Chapter Eleven
A haze of blackness crept around the edges of her vision, and the urge to shut her eyes and go to sleep was overwhelming. Her lips separated from Tony's with a loud, wet smack as her head flopped back. She landed safely on the down pillow a few short inches below.
Tony, stretched out beside her and propped up on one elbow, grinned down at her arrogantly. "So, I finally wore you out, huh? I was wondering how much longer it was gonna take."
"Mmph, that must be it." They had been at this for quite a while, though she was surprised at just how exhausted she was. Maybe what she had thought was motion sickness was actually the beginnings of a virus. Her head was starting to ache, though that part could just be because the force of Tony's thrusts had knocked her into the headboard a couple of times. She decided not to tell him she was under the weather for now. He might try to give her that awful garlic lemonade of his.
Tony was a little off-kilter himself. He snuggled up next to her, slipping an arm under her head and resting a hand on her hip, then leaned in for a kiss. It landed on her chin. "Sorry, baby. My aim is still off. I think you scrambled my brains."
It sounded like he was catching whatever she had. Maybe it was for the best that they hadn't invited their family to the wedding, if they were this contagious. "We need to call Mother and the children and let 'em know we're okay. We've been out all night. Or has it been two nights?"
Tony yawned. "I forget. It's all sort of a blur. But it's a real nice blur."
"You can say that again." She turned into the embrace, absently drawing patterns on his bare chest. "I don't wanna go home."
"We could move to Florida. I hear it's a real nice place to raise a family. Specially since Nick Milano ain't stinkin' the place up no more."
"No, I hear there are wild gators down there, and Jonathan's just crazy enough to sneak them into the house. Our new place'll be crawling with them."
"And the Orkin Man probably charges double for dealing with them things. How 'bout California?"
"No, my ex-husband's there."
"I know," Tony giggled mischievously. "I wanna buy the house next door to him and put a big sign on the front lawn that says 'eat your heart out, dumbass!'"
Angela giggled along with him. "Aw Tony, that's so sweet."
"Just think, we could have twelve kids and send them over to puke on his lawn every morning."
"No, we'll have to think of someplace else to move. I don't want twelve kids. Maybe three. Four, tops."
"Hey, that's great. We're already halfway there, then." He thought long and hard, squinting with the effort of it. "Ooh, how 'bout Iowa?"
"Idaho? You mean because I'm your little potato now?"
"No, not Idaho, Iowa. Remember the song?" He placed his mouth up against her ear and began to sing softly. "You really ought to give Iowa a try."
"Bleh, I hated that song."
"Rats. I guess we'll have to stay in Fairfield, then," Tony sighed, burying his face in her neck.
"Could be worse. At least the company's good," she replied optimistically as she drifted off to sleep.
The next thing Angela knew, she was spread out on an exam table, a sheet of butcher paper spread out beneath her, and an emergency blanket draped over her. Her nostrils tingled with the smell of ammonia. "Dr. Thomas? I think the smelling salts worked. She's coming around.
"Easy does it, Angela." A gentle hand eased its way behind her shoulders, propping a pillow under her. "I'm going to change your answer on the fainting question to yes, by the way." Dr. Thomas' face came into view, a wry smile on his lips. "Yvonne tells me you're married now. Congratulations, by the way. I assume that means you're sexually active?"
"Y—no? Well, kind of."
Yvonne snorted, giving her a pat on the hand. "I hear you, sister. Doesn't take these men long to lose interest once the honeymoon's over, does it?"
Angela sat bolt-upright on the table, trying unsuccessfully to bring her eyes into focus. "Do you really think…?"
"It's where all your symptoms are pointing thus far. Though you never did tell me the date of your last menstrual period."
"Six weeks ago," Angela finally realized. She'd always been a bit irregular. Truth be told, regulating her erratic cycle was the main reason she bothered to stay on the Pill these days in the first place. Tony hadn't been wrong about the distinct lack of bedroom action in her life of late. Until those damned kids and their unpronounceable Polish vodka had come along!
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the memory of the toxic waste she'd ingested. "Dr. Thomas, at the time any theoretical conception may or may not have occurred, my husband and I were both suffering from a rather severe case of alcohol poisoning. Is there any chance that might have put the baby at risk?" God help her, if those idiotic teenagers had harmed her child…
Dr. Thomas frowned. "Was the alcohol abuse habitual, on your part or his?"
"No, no. It wasn't even intentional. We went to a frat party, and some kids had spiked the punch with some unpronounceable Polish vodka and something called Everclear."
"Everclear?" Dr. Thomas made a face. "Somebody really needs to outlaw that stuff. Too many people ingest it without realizing how dangerous it is."
"If you want to start a grassroots initiative to ban it, Tony and I will happily sign any petition you need us to," said Angela. "We were sick for over a week because of that stuff."
"Well, while habitual or long-term alcohol abuse can negatively affect the quality of both male and female sex cells, and exposure to alcohol in the womb always carries a substantial risk of birth defects, I don't think you need to worry much about a one-off event at the time of conception. Fertilization takes time, after all, and implantation takes even longer. Have you had much alcohol in the days since?"
Angela shuddered. "I haven't been able to even look at the stuff lately." Her temporary husband had had her usual three-olive martini ready for her last Friday night. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she'd nibbled on the olives for a minute, then tossed the beverage itself into a potted plant when his back was turned
"Then I don't think you'll need to be concerned about any increased risk of birth defects on those grounds."
Angela's hand flew to her belly and she found herself breathing a sigh of relief.
"If, of course, my suspicions are correct," Dr. Thomas went on. "Yvonne tells me she got a blood sample from you earlier?"
"That's right," said Angela and Yvonne in unison.
"Excellent. We'll run a pregnancy test to confirm, and should be able to have the results to you by Monday. In the meantime, continue avoiding alcoholic beverages. For the nausea, try to increase your fluid intake as much as possible. Drink a glass of water before and after each meal. Try to stick to bland foods, especially early in the morning. A few soda crackers or a piece of dry toast right after waking up can help even you out. I'm going to prescribe you a vitamin B supplement, too. In addition to helping with nausea, it's also beneficial for a developing embryo, if my suspicions are correct."
"Also try sucking on candied ginger," Yvonne suggested helpfully. "It worked with all of my pregnancies."
Angela staggered out to the Jaguar like a zombie, her brain fried and her heart racing. Dear God, how could I have been so stupid? She wasn't some naive teenager who had no way of knowing better. She had already carried one child to term. She should have recognized the signs sooner. Horrible nausea followed by ravenous hunger. Sleeping for twelve hours and still waking up exhausted. Although, with Jonathan, she'd never been quite this bad off. The headaches and the dizziness were new. Then again, she was twelve years older now. Perhaps it was to be expected.
As she slid into the driver's seat of her car, she found herself clutching the steering wheel as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the earth. Every woman is different, she told herself. Just because my symptoms mean pregnancy in some women doesn't mean I'm pregnant myself. It could just as easily be anemia and dehydration mingled with PMS. After all, it had only been the once. Or, well, the thrice at least, judging by the way she'd looked and felt the next morning. But still, in the grand scheme of things, the odds were against it. When Dr. Thomas gets the results on Monday, he'll see. He's jumping the gun, and he should be ashamed of himself, worrying me like this over nothing.
Thank goodness she'd realized his mistake before she'd passed the bombshell along to Tony. He was finally back to his old self after a horrendously-stressful month. Their illness and the secret they'd been carrying, followed by hell week and then finals. It would have been unconscionable to kick him back into a panic again at this point, especially when it was probably over nothing.
In fact, there was no reason she should have to endure the stress of uncertainty, either. Fretting all day today and tomorrow, and then over the weekend while that useless doctor got his facts straight? No, she had better things to do. Medical science had advanced substantially since her last pregnancy. She could take a home test and go about her day with a clear head.
Buckling her seatbelt, she started the car and headed for the nearest Walgreens. Having a concrete plan as to what her next step would be did wonders to soothe her nerves. Spirits rising, she turned on the radio. It was already tuned to her favorite oldies station, a jaunty tune playing. "It takes twoooooo, baby!"
Oh no, Tony's unlucky number! Not today! Angela wasn't a superstitious person, but she and Tony couldn't afford even the tiniest iota of bad luck at a time like this.
"It takes twooooo, baby!" Marvin Gaye and Kim Weston warbled on, oblivious to her terror.
"Don't say it again!" Angela all but screamed, mashing the radio's off button frantically.
Tony's day had been slightly less stressful than Angela's, though that wasn't saying much. He had agreed to host the annual holiday gift-wrapping free for teachers and school administrators. The kitchen was stacked to the ceiling with gifts dropped off by faculty members from various schools in the district. He had spent the entire morning carefully labeling them, and setting out hot chocolate and Christmas cookies for the incoming crowd of volunteer housewives.
Wendy Wittner had arrived an hour early, bluntly stating she was there to snoop through the presents. What could he say to such forthright honesty, but "Come on in, I've already got the interesting stuff gathered up on the kitchen table."
"Vice-Principal Haynes bought his wife a size six dress?" Wendy skeptically turned the designer garment over in her hands. "I hope he also bought an economy size bottle of Dexatrim to put in her stocking," she cackled.
Tony grinned. "You ain't far off." He reached under the table and produced a shiny new Thighmaster with the name HAYNES labeled on it in masking tape. The pair of homemakers looked at it, then each other, and burst out laughing.
"Poor Mrs. Haynes," Wendy giggled.
"It ain't half as bad as what Coach Calloway bought his wife." Tony reached into the pile on the table and held up a Dustbuster.
Wendy moaned. "Ugh, even Herb's not that clueless! If he ever had the nerve to buy me one of those and call it a gift, I'd buy him a blow-up doll and call it his New Year's Eve date."
Tony pushed the handheld vacuum aside. "But let's not just pick on the guys. You women can be just as insensitive. Look at what Mrs. Schmid got for Mr. Schmid."
"A purse?" Wendy stared at the ornate Italian leather bag. "They've been together for twenty years. Is she just now realizing he's a guy?"
"I'm gonna tell you what she told me when I asked her that very question." He affected a shrill, effeminate voice. "'It's not a purse, it's an Italian shoulder bag, and if you don't quit laughing, I'm gonna hit you with it again, Micelli!"
Wendy laughed. "You know what makes it so much worse? I have it on good authority he's getting her jewelry!"
Tony facepalmed. "I think Mrs. Schmid just needs to give up on Christmas altogether. Look at what she bought her kids." He held up several sets of personalized red and green underpants. "Maybe she'll get lucky and the Grinch will drop by her place on Christmas Eve."
"I did buy a few sets of silk boxers for Herb this year," Wendy admitted. "But it was long overdue. The underwear he's been wearing lately, he's had since before we were married. Some of it still has his name scrawled on the waistband in his mother's handwriting."
"Yikes. It's a wonder they haven't committed suicide after all these years." Tony shuddered.
"But I'm also getting him a new fishing pole and tackle box he's had his eye on," Wendy went on. "It's a gift for both of us, really. When we get sick of each other, I can send him out fishing. How about you? Have you decided what you're getting Angela?"
Tony gave Wendy a double-take, concerned that she had chosen to bring up him and Angela in a conversation about choosing Christmas gifts for spouses. For a moment, he wondered if Angela had somehow let the cat out of the bag about their not-quite-dissolved marriage to her friend. But, no, that couldn't be. Angela had taken longer to get back on her feet than he had. Even now, she still seemed a little run down. It had been a couple of months since her last get-together with her girlfriends. This must have just been the same trend they had been fighting since Tony had moved in four years ago. The neighborhood insisting on treating the two of them as a couple, just because they were young and attractive and living in the same house. And occasionally made out. And got married and had sex that one time. Give it up, Micelli, a voice in his head recommended. You're her man, just like that damned slogan she wrote about you said.
I remember. She was so cute when she came up with that. So pleased with herself, and so defensive when I questioned it.
"Wow. Judging from that dopey grin on your face, you must have gotten her something good. I've got to hear this." Wendy's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Dish, Tony. Is it an engagement ring, finally?"
Tony dropped into a defensive stance. "Why? What have you heard?" he demanded.
"Nothing. Why?" Wendy gave him a worried look. "Tony, are you okay?"
Luckily, the doorbell rang, sparing him the trouble of trying to come up with an honest answer to that question. However, when he saw who was waiting on the other side of the door, his day only got worse. "Oh. Hello Joanne. You're early."
Joanne Parker flashed her phony, peroxide-drenched smile. "Not too early, I hope?"
"Oh, no. Wendy's here, too. We're already getting things started in the kitchen." Unable to think of any believable excuse not to, he stepped back and waved her into the house. "Go on and take a seat. Fuel up with some cookies, we've got a project ahead of us. You should see the mountain of gifts the teachers have dropped off."
"I still say a half-day off work to attend a free insurance seminar would have been a better way to show appreciation this time of year."
And who's gonna babysit every child in the district while your husband is making his sales pitch, lady? He refrained from saying it out loud. Arguments with Joanne were sometimes successful, but they were always extremely lengthy and unpleasant. It just wasn't worth it. "Maybe next year," he replied vaguely.
She took a seat on the couch, her eyes wide with excitement, which was never good. "To tell you the truth, Tony, I dropped by early because I was hoping to have a private chat with you. I'm a little worried about Angela. I ran into her at the drugstore this morning."
"Couldn't have been Angela," said Tony. "She headed into the city early for a meeting this morning."
"No, it had to be her!" Parker insisted, looking very annoyed that her bait wasn't capturing his attention. "She recognized me and said 'nice to see you, Joanne.' We had a conversation."
Tony shrugged absently. Maybe Angela had stopped at the store on her way to work. Or, maybe Joanne had given up on including even a kernel of truth in her outlandish lies. Neither state of affairs was particularly surprising. "And that worried you?" Granted, Angela being pleased to see Joanne Parker would have been worrisome if true, but he knew her pleasantries were nothing but an act brought on by good manners, and he was fairly certain Joanne did, too.
"No," said Joanne with a self-satisfied smirk. "What worried me were the dozen or so bottles of cough syrup she was frantically sweeping into her shopping basket when I found her." She took his hand in both of hers, clucking her tongue in false sympathy. "Tony, you can confide in me. You know her better than anyone. Does Angela have a problem? Is she hooked on the poor-man's ecstasy?"
Tony laughed. "Give me a break, Joanne. You think Angela's a junkie? The woman's so by-the-book that she won't even cut the tag off a mattress without a thirty-minute pep talk." Joanne's lies were at least getting more entertaining, if much less believable. "No. What she is, is a giant klutz. She probably knocked the bottles off the shelf and was too embarrassed to admit it, so she pretended she was going to buy them. It wouldn't be the first time." The last time she'd come along to help him with the shopping, they had ended up with a three-foot pile of slightly-bruised turnips at the back of the cart. He'd helped her sneak them back to the produce section and put them back in a tidy stack a few minutes later, once the coast was clear.
"Maybe so. But if that weren't the case, wouldn't she have stayed near the display in order to put them back on the shelf, rather than fleeing down the family planning aisle?"
"No, usually she just goes about getting the rest of her stuff, then circles back to put away whatever it was right before heading to the checkout stand. That way, she can pretend she's thought twice about buying the thing or just ran out of money…" Tony frowned. "What aisle did you say she went down?"
Joanne perked up again, seeing that she'd finally managed to upset him. "The family planning aisle. You know, where the condoms and stuff are? You two must have big plans for the weekend, hm?"
Tony narrowed his eyes at her. "How many times do I gotta tell you? My relationship with Angela is…" strictly professional, he had been about to say, but in all honesty, that had never been entirely accurate. From the moment he'd seen her at the front door, looking frazzled, self-conscious, and breathtakingly beautiful in her bathrobe and towel, he'd cared about her far more than he should have. It was why he had risked the new job he'd so dearly needed to share Sinatra's words of wisdom with her later that evening. "None of your business."
"Of course not. I didn't mean to stick my nose into your private affairs. I'll just find Wendy and see what I can do to help, hm?" Triumphantly, she popped a cookie into her mouth and headed for the kitchen.
"Right. I'll be along in a minute." Tony sat down for a moment to collect himself. Could she really be cheating on me? he wondered. Then again, would she really think of it as cheating? She had already started annulment proceedings on their sham of a marriage. Maybe, as far as she was concerned, the matter was closed. Still, he liked to think she'd have told him if she was getting serious about another man. As a friend, if nothing else. She always had before.
His thoughts drifted back to their conversation the morning they had woken up together in Niagara Falls. She had been deeply offended by his innocent observation that she hadn't had much of a sex life to speak of recently. Marone a mi, she hadn't taken that as some sort of challenge or something, had she? Her defiant words came back to haunt him. For all you know, I could be having a seedy affair with some sweaty gigolo I picked up in a dirty back-alley one morning on the way to the office! I could be nailing him on my desk during my lunch hour every single day! Had she made good on that threat, just to prove something to herself?
Weirdly, he found himself much more comfortable with that scenario than the idea that she might have a man in her life whom she actually cared about. Had she been seeing someone she hadn't wanted him to know about? But why would she feel like she needed to hide it? Unless the guy was married or something. But, no, Angela wouldn't be party to something like that. At least not knowingly.
A truly horrifying explanation presented itself. Had she somehow realized how he felt about her? Had he maybe told her about it while they'd been hammered, or afterwards, when they'd been sick? Or had she been tipped off by his more recent behavior, sulking about the annulment, failing to respond to it in a timely manner, and biting her poor lawyer's head off on multiple occasions?
The doorbell rang again, more volunteers arriving to help with the gift wrapping, delaying his impending mental collapse. He didn't know whether to curse them or thank them. The task of several zillion gifts to wrap proved an effective distraction, at least. Not quite able to calm his troubled mind, he at least succeeded in turning it off for the remainder of the day. He was numb to any attempts the ladies made at small talk, the motions of cutting tape, folding paper, tying ribbons and hanging labels taking over completely. Primal emotions like fear, anger, and love were unceremoniously shoved into the reptilian areas somewhere in the back of his brain, where they mingled into a uniform soup of despair, quietly simmering into something explosive.
By two in the afternoon, the last of the gifts had been loaded onto the rental truck some parent with more money than time had donated to the cause, and were out for delivery to the teachers they had come from. The moms had all left to either pick up or hide from their kids. Wendy was the last to leave. "Tony, are you sure you're gonna be okay here on your own?" she asked.
When he didn't answer, continuing to sweep the floor that had been cleared of paper scraps for a solid half hour, she pinched him roughly. "Tony, snap out of it!"
"Huh?" he muttered. "You need something, Wendy?"
"Yeah, I need to know who did your lobotomy so I can put 'em to work on Herb," she replied sarcastically. "Seriously, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just a little blue. The anniversary of my father's death is in a few days." It wasn't technically a lie, and he knew it would get rid of her in a hurry. Wendy didn't strike him as the type who was comfortable with frank displays of emotion. Between that and her boy-crazy streak, it often surprised him that she'd chosen to befriend Angela, rather than Mona.
As he predicted, she offered him perfunctory condolences and quickly made herself scarce. Once alone, Tony drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the counter. He had been planning to work on laundry once he had the house to himself again, but given his emotional state, he had a better idea. He was going to get an early start on dinner. And he knew just what he wanted to make. When a man had some steam to blow off, there was nothing like a little veal piccata. After taking a package of veal cutlets from the refrigerator and laying them out on the counter, he reached into a nearby drawer for the wooden mallet and proceeded to beat the tar out of the veal.
By the time the doorbell rang five minutes later, his face and sleeves were spattered with blood, and the head of the mallet had broken off. "Cheap piece of junk," he grumbled, stripping off his apron, wiping his face, and running to answer the door.
A mail carrier was waiting for him with a large box wrapped in brown paper. "Are you Mr. Micelli?"
"Oh great! More mail!" he griped. "What now?" he barked at the postman. "Is Samantha putting herself up for adoption?"
The young man looked suitably unsettled. "No, sir. I've got a package here, certified mail, for Mr. and Mrs. Micelli. It's got candy cane stickers all over the label. I think it might be a Christmas gift."
"I'm Mr. Micelli." Who in the world would be sending them a present under those names? There weren't many people who knew about their soon-to-be dissolved marriage, and from what he could tell, they had done little to endear themselves to most of the people they had met during the course of their drunken elopement.
"Sign here, sir." The postman handed him a clipboard. "And initial there." The moment both spaces were completed, the postman yanked back the clipboard and ran for his truck without a goodbye.
"Hey, buddy, you forgot your pen!" Tony yelled after him.
"Keep it!" the mail carrier replied, hurriedly starting up his truck and peeling out of the driveway with all speed.
Tony immediately felt bad. Great. Another innocent head he'd bitten off. Jeez, no wonder Angela feels like she's gotta sneak around with this guy. The mood I've been in, she's probably afraid I'll decapitate the guy if she tries to bring him around and introduce him to the family.
The package contained both the best and worst possible gift he could have received at that moment in time. Six mason jars filled with vodka, oranges and cranberries. There was an enclosed Christmas card from Ambassador Kaminski. Greeting from Warsaw, Mr. and Mrs. Micelli! A case of my babcia's famous cranberry citrus vodka, as promised. Nothing finer for celebrating the holidays with friends or relaxing by a roaring fire. Please accept our thanks again for the kindness and understanding you both showed our Nicky, and rest assured he is making the most of the second chance you helped him get. We dearly hope you are both doing as well as he is, and wish you and your family a Wesołych Świąt.
Regards,
Ambassador and Mrs. Kaminski
There was a PS written in a different hand.
P.S. Be assured, the vodka you are about to enjoy has been heavily diluted and contains no more than thirty-five percent alcohol by volume. Unless one of you drinks all six jars at once, singlehandedly, there should be no unpleasantness of the kind you experienced previously. Please give it a chance, my husband has put a great deal of work into it, and he's driving me insane.
Cautiously, Tony opened one of the mason jars and gave it a sniff. It smelled okay. Sort of like potpourri. He took a wary sip. To his surprise, it was delicious. Mostly sweet, but counterbalanced by a bitter undertone that was not at all unpleasant. Like Ocean Spray with a little extra kick. He had certainly drowned his sorrows in far, far worse.
He checked his watch. His sorrows would have to wait a few hours for their impending drowning. He had to pick up Jonathan and take him to Boy Scouts, and then he had to go to the cleaners' and pick up Sam's dress for the Winter Ball tomorrow. After that, dinner still required more assembly, and a pile of smelly laundry still awaited him down in the basement. But once he finished with all of that, this mason jar had a date with his stomach. He hid it in his underwear drawer next to the annulment paperwork, shoved the other five into the liquor cabinet, and went about his business, relieved to have something besides a nervous breakdown to look forward to.
Angela's day had gone from bad to worse. At the drugstore, she'd had the bad fortune to run into Joanne Parker while holding a basket containing two EPTs and nothing else. Knowing that the shameless gossip had the power to make her life a living hell, she'd swept a dozen bottles of cough syrup into the basket to cover the tests. Joanne had given her a stiff half-smile. "My, my, my. That must be a truly terrible cough you're fighting."
"Nice to see you, too, Joanne. Just stocking up for the winter," she had fibbed feebly. "Cold and flu season, with two kids and a senior citizen in the home, you know. Can't be too careful."
"I'll just bet." The woman's voice was sympathetic, but her eyes were cold as ice. "How's Tony doing?"
There was no right answer to that question. If she said something positive, Joanne would use it as proof of their romantic involvement. If she said something negative, Joanne would proclaim there was trouble in paradise. The only winning move with this woman is not to play, Angela decided. "You'd really have to ask him. I'm late for work as it is." Without further ado, she fled down the nearest aisle.
It wasn't until she reached the end of it that she'd realized she had headed back into the family planning aisle. Angela cursed under her breath. Great. Just perfect. By the time Joanne's done describing this encounter, I'll have tearfully confessed that I'm carrying triplets and have no idea who the father is. Deciding to cut her losses before she could get into any more trouble, she dug her tests out of the basket of cough syrup, ditched it under a rack of lube and headed for the cash register.
The cashier was a hunched, white-bearded old man who looked like he should have retired at least a decade ago. His mouth hardened into a thin line as his eye flicked from the pair of pregnancy tests to her naked ring finger. "What is this world coming to?" he muttered under his breath.
Angela was fully prepared to tell the judgmental old creep off, but then had a better idea. She forced a jolly laugh. "Oh, goodness, you think they're for me? No, no, nothing of the kind."
"That's a relief," sighed the old man.
"Yeah, these tests are actually for a friend of mine." Angela pointed at Joanne Parker. "That's her, over there. She didn't want her husband to accidentally catch her buying them, because he's not the father. So I said I'd help her out." She pressed a finger to her lips, as if swearing him to secrecy. "But you didn't hear it from me, okay?" Angela plunked down three ten dollar bills, politely told him to keep the change, and headed for the door. She regretted that she wouldn't be around to enjoy what was bound to be a very uncomfortable checkout for both him and Joanne, but she hadn't been lying about being late for work.
Upon arriving at work, she had almost been able to forget the two boxes hidden at the bottom of her purse. The office was buzzing like a wasps' nest that had been poked with a stick. She found the proverbial stick waiting in her office, making small talk with her mother and Jack. "Mr. Smolak!" The owner of the Smokey's Family Restaurant chain wasn't nearly as jolly as her commercials made him out to be. The smell of bourbon and overcooked grease hanging heavily in the air should have tipped her off to his presence from the get-go. "What a pleasant surprise," she lied through her teeth.
"Don't patronize me, lady!" The steely-haired, steely-eyed man jabbed a meaty finger at her. "I want to know what this crap you're passing off as a slogan is."
Angela raised her eyebrows. "Well, sir, your franchise is named Smokey's, you sell hot food. Hence, 'it's smoking hot!'" Smokey wasn't the brightest guy, but she'd assumed even he couldn't miss such an obvious meaning.
"It's steaming hot, that's what it is! A steaming hot pile of bullshit!" He wadded up the copy she'd sent over and rudely drop-kicked it at her.
It hit her in the eye, knocking her glasses askew, and her eyes began to burn. Oh no… She wasn't sure whether she was pleading with God to give her strength, with herself to pull it together, or for the potential child inside her to quit manifesting its presence. But it was no use. Hot tears were already pooling in her eyes. She tilted her head upwards in a pathetic attempt to keep them from falling.
"Uh, Angela are you all right?" she heard Jack ask uneasily. "It's not another dizzy spell, is it?"
She felt her mother lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Angela, dear, can you look at me?"
Despite her efforts, the tears were already spilling down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to ask for a moment alone to collect herself, but all that came out was a pitiful sob.
"Holy crap on a cracker, is she…crying?" she heard Smokey's gravelly voice wonder. "Aw, geez, I didn't mean nothing by it, Mrs. B," he backpedaled awkwardly. "I was just worried that it'd cause problems with people thinking they could smoke in our restaurants and…" He nudged Jack anxiously. "Hey, don't just stand there! Someone make her stop!"
Jack laughed nervously. "Don't be alarmed, Mr. Smolak. It's just that Mrs. Bower takes client satisfaction very personally. She's feeling terrible for having let you down."
Angela made a mental note to give Jack a raise at her earliest convenience. "Yes, that's it," she sobbed. "I apologize for my unprofessional behavior. Can I just have a moment, here?"
"Sure," Smokey agreed all-too-quickly, looking about ready to run for the hills. "In fact, why don't I just make plans to come back in a few days, after I've had a chance to cool off and remember the manners my mama taught me?" he offered sheepishly.
"That might actually be beneficial, thank you, Mr. Smolak," said Jack. "That'll give Angela and me time to amend the slogan and come up with something that both you and we can be happy with." He handed the burly restauranteur his coat and walked him to the door.
As the door softly closed behind them, Angela's mother surprised her by initiating a hug for the first time in…years? Decades? Angela sank into the embrace gratefully, muffling another sob against her mother's shoulder-pad. "Angela, dear, you're scaring me. What in the world is going on?"
"Nothing," she sniffled. "Just having a bad day."
"A bad day's never been enough to reduce you to tears," said Mona skeptically. "Especially in front of a client. Come on, talk to me. I know the kids are both fine. I just saw them at breakfast. Did Tony do something to upset you?"
Angela laughed through her tears. "Not exactly." Not intentionally, anyway. And he hadn't acted alone. Hadn't it been her idea to share the blame for what had happened in Niagara Falls? Oh, if only they'd known what they were committing to when they'd reached that agreement!
Mona clucked her tongue. "Neither hysterical laughter nor ugly sobbing are like you, and seeing you do both at once is even more disturbing. I haven't seen you go through mood swings like this since…." Her mother pulled back to look her in the eye. "Oh my God, are you pregnant again?"
"No!" she denied vehemently. Her mother clearly wasn't buying it, judging from the look on her face. Under the circumstances, Angela didn't blame her. "Well, maybe."
"All that boinking finally came back to haunt you and Tony, huh? Have you told him yet?"
"God, no!" She grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and dabbed at her eyes. "I don't want to worry him until I know there's something to worry about. I just woke up to the possibility today. Dr. Thomas is running a blood test, but he won't have the results for a few days."
"Angela, it's the eighties. We don't have to wait for the rabbit to die. You can buy pregnancy tests at any corner drugstore."
"I have two of them in my purse," Angela confessed. "I was going to wait and take them on my lunch break, but I don't think I'm going to be able to hold out that long."
"They're more effective when taken in the morning anyway." Mona took her by the hand. "Come on, we're going to the ladies' room."
"No!" Angela had been thinking more along the lines of sneaking out to a gas station bathroom or something. "Someone might walk in and see…" One of her employees catching her would be almost as bad as one of the kids.
Mona looked unworried. "We'll tell them I'm the one having the scare."
"Mother…" Angela groaned in protest.
"Let's face it, Angela. It's more believable than you having one."
"Shut up," Angela replied, but allowed herself to be dragged off.
Mona was clever enough to jot a phony Out of Order sign on a piece of typing paper, tape it to the ladies' room door, and then barricade the door behind them. "There, that should give us the requisite five minutes of privacy." She rapped on the door of the only occupied stall. "You about done in there, dear?"
"I'd be done a lot quicker if you'd stop asking me that!"
"You're seriously feeling bladder shy around me, dear? The woman who changed your diapers, potty-trained you, and saw you through several years of chronic bed-wetting?" She went to the sink and turned on the taps to hurry the process along. "Here, this always helped you when you were little."
Once the two plastic sticks had been put to soak, Angela sat down on the edge of the counter to endure the longest five minutes of her life. "I can't wait for this to be over. If Dr. Thomas is wrong about this, I should sue him for the strain he's placed on my heart. It's probably taken four or five years off my life."
"And if he's right?"
She'd been trying very hard not to think about that. "Then I'll be a complete basket-case for the next nine months. It's already starting. You saw me in there. My professional reputation's going to be in tatters by the time all is said and done."
"Come now, dear. You did this once before and your career survived," her mother reminded her. "As I recall, your employers were deeply impressed by the way you stayed at your post until the day you gave birth."
That was true. Of course, now that she was her own employer, she wouldn't have to go quite that far. She didn't have any men looking over her shoulder, whom she had to prove she was equal to. She could even take a regular three-month maternity leave, rather than returning to a full time schedule the moment her two weeks of vacation time was used up. That was why she had hired Jack, a subordinate she could trust to look after her business if she needed some time away. Remarriage and another child had admittedly been on her to-do list, and she had wanted to have the freedom to pursue those them if the opportunity had come along. Her plans had all been highly abstract at the time, of course. She had assumed that they would come months or years down the road, if ever. The tension in the back of her neck, threatening to turn into a headache, eased slightly.
Angela threw out one of her other main fears, hoping her mother would be able to talk her out of this one as easily as the first. "Not to mention the gossip Tony and I are going to have to put up with. And I don't know what the hell I'm going to tell the kids. If I claim to have found the baby under a cabbage leaf, do you think they'd pretend to believe it?"
Mona chuckled. "It would probably be easier for them than having to think about their parents having sex."
She knew from daily experience with her own mother how true that was. "Well, that's something, I guess."
"As for the rest of the neighborhood, I think they would probably be more disappointed than anything. If you and Tony announce that you're having a baby, it'll put your relationship out in the open, and it's no fun to gossip about something once it's out in the open. Kind of defeats the purpose, you know." Mona grinned. "Why do you think I'm so quick to talk about my romantic misadventures?"
"Pride," Angela replied knowingly.
Her mother's smile widened. "Well, there's that, too."
That just left the worst of her fears. "And then there's Tony…"
Mona rolled her eyes. "Angela, you don't seriously think he's going to run out on you like the last idiot you were dumb enough to procreate with?"
"Probably not." In a way, that might have been easier. At least it would have been honest, and let her know where she stood. "Just the opposite. You know how old-fashioned he is."
"Ah. You're worried he's going to pull a shotgun wedding on you, is that it?"
"Something like that." The fact that they were already married would make turning him down a complicated affair. "He's starting a new chapter in his life, Mother. He's going back to school, getting ready to pursue a new career. He's almost finished raising his daughter. Do you really think he's going to want to be tied down to a new family at this point in his life?"
"I don't know. You could always ask him."
"No, I can't. He's too damned honorable to tell me the truth." And the last thing she wanted to be to him was an obligation.
"Well, if you're not up to dealing with all this, there are options. You could easily get rid of it without him ever having to know. Or if you're not comfortable with that, we could send you upstate to give the baby up for adoption and tell everyone you're visiting some non-existent sick aunt, the way people used to do in my day."
"Mother!" Angela balked, placing a protective hand over her abdomen.
"Oh, so you do want this child, then?" Mona smirked. "I thought as much, dear."
"Smooth, Mother. Very smooth." She thought back to the fear she'd felt when contemplating the possibility of birth defects brought on by the poisoned punch, and the relief she'd experienced when Dr. Thomas had told her she didn't need to worry. Since then, she had been so busy fretting over the potential pregnancy she hadn't really taken the time to stop and think about its inevitable results, eight months down the line. "But you're right. I do." When had that happened, anyway? Thinking back, it had been a while. Probably about two years ago, when she and Tony had had little Clint as a houseguest. Those chubby cheeks, that gummy smile, and those big blue eyes had left her longing for another baby of her own. A little scrap of humanity to love and nurture and marvel at as she waited with bated breath to see what kind of person it would grow into.
And, admittedly, the sight of Tony's strong arms wrapped protectively around the tiny boy, his gentle hands patiently wiping pureed spaghetti from the little mouth, his handsome features contorted into funny faces that never failed to get a smile from the baby, had left her picturing her child wearing his warm smile and puppy-dog eyes. A charming, confident, happy little boy not unlike the one she'd met so long ago at summer camp. Or another spunky, athletic little girl to brighten up their household. Or maybe that little girl would be another klutz like her mother, but at least she'd have a whole houseful of people who adored her to help her back to her feet when she fell down.
Mona checked her watch for the umpteenth time. "That's five minutes." She slapped her daughter on the back. "Go to it, kid."
Angela reached for the first stick, then yanked back her hand at the last second, as her fingers brushed the plastic. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Well, you're going to have to. I'm sure as hell not touching that thing, after where it's been."
"Mother! Don't be gross." Angela groaned. Her irritation trumped her nerves, which was probably what her mother had intended, and reached for the stick. A plus sign stared her in the face. She checked the second stick. Positive. She held them both side by side and read them again, just to be sure. I guess we're two for two for two, as your daddy would say, little one. "I'm pregnant."
"Congratulations, dear," her mother offered.
Angela suddenly realized she was smiling. "Thanks."