A/N: I'm back on the horse. Life has been chaotic, and I'm suffering from screen fatigue, but I don't want to lose my momentum here.
Ch 34 – Three Kings (1)
Angela took a deep breath and sat up straighter in her chair. Please, not now.
"Right, Angela?"
"Hm?" She turned her head, having momentarily tuned out the conversation around the conference table while she tried to calm her rolling stomach.
She was doing everything right: crackers in bed, breakfast, ginger tea, small meals throughout the day. But she was completely powerless against the floral perfume one of the junior copywriters was wearing.
"The holiday campaign for Guacamunchies. I was saying what a success it was," Jack said.
"Oh, yes," Angela exhaled, trying not to gag. She registered a vaguely confused expression on Jack's face but couldn't dwell on it. The situation was threatening to get out of hand, and fast.
"Excuse me," she managed to say, already pushing back her chair. Nobody in the room said anything while she walked towards the door as calmly as she could.
Once out in the hallway, she made a beeline for the restroom. She would have much preferred the privacy of the little bathroom adjacent to her office but knew she wouldn't make it there in time. The restroom would have to do. She burst through the door and was relieved to see that nobody was at the sinks.
Angela locked herself in the stall farthest from the door and hunched over the toilet bowl, barely managing to whip her shawl out of the way first. She tried to be quiet, but it was impossible. Retching and coughing, she threw up her lunch, little pieces of bread and lettuce, chunks of banana, until tears came to her eyes and blood began to rush in her ears.
When it was finally over, she flushed and sat back, exhausted. With trembling hands, she tore some toilet paper off the roll to wipe her eyes and mouth.
Suddenly, a hesitant voice came from outside the stall door. "Are you okay in there?"
Shit.
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth, trying not to give herself away by talking too much. "Thank you."
"Are you sure?" A little pause. Then: "Angela, is that you?" The voice belonged to Carrie, the office manager.
Angela briefly closed her eyes to collect herself. Thankfully, the churning in her stomach had subsided, but she still didn't feel ready to face anyone.
"Really, I'm fine," she lied.
"I'll be right back," Carrie said, and Angela heard the door open and close.
She wanted to use Carrie's absence to check her appearance in the mirror but only made it back to her feet and out the stall door before Carrie returned, an awkward smile on her face and a glass of water in her hand.
"My lunch didn't agree with me," Angela explained. She managed to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was relieved to find that she hadn't gotten any vomit onto her clothes. It was embarrassing enough that Carrie had heard her.
"Oh, no." Carrie continued to smile, sympathetically now. She held out the glass of water and a little packet of Alka Seltzer. "For your stomach?"
Angela looked at Carrie's offering and shook her head. "Thank you, that's so kind of you. But I can't- uh, I just need to regroup for a moment."
She walked past Carrie and let cool water from the faucet run into the palm of her hand. Then she went on to rinse her mouth as discreetly as possible. Out of the corner of her eye, Angela saw Carrie set the glass and the packet down on the counter.
"I didn't mean to be nosy or to overstep," Carrie said, maintaining a respectful distance from Angela. "I heard you bolt in here, and I was worried and wanted to make sure whoever it was was okay."
"That's alright. I'm- like I said, I must have had something bad for lunch. But really, I'm feeling much better already." Angela tried to give Carrie a reassuring smile. She did appreciate her gesture, as uncomfortable as it made her feel in the moment.
"Okay, I'm glad," Carrie said and smiled back.
As the two women stood facing each other, Angela was suddenly overcome by a strong urge to tell Carrie what was really going on. She couldn't quite place it, maybe it was an archaic need for female camaraderie or commiseration.
Angela knew instinctively that she could trust Carrie. She had been among the first people she had hired back in the early days of the Bower Agency. She was not much older than Angela and ran a tight ship. Even though she was strict, she was popular among her colleagues, and she had taken great care of Samantha during her week at the office.
But instead of giving in to the urge, Angela started to soap up her hands. Then she noticed Carrie's eyes on her in the mirror. Carrie cocked her head when their gazes met.
"I realize this is a weird time for this, and I hope this isn't too personal, but if you don't mind, since we're alone, … some of us have been wondering about your ring. Is it what everybody thinks it is? Did you get engaged?" There was a hopeful uptick in Carrie's voice that made Angela's cheeks grow warm.
Today was Friday, January the 6th, and for the whole week, Angela had wondered how she was going to break the news. She didn't want to make a big to-do about her personal life and had hoped that one of her employees would ask her about the ring, or even that her mother would blab to someone, and from then on, the news would spread like a wildfire.
But her mother had kept her mouth shut, and none of the others had asked, either. Angela had started to wonder whether that was because nobody had noticed, or because nobody cared.
She did prefer to keep a professional distance from her employees – which was a little ironic, given the fact that she was eight weeks pregnant with her housekeeper's baby. Of course she never thought of Tony like that anymore, but to the outside world, that was what they were to each other: boss and employee. Until they told people otherwise.
Not being asked about the ring at all had been a painful reminder of her childhood and adolescence, when she had always been the one to do the asking or the inviting or the announcing. Maybe she still seemed a lot more unapproachable than she thought.
"As a matter of fact, I did." Angela went to get some paper from the dispenser and began to dry her hands. "I've been meaning to tell everybody. I just- it didn't come up."
"Aww, I knew it! Congratulations, boss," Carrie said excitedly, and the next question already hung in the air between them. "It's Tony, isn't it? Sam's father?"
Angela nodded, relieved that Carrie hadn't referred to him as her housekeeper. "Yes, it's Tony."
"Oh, I'm so happy for you. Again, congratulations," Carrie clasped her hands together. "Tony is great. And Sam was a joy to have around as well. Have you set a date yet?"
Angela lowered her gaze for a second. "We're thinking spring. Around Easter."
"So soon!" Carrie blurted out but seemed to realize immediately that her reaction might have crossed a line. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply-"
Deep within Angela, the urge to share was back. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. We just don't want to wait much longer." She held Carrie's gaze, fully aware that what she was saying might give her away, if the vomiting and her refusal of the Alka Seltzer hadn't already. Carrie had two children herself and would probably put two and two together.
"Ohh." Indeed, a conspiratorial look flitted across Carrie's features, and Angela met it with a small nod. "Well, I think spring weddings are just wonderful."
"We think so too," Angela said, unable to contain a watery smile. She felt oddly relieved, but also guilty for having told Carrie before her own mother, son, and surrogate daughter. She hadn't even had her second appointment with Dr. Solomon yet, and here she was, telling people at work.
"Wow, this is such good news. But I remember how tough those first couple of weeks can be."
Angela nodded again. "I would appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself for the time being. Not the engagement, that's not a secret, obviously." She waved her left hand in the air with a laugh. "In fact, I'll be glad not to have to make an official announcement. But the other … well, that I'm pregnant. Nobody knows yet. Not even my mother."
Carrie raised her hands. "Of course. Don't worry for a second. I understand completely. Is it okay if I say congratulations, though? One more time?"
"Yes, thank you," Angela forced out, moved.
"If you need anything at all, just give me a sign." Carrie winked.
"I will, thank you, Carrie."
"Alright then," Carrie said with a brief touch and squeeze of Angela's forearm. Then she left her alone.
ooooooooo
Angela exhaled. What a different experience this little reveal had been compared to her first pregnancy.
When she and Michael had started trying for a baby, she spent the latter half of the first couple of cycles in eager anticipation, picturing everything from start to finish: How she would find out, how she would tell Michael, how they would surprise his parents and her mother. Baby names, nursery décor, pushing the stroller around the block.
But nothing happened month after month, and while her doctor wasn't worried, he did recommend 'relaxing'. 'Why don't you just focus your attention on something else for a while?'
So Angela put away the ovulation charts and her thermometer, and immersed herself even more deeply in projects, client relations, and office politics at Wallace & McQuade. Letting herself be consumed by her work like this paid off twofold: After less than six months, she was put in charge of her own team of copywriters. And then she got pregnant.
It was what she wanted, and she was happy, but hesitant to share the news at work. She was enjoying her new responsibilities and didn't want to make things unnecessarily difficult for herself before she absolutely had to. For as long as she could, she wore loose-fitting dresses and layers and sucked in her stomach.
When it became impossible to hide her growing belly, she gathered her courage and told Wallace, who was still personally in charge back then. After she finished her little speech about her loyalty to the Agency and not wanting any special treatment, she watched his gaze travel from her face down to her stomach and back up again. Then he raised his eyebrows and said, 'I'm surprised, Mrs. Bower.'
Mrs. Bower. He had never called her that before.
Angela bit down on the inside of her cheek at the memory.
She went on to prove herself to them, working until her doctor forced her to go on leave once she was past her due date, and returning to the office when Jonathan was only six weeks old. Chronically sleep-deprived and missing her baby terribly, but there she was, nose to the grindstone.
Any little thought of Jonathan (his sweet-smelling head, his kicking legs, all the adorable noises he made) was enough to make her leak straight through however many layers of pads and clothes she wore.
The first time it happened, she only became aware of the double wet spots on her blouse when one of the copywriters on her team kept staring at her during a meeting. Everybody else pretended not to notice, and she spent the rest of her presentation with a clipboard clutched to her chest, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her whole. The next day, she started wearing shawls.
Angela was certainly glad to be her own boss now. This time around, nobody would be disappointed or make her feel ashamed for having a baby.
The Bower Agency was not even two-and-a-half years old and a smashing success, if she did say so herself. As founder and president, Angela considered it her most important job to ensure that everybody who relied on the Agency – either for a campaign well executed or for their paycheck – trusted her. She wanted her employees, partners, and clients to feel that they were in good hands at all times, and that required a certain degree of transparency. In this case, where her personal life was concerned.
She would have to make adjustments to her workload and to her schedule, both before the birth and once the baby was here. Jack and a couple of the senior managers would have to pick up the slack, and while she was confident that they would do an excellent job, she was also aware of the importance of proper communication prior to such a handover of responsibilities, even if it would be only temporary.
But aside from her spontaneous admission to Carrie, she wasn't ready for any public announcements yet. The 12-week mark loomed large in her mind and even more so in her heart. Angela had not forgotten Dr. Solomon's words about her age, and she knew that the first three months were a critical time during any pregnancy.
She sighed and gave herself a once-over in the mirror.
Nothing about her looked all that different yet. She wore shawls again, this time to conceal her increasing bust size (mostly from her mother's prying eyes, she doubted that any other staff members of the Bower Agency paid such close attention), and she had started to use a different hole in her belt. But that was it.
She turned sideways and ran a hand over her stomach, trying to imagine the baby growing mere inches beneath her fingertips. Tiny and invisible to the outside world, but already causing such happy havoc in her life.
ooooooooo
Tony had dug up a book the other day – Lennart Nilsson's 'A Child Is Born'. Michael had bought it when they were expecting Jonathan, the nature documentary filmmaker in him forever interested in learning about the biology of it all.
"Can you believe it?" Tony asked her while they were flipping through the pages of brightly lit color photographs one night in bed.
"It really is a miracle, isn't it?" she said softly.
"The biggest one of all. Or I guess the smallest."
Angela's heart squeezed and her voice shook when she spoke next. "Sometimes I'm afraid it's all too good to be true."
Tony turned his head to look at her. "What do you mean?"
"I got pregnant so easily. I mean, we had sex once. Without anything, I mean."
"Once is all it takes, right?" Tony asked, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow. "I seem to remember a gym teacher or two warning me about that."
She swatted his arm. "I know. What I mean is ... The baby, the way all of this came to be, it almost seems like fate. And I'm so grateful. But part of me is scared it won't last. That something is going to happen."
Tony reached for her hand. "Sweetheart, we both know that life doesn't always go according to plan. But I think the only thing we can do here is take this day by day, you know? That's easy for me to say because I'm not the one who's pregnant. But I'm gonna do my part and make sure you eat right, and that you get enough rest. And that you're as happy as you can be." He gave her and adorable smile that made her stomach drop. "I guess the rest is up to fate. But fate has always had our back, if you think about it. Between Make-out Rock …" he stopped for a moment, waiting for her predictable correction.
"… Kissing Rock!"
"Between Kissing Rock and me ringing your doorbell twenty years later. I want to believe that this is happening exactly the way it's supposed to. And no matter what happens, we got each other, right?"
"We do," she agreed before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know where all of that came from. Sometimes I'm just so- I get emotional, I can't help it."
Under the covers, Tony hooked his right calf over hers. "Hey, don't apologize. We're having a kid, that's a big thing. You're allowed to have feelings about it. I do, too. I'm kinda nervous."
"You are?"
"Of course." Tony flipped forward a dozen or so pages. "I wasn't there when Sam was born. So this is going to be a first for me. You know, being in the room and all." He nodded at the double page open in front of them, and Angela's heart started to beat faster at the implication.
She inhaled. "I would like to try," she said, giving voice to thoughts that had begun to take shape shortly after the positive pregnancy tests. "It's actually not impossible."
"What do you mean?" Right. They had never really talked about this.
"They used to say, 'Once a cesarean, always a cesarean.'," she explained. "But from what I've read, another one isn't always necessary."
"Oh. I had no idea."
"I'll talk to Dr. Solomon about it. I want everything to be different this time, for both of us. You're going to be there, and I'm going to be awake."
"Whatever you want to do, I'm in your corner," Tony said immediately, and hot gratitude welled up inside of Angela.
They continued to look at the series of black-and-white photos. The final stages of childbirth, a mother holding her wrinkly, crying newborn on her belly while the father cut the umbilical cord.
After a while, Tony spoke again. "Maybe we should look into taking one of those classes, huh? Lamaze or something? So I'll know what to do to help you."
"We'll ask for a list of addresses next week."
ooooooooo
Angela blinked at herself in the mirror. Enough with the daydreaming. She had to get back to that meeting.