I—"
"Tony, I have to tell you something."
God, no, I hope she's not seeing anyone. Mona in her updates always went out of her way to tell me that Angela wasn't, and Sam confirmed this. (Jonathan, thankfully, did not seem to want to talk about his mom whenever we spoke on the phone.) But maybe Angela is seeing someone that the girls don't know about. It's probably not serious, not if she's able to kiss me like that. But maybe she wants to be honest about it.
"OK," I say quietly.
"Let's sit down." She leads me over to the couch.
I straighten the cushions the way I like, and she smiles indulgently. "Sorry."
"No, it's OK. That's your right as housekeeper."
"Angela, I hope you know I didn't mean I want to be just your—"
"No, I know. In fact." She takes a deep breath. "I want you to be more than you were to me before."
I swallow and nod. "I know. We should've done this years ago, but I was always afraid to ask."
"You were?" She seems surprised. Maybe she doesn't know that I've thought about marrying her since the Ferguson-Schaeffer wedding. But it's not like I didn't propose before. I mean, we were engaged. There's no need for this much surprise.
"Yeah, of course. I think it's something we should've done years ago, no matter what anyone might've said."
"Well, Tony, I didn't expect this of you. And I don't know how you guessed, except that you always were perceptive. Well, in some ways."
"Huh?" The last thing I feel at the moment is perceptive.
"I'll admit that it's not something we planned for, but I really think we can make it work. And of course we'll have to give up on the big formal wedding and go for something simpler and more intimate."
I'm a little disappointed, since I still had my heart set on that big wedding. But she's right. If we take months to plan it again, then that's months more of waiting to really be together in a way that we can't be even as an engaged couple. Marriage is so much more solid. Yes, people get divorced. Hell, she and I have been divorced! (Well, annulled.) But it's a lot harder to walk away if things get difficult when you're married. And I want us to stay together and work through any problems that come up.
"Yeah, if that's what you want. Or we could compromise and have a medium-sized wedding."
"But, Tony, wouldn't that be—?" Then the front door opens and she snaps, "Young man, are you aware it's after midnight?"
