I tease my husband mercilessly about his being a fourstar nerd in high school. While I was pregnant with David there was more than one night when I couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep and we'd wind up cuddled on the couch watching bad 80's movies on cable.
Josh does not find it at all amusing when I compare him to Louis Skolnik.
Over the years, I have worked hard to convince him I was popular, well liked, smart and engaging all through my high school years.
The truth is something else entirely.
I was a band geek and Honor Roll student who wore braces and spent four years in that horrible Ôawkward stage.' There are few people from the Madison West High School Class of 1993 whom I ever wish to see again. There are also a limited number of teachers I keep in touch with, a number that's even smaller since Molly Morello's retirement last year.
High school was the second worst period of my life. Don't get me completely wrong. I had friends. In fact, there was a group of us who were best friends from the time we met in 8th grade band until I dropped out of college after our sophomore year at UW.
Holly, Sally, Rachel and I drifted apart over the years, though. They didn't approve of Dr. Freeride or my decision to drop out and support him.
I increasingly found myself more concerned with making ends meet and acting like an adult than meeting guys at frat parties and getting drunk every weekend. Being around them during that time made me feel like I was missing out on something.
I doubt much has changed and ever since I let myself be talked into going to the reunion, I've been dreading the experience.
Tonight, Josh and I have been home from work long enough to eat dinner. He's sitting at the other end of the couch rubbing my feet while I go through the mail. David is lying on the floor fascinated by the cloth toys hanging from his baby gym.
Mr. Hall wants me to speak to his government class, I glance up at Josh from the letter I'm reading. He's concentrating on a particularly sore spot. you're so good at that.
I think you should do it, Josh yawns.
Is it going to be a problem to take time off work? There's no way I'm going at all, much less speaking to a class full of high school kids, unless Josh comes along.
I doubt it. The Hill is adjourning on Wednesday.
I thought they were staying another week? I drop the letter I'm rereading into my lap. They have to reconcile the budget bills, don't they?
Josh looks more than a tad guilty. Leo and I agreed, in principle, to power session on Sunday with the leadership from both sides.
I shouldn't complain too much. He has been making a formidable effort to limit the time he spends in the office at night and on the weekends. Legislators and lobbyists are beginning to understand he's no longer at their beck and call 24/7.
Josh served notice last month: he's done playing coy little games. If you want something, you better be up front about it if you waste his time, he'll go out of his way to make your life difficult.
The first victim in Josh's new priority system was the new House Minority Leader a pretentious Democrat with delusions of grandeur. Congressman Len Thompson pulled his support of the Foreign Aid Bill at the last possible second. He called Josh the day he was released from the hospital last month and wanted to meet for something like six hours on a Sunday to discuss the trade imbalance with France.
Josh politely said no to the meeting and asked the congressman what he really wanted in exchange for his support, because the Administration would not be implementing sanction against France. When the guy wouldn't admit what he actually wanted, Josh hung up on him.
Leo and Toby were both pissed at Josh for not taking the meeting, but he stuck to his guns and the next chance he had to screw over Congressman Thompson, he did. Spectacularly. Knocking the legs out from under the congressman's pet highway funding bill and telling him in no uncertain terms that the Bartlet Administration was done courting every vote from people who should have gotten on board a long time ago.
His recent track record of success with the new nononsense negotiation method has won Leo over. Toby, however, remains skeptical. I think it's simply because he doesn't think Josh can reinvent the way we do business just by saying he's going to.
I consider his superhuman attempts to put our family first before I ask my next question. Do I need to be there?
He studies my feet intently without answering.
I prompt, knowing what his answer will be.
It doesn't really matter, if we have to work Sunday, we'll work Sunday. David is as happy as a clam to get passed around the West Wing. It's a damn good thing I don't have a germ complex.
When do you want to leave for Wisconsin? He changes the subject, moving his fingers up to massage my ankles.
If I'm going to talk to this government class, we'll have to leave next Thursday. Otherwise we can leave on Friday. What are we going to do about Baby Bear? I tilt my head toward our gurgling infant.
Another reason I'm not keen on going to the reunion at all was my hesitation about traveling with him.
Would it be easier to drive or fly?
Driving is a day out and a day back. We'd have to leave early Thursday morning and early Sunday morning to come home. Flying is less stressful for us, but I don't know about David. I'm thinking out loud.
He does okay in the car, Josh offers. He's finished my ankles and moved on to my calves.
The longest he's ever been in the car is an hour, I point out.
It hits me like a ton of bricks right then. It'll be twenty years before we can make travel plans without worrying about how our children will do in the car.
What have we done?
***
Margaret doesn't bother knocking before she sticks her head in the meeting.
Excuse me, I smile weakly at the leadership before getting up. I shrug in response to Leo's concerned glance and follow Margaret into the hall.
Budget meetings suck. Especially budget meetings with disagreeable congressional leaders.
What is it? I ask, checking my crappy watch. Two hours have gone by and we've barely compromised on the first issue. It could be because Congressman Thompson, minion of Satan and the Speaker of the House, Glen Allen Walker (Satan himself) are personally dragging this out longer than it needs to be. A Democrat should not be that tight with a Republican.
Donna needs you. David She trails off because I can hear the problem for myself.
My son is unhappy.
Very unhappy.
I beat feet down the hallway to our offices. Donna is pacing around the bullpen, trying to calm David. He's redfaced and squalling at the top of his lungs.
Donna catches sight of me and her look of terror subsides a little. David's been fussy since early this morning. She was up with him half the night, but he seemed better this morning.
What happened? I inquire, taking our son from my exhausted wife. Normally, he'll settle down for me, but not today. I sling him over my shoulder with an old rag and begin rubbing his tiny back.
Donna leans wearily against a desk, watching me repeat her earlier actions. I fed him, but he won't burp for me. It's probably just gas.
She's been depressed and quicktempered since our conversation Thursday night. I'm starting to get concerned. Between the two of us, Donna has taken to the changes in our lives far more easily. Where I've struggled against my workaholic tendencies, Donna has simply made the necessary sacrifices without effort. This is the first time I've seen her give up when dealing with the baby.
A couple more laps around the bullpen and David finally burps, spitting up roughly half his meal.
I stop my pacing in front of Donna. Are you okay? I ask, reaching out to caress her face.
She sighs deeply, nearly in tears. I don't know.
Do you want me to take him for a while? David has quieted down, seemingly content to rest his head on my shoulder and suck his fist for a while.
You want to take him back to the meeting? With nine obnoxious politicians and their staffs?
I look around the bullpen. Donna, what do you call this?
she consents, gifting me with the faintest of smiles.
Okay, Baby Bear, I explain, setting off for the Roosevelt Room. The thing you have to understand is there are Democrats and Republicans. Democrats are typically good while most Republicans aren't worth the stuff in your diaper. However, there is a Democrat in here that has gone over to the dark side. You can feel free to cry whenever he talks, okay?
We reach the door as I finish the boy's first lesson in politics. I swing it inward and return to my seat. David lifts his head off my shoulder and looks around in fascination at the new faces. His eyes settle on Leo and he squeals with delight.
I apologize for my absence, figuring the reason was rather obvious.
Everything okay? Leo whispers when I get settled.
I nod affirmatively. Yeah. He's just a little fussy.
Fortunately, Leo successfully translates my words into what I actually meant David refuses to stop screaming unless I hold him.
I didn't realize the White House was running a daycare, Congressman Thompson sneers before we can continue the budget discussion.
I raise my eyebrows at him and wave my pen to encompass the entire group. You were the ones who had to meet on a Sunday.
The rest of them wisely hold their peace and we get back to work.
***
Since Josh is on babyduty, I take the opportunity to cruise over to the East Wing to see if Dr. Bartlet is available.
I want to ask her about more than just whether we can safely fly with David. I've been more than a little off the past couple of days completely overwhelmed is more like it. I start every morning with the urge to spend the day in bed with the covers over my head.
Josh swooping in and being the perfect father every time I need him to be isn't helping either. It isn't his fault. Intellectually I know that. I just feel so inadequate some times. Like he and David really don't need me.
Is she in? I ask the young intern manning the office this afternoon. He must be new because I've never seen him before.
Do you have an appointment? He looks at me skeptically.
Just tell her Donna Lyman would like to talk to her if she has a minute, I instruct. My tolerance for interns has sunk to new lows in the past month.
He gets up out of shock more than anything else and announces me to the First Lady.
she exclaims closing the file she was reviewing. Thank God!
Bored, ma'am? It's blatantly obvious she's in the office because the President is working today.
Stiff. Come in. Sit down. Talk to me. How's David?
I settle into one of the comfortable armchairs, feeling a little nervous. He's fine. Josh has him. Teaching him how to reconcile a budget bill.
Mrs. Bartlet laughs. Under the theory of you can never start to young, I presume?
Yes, ma'am. Actually, I had a question and felt sort of stupid asking my pediatrician. I thought you might know.
I can try. Shoot.
Is it safe for David to fly already?
She purses her lips, thinking about it momentarily. I can't think of a reason why it wouldn't be. You'll want to have a pacifier handy for him to suck on during the pressure changes, but he ought to be all right. Where are you going?
I answer with a sigh. For my 10year reunion.
You don't sound very excited. Is everything okay, Donna?
Just her asking makes me want to cry. I feel so overwhelmed. Like my life is going on, but I'm not a part of it anymore.
Abbey gives me a motherly smile and comes around her desk. Donna, honey, I doubt there's anything really wrong with you. You're three months pregnant. You have a fourmonth old infant. Your husband, although I hear he's trying, is as high maintenance as Jed is and you're about to go to a dog and pony show with a bunch of people you haven't seen in ten years. You're entitled to be a little strungout. But if it doesn't go away after the reunion is over, come back and talk to me. Don't worry about it unless voices in your head tell you to drown the baby. Now, if they say drown Josh those you might want to listen to.
It sounds so simple when she says it, but saying it, understanding it, doesn't make me feel any better about myself.
Dr. Barlet puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently before continuing.
Postpartum depression is a real problem, Donna. It can sneak up on you even a few months later. I mean it. If you aren't feeling more like yourself when you get back from Wisconsin, come talk to me again or talk to your OB. And don't feel inferior because Josh has turned out to be a natural at this dad thing. You might not realize it, but you're doing pretty damn well at the mom thing yourself. And in six months, when the second baby comes, you're going to be glad he's been this handson. And remember, you don't have anything to prove to anyone back home.
Walking back to the West Wing, my thoughts drift toward the upcoming reunion. I really don't want to go. If Josh and Fred hadn't pushed the issue, I wouldn't have even acknowledged the invitation. I have no desire to go back to Madison West High School and be remembered as the girl I was in high school.
One of my mom's favorite sayings is that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I don't want to find out if that applies to my life or not. I don't want think my life is no better than it was ten years ago. Or even six years ago.
***
We are da men! Josh bounces into the bullpen with David on his shoulder.
Oh yeah? I take our now happy baby from him. Once in my arms, David nuzzles at my breast, whimpering his hunger.
Oh yeah, Josh smirks, tagging along behind as I head for the office to perform my motherly task.
I recline on the couch and wait for David to latch on before continuing our conversation.
We are done. Thanks in no small part to Baby Bear.
You used our son as a political tool to get the federal budget reconciled? I ask, incredulous that Josh would stoop to something so low.
Absolutely not. I in no way, shape or form intended for the congressional leadership to stop paying attention to the budget and start fawning over David. I intended to give you a welldeserved break.
I can't help it his rationale brings an uncontrollable smile to my face. And what did Leo think of this nonstrategy of yours?
Josh's smirk widens. Loved it. Wants David to attend every meeting from now on and says the sooner we have the second one, the better.
You are such a liar, I laugh.
I'm a politician. I do have to take him by the Oval Office before we can leave. The President wants to see him before we leave this afternoon.
***
Donna laughing is a sight for sore eyes. She's been so down the past month, ever since Fred and I talked her into going home for her high school reunion.
Then she got that letter asking her to speak to a government class and it's just become worse.
She seems to glow this afternoon, though. I love watching her while she's feeding David. The way she looks down at him with such love, basking in the way he absolutely needs her. I was a little jealous of the time she gets to spend with him like this when he first came home. However, Donna really makes an effort to help me find ways to feel important in David's life. She built our morning routine around me getting time alone with him.
I settle back on the opposite end of the sofa. Did you talk to Dr. Bartlet?
I did. We're okay with flying. In fact, I went ahead and got tickets. I also got the rental car squared away and warned Pat we were coming. The kids are bouncing off the walls already.
Have you decided if you're going to talk to that class or not?
Donna switches David to her other breast. I don't know. I don't know what I'd talk about.
I think about it for a minute. You could just do Q&A. I mean, explain your job and then let them ask you questions about what they want to know. Even if they are stupid questions, it's better than having to think something up.
I'll consider it, she frowns, silently telling me she's decided against it.
***
I flat out lied to Josh on Sunday. I told him I'd think about talking to the high school government class, but I'd already bought our plane tickets to fly out Friday morning. I just couldn't imagine what I would talk about to a bunch of high school students. Here's what I did, make sure you don't do it?
What I understand now is why people traveling with small children are allowed to preboard commercial airlines. Military operations have been conducted with far less planning and baggage. I refuse to tempt fate by holding David the entire flight, so we had to buy a seat for him. Our car seat wasn't rated by the airlines, a situation Josh resolved with a visit to the Transportation Security Administration headquarters. I didn't ask for the details, but he swears there was no felony involved and no regulations were rewritten. The diaper bag is packed with diapers, changes of clothing, toys, and a couple of bottles in case the travel situation isn't conducive to breastfeeding.
The biggest surprise was watching Josh get David's child seat correctly installed in the time it took the flight attendant to blink.
You spent all week at TSA practicing, didn't you? I accuse from my seat next to David. The airplane only seats two on each side of the aisle, so we put David in a window seat and Josh is across the aisle from us. We figure we can switch if we have to.
My husband just looks at me sheepishly. I didn't want to look completely inept.
As though he has a problem with ineptitude when it comes to Baby Bear.
***
David does surprisingly well on the first leg. Donna fed him a bottle shortly after takeoff and he slept until we started our descent into Chicago. Fortunately, we don't have to switch planes. That would have had disaster written all over it. And despite Donna's Ôno pacifier' decree, I notice she got one for the trip. For his ears, I think.
I've spent the past two hours reviewing trade concessions to Russia on nonproprietary electronics software and sorely wishing we were on Air Force One.
***
I think I recognize twothirds of the people on this flight. Most of whom I never, ever wanted to see again after graduation. Nor, as hard as I try, can I connect a name to any of them. They just look familiar, like grownup version of the kids I knew ten years ago.
Josh has his head buried in a report and I doubt he would have even noticed we landed in Chicago except for the guy next to him getting off the plane.
Oh my God! Donna Moss!
The shrieking voice sends chills down my spine.
I flash the owner of the voice a pained smile. Jennifer Hatcher. Hi.
Actually, it's Mulroney. Brent and I got married about five years ago, she flashes her ring in my face to accentuate her words. My own hangs on a chain around my neck in a concession to the amount of water my body has been retaining. I can hardly believe this. I thought you were still in Madison. I mean, the address I got from the school for you was just outside of town and the last time I heard you were still dating that doctor. What was his name?
Brian Porter, I supply distastefully.
Excuse me, she turns to Josh. I'm in the window seat here and was wondering if you would trade places with me, so I could catch up with my old friend. We haven't seen each other in like ten years.
Josh doesn't even bother to look up from his file.
Well, I never! Jennifer she was always a Jennifer, never a Jenny glares at my husband but steps over him. Once in her seat, she leans around Josh to continue bothering me. Where are you living then? Brent and I are still in Madison. I'm working for a marketing firm and had to make a trip to Denver. It's so good to see you. I can't believe how easy it is to lose track of people, this reunion is just going to be great. Where did you say you were living again?
I answer shortly. Jennifer Hatcher was the person I hated most all through school. I was her favorite target from first grade on, she's the reason I was not more popular in high school.
I hate this woman with a passion I normally reserve for Mary Marsh and Ann Stark.
Washington DC? Really? Doing what? See, because I heard you dropped out of college to put your boyfriend through medical school and then he dumped you and
Excuse me. Do you mind? Josh growls at Jennifer. I'm trying to get some work done here.
Well, I asked you to trade places with me but you wouldn't, so why don't you just deal with it?
It's all I can do to not burst out laughing at the way Jennifer cringes when Josh closes his file slowly and turns to face her. His voice gets incrementally louder as he rants at her. If you were actually engaging in a conversation, I might consider it. However, all you seem to be doing is yammering on at this poor woman who has added maybe six words since you boarded this flight. On the other hand, I'm sitting in my assigned seat, minding my own business and trying to work. Could you please, for the love of God, shut up?
***
I don't know who this woman is, but I can tell by Donna's body language that she isn't someone Donna really wants to talk to. Fortunately, we're about to take off and since this flight is like ten minutes, Yippy over here won't have an opportunity to unbuckle and bug my wife anymore.
***
We don't land soon enough.
Josh lets Jennifer around him to disembark and she shoots him a hateful glare before smiling at me. Oh, I didn't even see your baby, he's adorable. Did your husband come? I can see her glancing at my left hand. When she doesn't see a ring, I can sense her begin to gloat. Or did the father not stick around?
He's around, I tell her, turning to unbuckle David from his seat.
Is he coming this weekend?
Excuse me? Josh interrupts Jennifer. Donna, if you want to give him to me, I'll go ahead and change him.
I hand over the diaper bag, give Josh a quick kiss and watch my men head down the aisle with the rest of the passengers.
That rude and obnoxious man is your baby's father? Jennifer scowls. She looks at me a little closer. You haven't changed a bit since high school, have you?
The urge to bean her upside the head with David's car seat is pretty powerful, but I resist, settling instead for blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. Something I've been trying to convince myself of for over a month.
I'm not sure what you're talking about, Jennifer. But I can assure you, I am most definitely not the same person you knew in 1993. I'll let Josh know you consider him rude and obnoxious, however. He'll be flattered. Oh, and Jennifer? It's Lyman. That man is my husband.
Feeling slightly superior for getting the last word, I grab my carryon and the car seat and join the flow of passengers up the aisle.
That felt good.
***
Men's rooms are not conducive to diaper changing. I don't get it men today are supposed to be these supersensitive, handson fathers and yet, there's not a changing table in the men's room at an airport. I'm making do with a chair in the middle of the gate.
You like that pacifier, don't you? Too bad Mommy isn't going to let you keep it.
David and I haven't had a chance to talk since we boarded in Washington this morning. He's still sucking away on the pacifier like it's going out of style. His head is turned to the side, those wide brown eyes trying to take in everything.
Fresh diaper firmly attached, I scoop him up just in time to catch a glimpse of Donna lugging the car seat off the jetway. She's wearing the same look she had on a couple of weeks ago when she flambéed an overzealous freshman congressman, emphasis on the man part, at a hearing on renewing the Family and Medical Leave Act.
If she's feeling anything like she did after that incident, I'm looking forward to tonight.
The motormouth fake blonde whose name I never caught skulks off without even looking back.
Hey, packmule, Donna calls playfully, holding up the car seat to indicate I've got the wrong stuff in my arms.
Oh yeah, tonight is going to be fun.
Yes, dear, I grin back, handing over the baby and picking up all the rest of the crap.
Hopefully, Donna's over whatever funk she was in.
***
We're going to turn you into a passable cheesehead, yet, I tell Josh after he parks the rental in the driveway of the farm. I'm still riding the wave of good feeling from my altercation with Jennifer Hatcher at the airport.
What's that supposed to mean? Josh shoots me a look that says he's pretending to be offended while he unloads the trunk.
I shrug and liberate a now sleeping David from his car seat. You drove out here without, you know, asking me for directions.
Unca Joss!
Aunt Donna!
Two speeding bullets of mischief barrel out of the house. Fiveyearold Kelly pulls up short just before she would have tackled me, but Josh has no such luck with threeyearold Tim.
Easy, Timmy, he laughs, trying to carry our bags into the house with Timmy clinging to his leg.
Play with me, Unca Joss!
Pat comes over to help Josh out. Let Uncle Josh and Aunt Donna get in the house!
I don't have much time to laugh at my husband because my niece is trailing behind me all doeeyed and awestruck.
Can I hold the baby, Aunt Donna? she whispers once we're in the kitchen.
Let's go in the living room and you can hold him, okay? I suggest.
Kelly sits down next to me on the couch and Pat, who hasn't seen him yet either, sits beside her daughter.
My sister and I show Kelly how to hold David and when she says she's ready, I gently settle the stillsleeping baby into her arms.
He looks like Uncle Josh, she says, glancing up between Pat and I. How come he doesn't look like you? Timmy and I look like Mommy. Don't babies look like their mommies?
Sometimes babies look like their daddies.
And Uncle Josh is David's daddy?
Your Uncle Josh is David's daddy, Pat confirms with a laugh.
Kelly looks back down at David before looking back at Pat. Mommy? Where do babies come from?
I hate you, Pat mouths to me over Kelly's head before sidestepping the question. Why don't you give David back to Aunt Donna, Kelly. I'm sure she wants to unpack. You and Timmy should go outside and play.
***
I'm in the closet hanging things up when I hear footsteps in the bedroom.
I call.
Are you alone? I emerge from the closet to see Donna bending over the crib Pat set up for us.
Ours is still asleep and the other two were sent outside to play after Kelly asked Pat where babies come from.
I grimace, wondering how Pat's going to exact retribution for that. Ouch. Speaking of your sister
She turns around to look at me and I feel the first stirrings within Spongebob. Her eyelids are halfclosed and she's biting her lower lip enticingly. Pat knows how to knock.
I close the distance between us slowly. That's good.
Donna takes a couple of steps my direction and we meet at the foot of the bed.
How ya doing? I ask her, running my hand tantalizingly down her arm until our fingers meet and entwine. Donna's moods are changing faster than ever these days. One minute she's fine, the next minute she's dysfunctionally insecure.
Her only response is to my question is to shrug and reach out to repeat my action, leaving us standing hand in hand.
Who was the bimbo on the plane? I try a different tack.
One last half step and our hips touch.
Let's not worry about Jennifer Hatcher Mulroney right now. Okay? she breathes, leaning in and brushing my lips with her own. Just be grateful power trips make me horny.
***
How did we not wake the baby? I ask when the postcoital licking and kissing are over.
We're lounging on the bed; Donna's still naked and my pants are still around my ankles.
I think we did. Donna reaches for my hand and presses it against her stomach.
I ask, marveling at the wonderment I still feel over our unborn cub, even though this is the second time and our 17weekold son lies ten feet away, sound asleep. I can't feel anything.
It was just a flutter.
I forget, isn't it a little early?
Fourteen weeks? It might be, but Dr. Williams said I might notice things earlier this time because I know what to expect and I know what I'm feeling this time. It isn't all new.
Good point, I agree.
***
It doesn't take long before Josh wiggles around to rest his head on my breastbone. I can't help but smile when I hear his conversation. My big, bad tough politician is such a girly man when it comes to our kids.
Hey, little cub. It's Daddy. How ya doing in there? He softly strokes my abdomen as he babbles on to the tiny person still forming inside me. I mimic his actions with my hands in his hair. I could happily spend the rest of my life like this.
The peace is soon interrupted by the impatient demands of our firstborn.
Josh? Can you get him? I am utterly relaxed and have no desire to move.
He sits up and pecks my lips before bouncing off the bed and falling flat on his face.
I'm overcome with giggles at the sight of Josh sprawled on the floor, his pants and boxers around his ankles. You might want to take those off or pull them up, stud.
***
Donna's parents are watching David for us tonight while we attend West's football game against the Madison East Purgolders. It's the first of two official reunion events this weekend. Tomorrow night there is a dinner and dance at a local hotel.
It's been years since I've been to a high school football game. I'd forgotten what it was like to be crammed shoulder to shoulder on cold, metal bleachers with several hundred people I don't know. I'm making the best of it, though. Donna's mood has been gradually improving throughout the day and I refuse to be responsible for upsetting her.
Right now, we're standing outside the concession stand and Donna's scanning the crowd like she's looking for someone.
Someone she's evidently spotted by the way she's waving her arms in the air.
Sally is a short brunette who throws herself at Donna when she reaches us.
When they part, Donna turns to me. Josh, this is Sally Seidelman. She was my best friend in high school. Sally, this is my husband, Josh.
It's nice to meet you, I smile and offer her my hand.
***
You're still up in Minneapolis? I ask Sally, trying to remember what was in her Christmas letter last year.
Sally nods. Yep, still working for Dayton Hudson. I'm doing ad layouts for Target now. I can't believe you came!
I didn't want to come, but Josh and Fred talked me into it. It's not too bad, so far, I admit, unsure of what she means.
You're in D.C., right? Did you drive or fly?
We flew, I tell her. We've both got to be back at work on Monday and with David, driving 15 hours just wasn't feasible.
Sally raises her eyebrows at me in confusion.
Oh my God. She doesn't know I had one baby, let alone that I'm pregnant again. The only thing I put in the Christmas letter was about our engagement and impending nuptials.
Josh and I had a baby in June, I reveal, smiling up at Josh, who is standing behind me with his hands resting possessively on my hips.
Oh my God! Donna! Sally!
I turn my head to the sound of my name to see Holly Westly running toward us. We quickly exchange hugs and I introduce Josh.
Has anyone seen Rachel? Holly asks, breathless from fighting her way through the crowd.
She said she was coming, Sally answers. But when I talked to her last week, she wasn't sure if she'd be here for the game. I haven't seen anyone else from our class worth talking to.
I ran into Jennifer Hatcher on the flight from Chicago, I offer. Except she and Brent got married, so it's Mulroney now.
You've already had a runin with the Queen of Madison West? Sally feigns awe, her words filled with scorn. And lived to tell the tale?
She found Josh to be rude and obnoxious and claims I haven't changed since high school.
***
I watch passively as Sally and Holly trade a look that says they don't think she's changed either.
What the hell is going on here?
I bite back the actual question and continue taking in the exchange.
***
If you think Rachel isn't going to make it, then why don't we go ahead and find seats? Holly suggests.
The most we can find together is three, way up at the top against the press box.
Sally shrugs at Holly and turns to Josh and I. Why don't you two
Donna can sit on my lap, Josh interjects before she can finish.
My two friends exchange yet another indecipherable look, but can hardly argue.
I snuggle into Josh's arms, grateful for his presence and trying to remind myself of Dr. Bartlet's words. I have nothing to prove to anyone.
Are you still dating that Byron guy? Holly asks Sally.
No! We broke up last week, Sally answers, setting off a twoway conversation that lasts the rest of the game.
Neither of them makes any effort to include me. As I think about it on the way home afterwards, I find myself remembering they never did make much of an effort to include me. I always found out about things after the fact.
I guess things haven't changed much on that front.
***
It's difficult to keep my mouth shut while we pick up David and drive back to the farm. I manage though, because Donna is lost in her own thoughts and shows no interest in discussing the events of the evening.
Pat and the kids are already in bed when we get home, so I feel safe broaching the issue.
What's going on, Donna?
What are you talking about? she replies without turning from the closet where she's hanging up her clothes.
What's going on? I repeat. What's bothering you? You've been all over the map emotionally for the past month and tonight you let those two women who are supposed to be your friends treat you like a doormat. That's not like you.
How do you know it's not like me? Donna demands, whirling around to face me with tears streaming down her face. How do you know that doormat isn't really the person I am?
I cross the room and take her into my arms. Because I know you. I know the person you've become. That doormat is the person you left behind when you drove to New Hampshire, Donna. You haven't been her since you waltzed into my office and started answering my phone. They don't know you anymore, baby. I do and I love you. You're my wife, my partner, the mother of my children. You are the single most valuable person in my life.
***
I cry that much harder at Josh's words. When did I lose control of who I am?
Josh whispers into my hair. Let's get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?
I sniffle, allowing him to lead me to the bed and hold me tightly while I sob myself to sleep.
***
It's 5 a.m. I'm lying in bed, curled around my wife, naked and awake.
At 5 a.m.
God, Wisconsin is quiet. There is no noise save David's faint snoring and Donna mumbling something about tax credits in her sleep.
If we were in D.C., I'd get up and go for my morning run. This is Wisconsin, however, and it's still dark outside. And there seems to be a disturbing lack of streetlights.
Maybe I can get my exercise in another way this morning: by making Donna feel loved and vital and valuable.
***
By noon I've watched three hours of cartoons and played countless games of hide and seek. Neither Timmy nor Kelly shows any signs of slowing down.
I see the future and it revolves around children's games.
Uncle Josh is done playing, Donna comes into the living room and announces, rescuing me from being It yet again.
She leads me out of the house and down a worn path toward a grove of trees. We walk through to the far side where an ancient wooden porch swing hangs under an old oak. It looks west over a pasture full of cows.
Do we own this? I ask, joining Donna on the swing. It's just big enough for both of us.
she chuckles at me. We rent the pasture to the Millers down the road. The cows belong to them. Dad and Pat are taking care of leasing rest of the farmland for us.
It's surprisingly relaxing to sit out here and watch the cows.
I used to hide out here when we'd visit Grandma and Grandpa, Donna breaks the comfortable silence. My cousins are a lot younger than me and they were constantly bugging me to play with them.
I'm feeling your pain on that one, I reply wryly. Thanks for the save by the way.
Any time.
***
We fall back into silence, swaying gently with the slight breeze. I've done a lot of soul searching today. While the kids were torturing Josh, I was upstairs wondering why the opinions of people I haven't seen in five years are worth the mental anguish I've been putting myself and my husband through.
Yes, I recognize my moods have a direct impact on Josh and vice versa.
The stuff you said last night? I broach the subject carefully. You meant it, right?
Josh looks at me curiously. Of course I did. What's bothering you, Donna? What can I do to help?
I rest my head against his shoulder and sigh. I'm scared I really am the same person I was back then. I'm terrified that I haven't changed or grown. That everything you and I have is an illusion.
It's not, Josh whispers, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. And you aren't. I said it last night and I'll say it again, these people don't know you anymore.
It's true. No one I went to high school with knows who I am anymore. Nor do any of them seem to want to know who I am. Sally and Holly spent the whole football game complaining about the guys they've been seeing, their jobs, their bosses, and their lives in general. I had nothing to add because I love the man I'm married to, I enjoy my job and my boss is the President of the United States. My life is pretty good.
My old friends do still see me as the confused young woman who thought she was in love and doing the best thing for her relationship. They probably think the only reason Josh and I are married is because I got pregnant and that Josh treats me the same way Brian did. They just assume. They don't ask.
It's a stretch to call them friends anymore, I realize. My friends are back in Washington: CJ, Margaret, Toby, Sam, Dr. Bartlet, Leo. Those are the people who know me and care about me.
I don't really want to go to the dinner tonight, I admit.
I think we should go and mock your classmates, Josh smirks.
***
Tonight's class dinner is shaping up to be as tacky and sad as anything I've ever witnessed. The invitations stated black tie. In the social circles I run in, that means tuxedo and evening gown. To many of these people, it evidently translates into a black tie with a cheap suit.
I'm not sure why I came to this thing. I'm a long way from the high school band geek I was ten years ago. Four years of college, three years at Columbia Law School and three years as clerk with the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York can change a girl.
The only reason I could even make it was because I'm presently between jobs. I just landed my dream job as an associate litigator with a midsized, highly prestigious firm in Manhattan: Debevoise and Plimpton.
Because of the contract I signed with them, I was able to take two weeks off between jobs and relax. Then Holly Westly called me out of the blue last week and hounded me into coming. I haven't talked to Holly or Sally Seidelman regularly since I moved to New York.
Oh yeah, there are some is seriously out of touch fashion on display tonight. Even the people who managed to correctly define Ôblack tie' are inappropriately dressed. At 28, the little black dress should not have an open back down to your ass unless you're a professional call girl.
I see one couple who looks like they know how to dress. A tall, blonde woman in a dark burgundy gown and the guy with her is wearing a tuxedo he didn't get from a rental place. They both look vaguely familiar, but when I see Holly and Sally both of whom look exactly the same as they did the day we graduated from UW, I know who the blonde is.
Donna Moss? I gasp in amazement when I reach them.
The guy with her, who is definitely not the loser podiatrist, is clearly trying to determine if I'm friend or foe. Those eyes radiate a sense of power that's otherwise belied by his seemingly ordinary looks, especially the receding hairline.
Donna exclaims, throwing her arms around me.
You look fantastic, girl! I step back and decide the years have been good to her. She's got a whole new level of sophistication and selfconfidence going on.
She's also gained a little bit of weight, but I'm not going to mention that.
Rachel, this is my husband, Josh, she smiles, introducing me to the man next to her.
It's a pleasure to meet you, I take his hand. You look really familiar. Have we met before?
I doubt it, he replies. But I get that a lot.
***
Rachel looks like I always hoped I'd look at this thing: professional and selfassured.
She smiles at Josh and turns to greet Holly and Sally. You're both in the Cities right?
Sally points at herself. Holly's stuck in West St. Paul.
I'm getting out of there soon, Holly pipes up.
What's everybody drinking? I'll get the next round, Rachel offers.
Do you want some help, I ask after everyone asks for something different.
My old friend smiles at me.
So, you? Where are you at these days? she asks on our way to the bar.
I reply simply.
Rachel seems genuinely interested. Doing what?
Josh and I both work in the White House, I answer and then turn to the bartender. I'll just have a glass of water, please.
You driving?
Yes, but I'm also pregnant, I tell her.
She purses her lips together. Congratulations. So, what do you do at the White House?
I'm the Deputy Assistant to the Chief of Staff and Josh is a senior advisor to President Bartlet.
That's where I've seen him before. Rachel snaps her fingers. On the political talk shows. He's the one Mary Marsh accused of being gay. I remember that. I laughed my ass off at his answer about Big Gay Al and an ABBA song.
***
Donna blushes, but giggles. Somebody saw him and a friend of his who is gay out shopping for engagement rings and assumed they were a couple. We were still keeping our relationship quiet at the time. You're into politics?
I shrug, wangling three of the drinks the bartender just put down. Professional interest. I'm lawyer. It helps to know what those idiots in Congress are up to.
Give it up, she advises. We've been working at it for years and haven't figured it out yet.
Those two haven't changed much, have they? I observe, gesturing to our table where Holly and Sally are jabbering back and forth. Five to one odds they're talking about how much better off they are than anyone else when really they are just as pathetic.
I wouldn't touch that bet with a ten foot pole, Donna laughs, then schools her features as we reach the table. You'd never know we were being catty by looking at her face.
It is a pleasant surprise to learn Donna is one of the most successful of our classmates. I guess I always figured she'd end up married to that podiatrist with the wandering eye, because she was the one of us who had the most faith in people. Which is why she took the podiatrist at his word when he said she could finish school after he got done with his residency.
I'm glad she finally wised up and dumped him and moved on with her life.
***
Where'd Josh head off to? I ask, setting his beer on the table.
Holly points toward the restrooms. He said he had to take a phone call.
Everything okay, Donna? Rachel voices her concern.
Yeah, if it were anything big, my pager would have gone off as well. I pull the small black device out of my purse and check it. Nope, nothing.
Josh's fingers trail over my neck and his arm remains around my shoulder when he sits back down.
What's up? I ask.
Nothing. Sam and Toby are arguing over the use of the word irenic. Sam wanted my opinion.
I reach up and caress his fingers. Which was?
Never call me to ask something that stupid again. He takes a pull of his beer.
Sam's drunk. I decide, even though I'm fifteen hundred miles and a time zone away.
I'm sorry, Holly leans forward. Someone called you to ask about a word none of us has ever heard of?
Irenic is an adjective meaning favoring, conducive to, or operating toward peace, moderation, or conciliation. Rachel states smugly. How did they want to use it?
To describe the new Mideast peace initiative.
Either Sam or Toby is being overly optimistic. I think I'd go with ephemeral.
***
With a Sam Seaborncaliber word, Donna delivers a deathblow to her recent recidivism. All it took was the presence of one person from her past to notice she wasn't the timid little girl she used to be.
We're going to mingle, Holly announces, pulling Sally to her feet.
What have you been up to for the past ten years, Rachel? Donna relaxes against my arm. Other than law school?
The other woman sips at her gin and tonic. I'm in New York, actually between jobs right now. I did a threeyear clerkship with the U.S. District Court. I start my new job next week. It'll be weird, working for a firm, but the money is good.
Which firm? I'm curious to see just how good a lawyer she is.
Debevoise and Plimpton. You've probably never heard of them
I interrupt. I have. My father was a partner there for forty years.
***
The three of us sit and sip our drinks while Josh fills Rachel in on the internal politics of Debevoise and Plimpton. Holly and Sally never return, thankfully. Several other people stop by the table. A few of them join us for the obligatory Ôwhere are you living, where are you working' questions. None of them accuse us of making it up and all of them walk away amazed at what they hear.
Jennifer Hatcher Mulroney circles the table a couple of times, but never lands.
It's rather gratifying.
***
Dinner is bad rubber chicken and the speech is given by some guy named Brent, who spends almost an hour expounding on the benefits of selling life insurance for a living. Brent appears to be with the motormouth bitch from the plane.
A DJ starts playing after the life insurance speech and I catch Donna's eye during the second song.
She smiles at my questioning eyebrow and stands up.
We head out to the dance floor together.
Are you having fun? I whisper in her ear as we sway to the music.
She shrugs, resting her head against my chest. I've had better weekends, but all in all, this is okay.
What do you mean? I have a pretty good idea, but I want her to say it. I think this weekend has been just what Donna needed.
***
I've spent a month dreading this. Wondering whether I've done enough with my life to impress people who were never worth impressing in the first place. I've been an emotional basket case worrying over it and I never had anything to prove. I have changed. For the better. And if my friends can't handle that, then I don't need them as friends.
Josh pulls me closer. Sing it, girlfriend
Do you mind if we go? I look up at him.
Not at all.
Josh takes my hand and leads me back to the table so we can say goodbye to Rachel. We exchange business cards and promise to stay in touch.
Something I don't think we'll have a problem doing.