Chapter Seventeen: Baby Blues
Sunday, January 25, 1987
"Morning," Tony murmured, kissing behind Angela's ear and down her bare shoulder. She responded by pulling his hand onto her breast. "God, you smell so delicious. I could eat you up," he growled, kneading and pressing against her as he opened his mouth and tasted the salt of her skin.
"You sure did last night," she reminded him.
"Mmmm, yeah I did. You're my favorite dessert. I can't get enough," he said, rolling her nipples and nuzzling the nape of her neck.
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," she said, rolling over to give his curious mouth another focus. She closed her eyes and indulged in the contrasting sensations of his soft tongue and lips on one side and his rough fingers on the other. When he switched, she felt an insistent nudge against her thigh.
"I'm hard as a rock, Ange. You wanna go again?" he asked.
"How could I resist a romantic offer like that?" she asked, swinging a leg over his hips and sinking down with a groan. After working up a sweat, the two stepped into the shower together. "I'm starving!" she said, soaping up. "Good thing it's Superbowl Sunday."
"You don't even care about the game!" he argued, taking the bar from her and running it under his arms.
"So sue me. I'm looking forward to oinking out with the rest of the country."
"You're really going to have barbeque chips, pork rinds, and cheese doodles?" he asked.
"I'm pregnant, Tony. It's not like I can eat brie and pâté!"
"True. But I'll be making nachos and chicken wings, too. And veggie quiche and fruit and salad for breakfast and lunch!"
"I appreciate you making sure we have healthy meals," she said.
"Well, our little tomato needs lots of nutrition to grow into a juicy watermelon," he said, briefly ducking into the spray to kiss her belly.
"Please don't say watermelon! It sounds enormous." If only she wasn't responsible for giving birth, she would be happy no matter which piece of produce the baby resembled.
"Sorry, honey. I got excited. Can you believe we get to see our little one next week?"
"I can't believe I'm not even halfway through this pregnancy," she joshed.
Jonathan and Samantha were already downstairs when Tony and Angela emerged from their room. Everyone wore the Superbowl XXI gear Angela had purchased for them. She was still transitioning from her usual wardrobe to her "fat" clothes, losing the ability to fit into a few outfits each week. Soon, her changing shape would require actual maternity styles, but for now, she wore a regular rugby shirt one size up and looped a hair tie through the buttonhole of her jeans.
"Kickoff isn't until six, guys," he reminded them.
"There's a pregame show!" Sam piped up.
"That's right, Tony. It's The Beach Boys!" Angela said. Maybe surf music would help her forget that it was below zero outside.
"And George Burns is introducing the halftime show," Jonathan informed him.
"He's still alive?" Sam asked doubtfully.
Jonathan stood up and adopted a performative stance. "He can't afford to die. He's booked out for the next year."
"Ba dum tss!" said Sam, doing her best verbal rimshot.
"Shecky Bower over here," Tony teased. "Are you planning to watch the actual game?" he asked Jonathan.
"I guess so. I have to fill the time somehow until the drill teams perform," he said.
"It's so green here," Mona said, watching the scenery from the passenger's side of the rental car. She shifted the stack of gift boxes in her lap.
"You said you've been to Atlanta before," Ricky probed.
"I've been through the airport and to the city center in summertime. I didn't realize it was like this even in the winter."
"Marietta is a nice place to live. Kelly fell in love with it when she first came to visit Chandler's family," he explained. For some reason, he wasn't able to broach the subject of where he and Mona would settle after they got married. It was up in the air, along with the question of the date and style of the wedding.
"Do you think Libby is alright?" she asked, avoiding the subject. It was clear that she and Ricky wouldn't stay in Phoenix forever. They both missed their grandchildren and could easily move closer to one of the three cities where their families resided.
"She loves Linda and Natalie, and Patrick gets out of school at noon, so she'll never be alone more than four hours at a time. I don't think we could have gotten better dogsitters."
"You're right. I just worry about our little girl."
"Here we are," Ricky said, pulling up in front of a large single-story brick home. He shut off the engine and turned to his fiancée. "Ready to meet my family?" he asked.
"It's guaranteed to go better than when you met mine," she said, referring to the hot tub incident.
"Don't be so sure about that. My daughter is nursing exclusively."
"Oh, that's different," Mona said, shoving his shoulder playfully with her left hand.
"Grandpa!" a twelve-year-old boy yelled. He ran across the driveway in that awkward, gangly way that was so familiar to Mona from Angela's pre-teen years.
"Hi Cory!" Ricky shouted. "You've grown," he observed, as the boy hugged him tightly around the waist.
"I'm taller than Mom now," he said proudly, looking up without letting go.
"She told me," Ricky said, giving his sandy brown hair a ruffle. Mona stood back, waiting to be introduced.
"Mom is putting the baby down, so we have to be quiet when we go inside," he explained. "Can I help you with anything?"
"This is for you," Mona said, handing over a box.
"Cory, this is my fiancée Mona, formerly known as Cassie," Ricky said.
The boy eyed her with suspicion. "Hey," he said. She wished her alias hadn't been mentioned.
"I promise to be quiet," she said with a wink.
"Follow me," he said, leading the way to the front door.
Angela crept into the kitchen and hugged Tony around the waist as he washed dishes. "You need to study, don't you?" she asked.
"Yeah, I should," he said, his voice catching in his throat.
"Baby, what's wrong?" she asked, coming around to assess his mood. His eyes were red and glassy, and tear tracks marred his cheeks. He scrunched his face and sniffled, putting the back of his hand against his nose. "Tony, talk to me," she begged.
He clung to her and buried his face in her shoulder, unable to speak. It was several minutes before his sobbing let up and he finally voiced his concern. "I don't wanna lose you," he whispered.
She brought her palm to his cheek and felt him lean into it. "What brought this on?"
He released a heavy sigh. "Sam reminds me so much of Marie sometimes."
"Oh." Angela didn't know quite what to make of the revelation. It was nothing she hadn't heard before, nothing she hadn't taken note of herself.
Tony dried his hands and pulled himself together. "Can we go upstairs and talk?" he asked. "I think it's time I tell you about when Sam was born."
"Are you sure?" Michael asked, cradling the cordless phone against his shoulder. He held up two shirts, trying to decide how to dress for a long afternoon at a sports bar. "I could still take the train."
"It's not a problem," Frankie laughed. "I already reserved a parking space in my building's garage for you, and we can walk over to Brady's from here."
"Alright. Thank you. What time were you thinking?" He chose the royal blue long-sleeved polo shirt and hung the light blue oxford back in his closet.
"Two or three. Any later, and we won't be able to find a seat."
"I can be there by two," he said.
"Why don't you stay over tonight?" she ventured. The men she dated usually tried to get her in bed in the space of a week, and she was going on four weeks with this one. She could tell he liked her, but she was getting frustrated by all the extended makeout sessions.
He froze. What kind of test was this? "Um, I, uh…really?"
"You don't have to. I mean, if there's some reason you don't want to sleep with me, I'd rather know now."
"There isn't!" he cut in. "I want to," he quickly clarified.
"Good. Because I want you to. Don't forget your toothbrush," Frankie said, hanging up before he could respond.
"Jesus." Michael tore open his nightstand drawers, then went to his medicine cabinet. It was a fool's errand. He had never had any reason to stock condoms in the apartment. His toothbrush was tucked into a travel cover, and he retrieved his garment bag from the bottom of the closet. It was easier to decide what to wear to work the next day. The blue oxford went into the bag along with a grey suit. A few minutes later, he was fully packed. He checked on the reptiles and locked up the apartment. Before he could head into the city, he needed to make a stop at the drug store.
"How was your flight?" Kelly asked, slumping against the back of the couch. Her bleary gaze was directed toward the rack of dishes drying in the kitchen.
"It was fine. You asked me that last night when I called from the hotel," Ricky said, sounding irritated.
"Hey, bub. Do you know how much brainpower it takes to keep an infant alive?" Mona chided him. It was obvious that Kelly was suffering from a severe sleep deficit. "You don't need to entertain us right now. Go take a nap while the baby is sleeping."
"I need to put in a load of laundry—"
"We can do that," Mona interrupted. "Cory will help."
"Oh, he doesn't know how," Kelly objected, glancing over at the boy sitting in front of the TV playing his new video game.
"He's about to learn. Go lie down, before it's too late," she insisted.
"OK," she yawned, bumping into furniture and walls as she made her way to her bedroom.
"The laundry room is over here," Ricky said, leading Mona to a space between the family room and the garage. The floor was covered in a huge pile of soiled kitchen towels, burp cloths, and baby clothes. A bottle of fragrance and dye free laundry detergent sat atop the washer.
"I'll start sorting. You get Cory."
"Why do I have to do girl work, Grandpa?" the boy asked, as he was dragged into the laundry room.
"Listen, kiddo. Your mom is exhausted, and your little brother keeps her busy day and night. You and your dad need to step up," Mona demanded. "Where is your dad, anyway?"
"He's at Mimi's. Mom refused to let everyone come over here for the Superbowl."
"Why didn't you go to your grandmother's house, too?" Ricky asked.
"I don't like Aunt Trish."
"Nobody does, sport," he told his grandson.
"We found out that Sam was breech at Marie's thirty-six-week appointment," Tony explained, pacing back and forth at the end of the bed while Angela sat cross-legged. "I was back on the road the next day. She did all kinds of stretches to encourage her to flip upside down, but it didn't work. At thirty-seven weeks, she was still breech. So, I came home. A couple of days later, we went to the hospital and they tried a procedure called external cephalic version."
"Pushing the baby into the right position," Angela confirmed.
"Yeah. Well, that didn't work either, but it made her water break. They kept her in the hospital overnight, and the next morning, she went into labor."
"Oh, Tony." Angela wanted to comfort her husband, but his pacing had only sped up.
"There was no way Marie was gonna deliver naturally, so they prepped her for a c-section. By the time they got her into the operating room, Sam was in distress, and they put a rush on it. Knocked Marie out and cut her wide open," he said, running his hand over his face. The tears hadn't returned yet, but he was flushed and anxious, almost as though he were back in the hospital waiting room.
"That must have been horrible."
"It was, but that's not the worst part. They got Sam out and she was OK, but the doctor felt a mass in Marie's abdomen. They took a biopsy and stitched her back up, but you know…."
"It was malignant," Angela said.
"Yeah."
"Good job, Cory. Your mom is going to be so proud of you!" Ricky said, watching his grandson finish folding towels. The boy had quit his grousing and begun to enjoy the rare opportunity to learn from his elder. Meanwhile, Mona had put away the clean dishes, done some handwashing ,and run another load in the dishwasher. A second wash cycle with baby clothes was still running.
Down the hall, a baby started quietly fussing. "He's up!" Mona said. Her dormant maternal instincts kicked in, and she sought out the infant without thinking better of it. Ricky followed her into the nursery, bent over the crib, and picked up his grandchild. The boy looked at him with curiosity, not a hint of fear in his big blue eyes.
"You need a change, fella," he said, patting the baby's bottom through his heavy diaper.
"I'll get my mom," Cory offered.
"No!" Mona and Ricky whispered loudly. "Let her sleep," she said.
"OK, whatever," Cory shrugged, going back to his video game.
After a diaper change and some peek-a-boo with his grandpa, the three-month-old reached out for Mona's red curls. "You wanna meet your pretty new grandma, Baldwin?" Ricky asked.
"Hand him over," she demanded playfully.
"Aren't you just the cutest thing in the world?" Mona sang, giving his chubby bare leg a gentle squeeze. "Why do their heads smell so good?" she asked, cuddling the baby to her chest.
"Lucky boy," Ricky said under his breath. They went back to the couch, bringing a plastic ring of keys from the nursery to play with. When the washer stopped, he got up and asked Cory to pause his video game to transfer the laundry.
Kelly padded out, looking somewhat refreshed. As soon as her son saw her, he began to squirm and whine. She picked up a blanket and got him settled to feed under it. "Thank you for letting me sleep," she said.
"We were happy to spend time with your boys," Mona said.
"It's been really hard. I don't remember it being like this the first time."
"Does your husband help out?"
"Ha! Sometimes he'll babysit while I take a shower. It's honestly easier when he's not around."
"Have you thought about getting a night nanny or some help with the house?"
"Chandler expects me to be able to handle everything. He actually told his cousin that I'm 'on vacation.'"
Ricky saw that the two women were in a heavy discussion and turned back to Cory. "Let's go put the folded laundry away in the nursery," he said, ushering the boy ahead of him.
"My dad never did laundry when I was a kid," Kelly said.
Michael sipped his beer and watched Frankie debate another Giants fan about which Broncos receiver was likely to perform best. He admired her zeal for sports, though he didn't share more than a passing interest in football or baseball. His father had been a season ticketholder for the Knicks, and he still watched the occasional game after work.
Frankie was much more extraverted than he could ever be. She seemed to know many of the other patrons, most of whom were men. One of them, a blond Stewart with an impressive jawline, bought her an Irish car bomb. Frankie raised her pint glass, dropped in the shot, and chugged the mixture, beating the man decisively despite the fact that he probably weighed twice as much as her. Michael wondered how he could compete with that.
"Are you having a good time?" she asked him.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Really? Because it looks like you're ready to pull a fire alarm just to get out of this place," she ribbed him. "Have another drink!"
"I don't want to be hung over tomorrow," he said, not wanting to admit that he was more concerned about his first sleepover.
"Suit yourself. I have court in the morning, but I'm not about to let that interfere with my fun," she said, taking a pull off her bottle and dancing away with her arms overhead. He grabbed her by the hips.
"You're all the fun I need," he told her.
"Well, you'll have to wait until after the game for that," she said, giving him a peck on the lips.
As the afternoon wore on, it became clear that she was going to be too far gone for anything to happen. Michael tried to enjoy the football game and entertainment but ended up playing darts alone in a quiet back room.
"Is haffdime," Frankie slurred, stumbling into the back room with a pint. "Dincha wanna wash da game?" she asked.
Michael put away the darts and took the glass out of her hand. "Sit down," he said.
"Less bone," she suggested, pushing him down into a chair and straddling him.
"Uh-uh," he said. "Do you want some fries?"
"Ooh!" she squealed.
"I'm going to order some food and after we eat, we can go back to your place," he told her.
After Tony's long-dreaded disclosures to Angela, he was able to take comfort in her embrace. She thanked him for telling her the story of Sam's birth and assured him that she had no intention of leaving him alone. They decided firmly against amniocentesis, not wanting to take even a small risk of complications. Knowing about fetal abnormalities in advance of the birth wouldn't change a thing, anyway. They parted ways, with Tony getting two solid hours of study time in before finishing the preparations of the gameday feast.
Surprisingly, Jonathan took an interest in the game, asking Tony and Sam questions about every play and clarifying the rules as the event progressed. Angela simply grazed on the abundance of junk food, paying more attention to commercials until late in the game, when the camera began focusing on the sidelines. "What's going on?" she asked.
"The Giants are thirty-three to ten in the fourth quarter, Angela. Carson is going to give Bill Parcells a Gatorade bath."
"What? Who? I didn't understand any of that."
"You know how I told you about not washing my lucky socks for a month?" Tony asked.
"Yes, and I told you that was disgusting," she said.
"Then you're probably not gonna like this either. Every time the Giants have it in the bag, their coach gets a bucket of Gatorade dumped on him."
"That's barbaric!" she screeched.
"Yeah? It's football," he said with a shrug. She stuffed another pork rind in her mouth and watched wide-eyed.
The clock runs now with a minute forty-five…Carson has changed shirts, and he's in the security uniform now. That's the yellow jacket that security people…and there it comes!
"Oh my!" Angela gasped. "What a wonderful way to promote a sports drink!" she said excitedly.
"That's why I love you, my tireless little ad exec," Tony said with a smile.
"Thirty-nine to twenty!" Sam read off the final score. "What a game!"
"Mom, can I play football?" Jonathan asked.
"Oh, no," she answered. "Football is very dangerous! It's only for big kids and grownups."
"Actually, Angela, they have indoor flag football for kids at the Y," Tony pointed out. "It's no-contact. He wouldn't get hurt."
"Really? No contact? I guess that would be alright."
"Thanks, Mom! Sam, you can be my cheerleader. Bring your friends. The more babes the better!"
"No way, loser!"
Michael stroked Frankie's fluffy chestnut hair as she laid drooling on his polo shirt. The game was over. She had passed out almost as soon as they arrived at her penthouse, missing most of the fourth quarter. He picked up the remote and clicked through the channels. After half an hour, he decided to wake her up.
"Sweetie, we should go to bed," he said, rubbing her arm.
"Is the game over?" she asked. He was relieved that the food had sobered her up a little.
"Giants thirty-nine, Broncos twenty."
"Oh. OK." She twisted the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I'm sorry I fell asleep. You could have left."
"I told you I'd stay. We can bone some other time," he teased. "You have court in the morning."
"Right. I'm going to take a pain reliever and drink some more water. Do you want anything?"
"I'm fine. Just need to brush my teeth."
"Make yourself at home."
He stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and sat at the end of the bed. "I didn't know which side you wanted," he said when she came in.
"I sleep in the middle. You can have the left," she said. When she got into bed wearing a large t-shirt and shorts, he thanked his lucky stars that it wasn't something more tempting.
"Good night, Frankie," he said when she turned out the light.
"Michael? Were you nervous about tonight?" she asked. "I was."
"Yeah, I was, too. Are you still?"
"Not at all," she said snuggling up to him. "Good night."
"I can't believe it!" Mona ranted.
Ricky sighed and kept his eyes on the road. "Are you more upset about Chandler or Trish?" he asked.
"I don't know! He must be thick in the head to spend ten hours drinking when his wife is struggling with a new baby, especially on the day his father-in-law comes to visit."
"Yes, that was pretty insensitive. He's hardly even a football fan."
"That passive aggressive poodle-headed bitch, on the other hand. I don't know where to start with her."
"So, she was Angela's sorority sister? Did they have a falling out?"
"During college, Angela took every bit of abuse Trish Baldwin threw at her. They didn't fall out until a couple of years ago, when Tony had a one-night stand with her."
"What? Angela stopped talking to Trish because she slept with Tony?"
"No, Angela stopped talking to Trish because Trish ditched Tony after inviting him to their reunion, so she could try to bang Angela's college crush instead, the little whore."
"Wow. I can't say I'm surprised she would do something like that, but what a small world."