Chapter Seven:
"So, can you meet for lunch someday soon?" I asked "Just something quick."
I imagined Jamie flipping through her date book, highlighter in had; she's super-organized, even more than I am. "Sure. How about tomorrow at eleven-forty five. I've got a client at 1:00 so that should give us plenty of time to chat about wedding plans."
Or about another big event, I thought as I hung up the phone. I met Jamie at a book group. I tried to be part of five or six years ago. Jamie was trying, too, but we both dropped out after only two meetings when the hostess handed out a quiz she'd devised. Reading groups are supposed to be about lightly intelligent conversation, fancy appetizers, and good wine. They're not supposed to be about tests and reports.
Jamie, the daugther of an Irish-American father and a Italian-American mother, is a physical therapist associated with the department of orthopedic surgery at Beth Israel Hospital. She's twenty-four and in fabulous shape, which is only partly due to genetics. She works out and eats right and basically makes me feel like a fat slob when I'm with her. I'm not a fat slob, I know that, but it's hard not to have a doubt when you're with a person who wears a size two. I can't help experiencing a tingle of guilty pleasure when I show up for an event in a more stylish outfit than my petite friend. It's horrible of me, I know.
A few years ago, Jamie married a very nice, very smart man seven years older than her. His name is Randy Orton and he's an engineer with a large construction firm. Randy became her patient after he injuried his knee while playing a Saturday afternoon game of touch football along the promenade.
Jamie and Randy live in a small condo in Bay Village, a tiny six block enclave of eighteenth-century houses beween the South End and the Black Bay. Together, they have no children. But Randy has a daughter from a former marriage which makes Jamie a stepmother.
To that point in time we hadn't talked much about Jamie's domestic situation. Sometimes I wanted to ask her how she felt about not having children of her own and about her relationship with her stepdaughter but I never did. I guess I never sensed a true conversational opening. I wish I had just made the opening myself.
The next morning I met Jamie at Green, a small, casual café that specializes in power drinks, salads, and other healthy fare. As soon as we'd settled at a table for two with our trays, I broke the news.
"I'm pregnant." I said.
Jamie's face tightened just a bit. "If it's what you want. I'm very happy for both of you."
You could at least pretend to be enthusiastic, I chided silently and then I felt silly for being upset. What did I want, a parade? Maybe Jamie was just tired. Or maybe she wasn't feeling well. Really, I thought, is Jamie ever wildly enthusiastic about anything? In some ways, she's the opposite of Elise, low key, pensive, certainly more reserved. Really, I thought, I can't expect everyone to be all excited about my news when I'm not even sure how I feel about it.
"Thanks." I said brightly. "And don't worry about the wedding. This won't change anything for you as maid-of-honr. Everything's going to happen as planned." I don't know why I said that. I knew, deep down, that nohting would ever again happen as planned.
"Okay. SO, is this what you want? To have a baby?" Now Jamie's face was flushed. Clearly she was upset but for the life of me I couldn't understand why. Was she that worried about my happiness?
I reached across the table and patted her arm. "Of course it is. I know I said that Wade and I weren't going to have a family but, well, you know. Things have changed." I wondered. Why have things changed? Because we wanted them to? No. Things changed because they just did and here we are, stuck with the change.
"Then I'm glad for you, Brianne, really." Jamie raised her glass of Evian in a silent toast and I raised mine in return.
"I'm glad for me too." I said. I was only partly lying.
"So, when is the baby due?"
I considered. "By my nonprofessional calculations early Decemeber. Which means that I'll be approximately six months pregnant when I walk down the aisle."
Finally, Jamie smiled. "Don't worry. I'll be there to help you waddle along.
"Oh, no, will I really be waddling by then?"
"I don't know." She said. "I've never had a baby. I don't really know much about anything."
Something in the tone of Jamie's voice prompted me to change the subject. "So, let me tell you about working for the infamous Barbara King."
Boston's South end is an eclectic neighborhood, combining a large and fairly affluent gay community, a long-term and less affluent Hispanic community and then people like me and Wade. We're the upwardly mobile types, the one who frequent the finer restaurant with regularity, the ones who abandon their expensive urban lifestyle for an expensive life in the suburbs within a year of having their first child.
I live in a renovated brownstone on Roland Street. There are three units in my building. I own the top floor condo which is about eight hundred square feet, and the roof rights that go along with it. There are two bedrooms, one of which I use as a guestroom and place for those artifacts of early days I just can't bring myself to throw away. (Wade, it should be said, was not very happy about the notion of my bringing some of those items to the loft. He particularly objected to the badly gilded horse with a clock in it's stomach that had once belong to my father's favorite aunt. Helpfully, Wade suggested a storage facility in South Boston.)
Soon after moving to Roland Street, I had a cedar deck erected on the roof. Someday, I thought, when the final nail was hammered, I'll buy a grill and actually learn how to use it. But at the time of my pregnancy the deck was several years old and still without a grill. There were, however, two lounge chairs and a small table with an oversized umbrella.
On the first floor of the building lives an odd duck of a fellow named William Arthur. He could be anywhere from eighty to a hundred, which makes him the oldest person I know. Between Mr. Arthur and me there's Eve Torres and Maryse Quellet and their adopted son, Joey. Joey is one of those preternatural children who are four going on thirty-five.
Eve was born and raised in the tough working-class of Boston. Maryse was born in Canada. Eve and Maryse have been a couple for close to five years. During the day when I'm at work, Eve and Maryse make good use of the roof deck and I'm happy to let them.
The Saturday morning after my lunch with Jamie, I called my neighbors and asked if I could stop by. I arrived at their condo and sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy some bake goods. "So, I'm pregnant."
"What! Since when?"
"Since about a week ago, I guess. Don't look so shocked."
"I'm not shocked. Well, maybe I am. I thought you said you and your fiance—"
"Wade. And yes, I did say that we weren't planning to have children."
"So?" Maryse took a seat at the kitchen table with me. "What happened? I mean, okay, I know how babies are made. But was it the old-fashioned way, by accident? Or did you change your mind and get yourself inseminated or something."
"The old-fashioned way." I admitted. "It was completely an accident. Wade's boys slipped right through my girls' defenses."
"Wow." Eve whistled. "This is big."
"I know. I'm pretty shaken up by this turn of events."
Maryse eyed me closely. "I'm not hearing exuberance, Brianne. Are you happy?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I'm definitely scared. I have absolutely no faith in my parenting skills."
"You'll be a fine parent." Eve said. "Everyone doubts herself at first. It's normal."
"You know, you two are the epitome of good parents." Eve waved her hand dismissively. "No. I mean it. I look at you with Joey and I look at how you treat each other and I think there's no way I'm ever going to achieve that kind of success."
"There's no doubt that it's easier to be a good parent when you relationship with your partner is strong." Maryse said.
"Of course." I replied automatically.
And I wondered. Was my relationship with Wade strong in in the way it would have to be if we were going to pull off being good parents, raising a well-adjusted child, building a happy family?
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