Chapter Twenty-Eight: Watertown

Friday, June 12, 1987

"So. Jonathan. Uh, there's something we wanted to tell you," Michael started. His tone was subdued, barely audible over the music and chaotic atmosphere of the restaurant. He wished his son hadn't requested dinner at Bongo Burger.

"You're proud of me?" the boy asked, cutting another piece of the banana split he had ordered to celebrate his straight A's.

Michael was thrown. "No. Well, yes, I am. We are," he stammered, "but there's something else." He glanced at Frankie, and she shot him a look that said she wasn't going to help this time. "The thing is, you're going to have a little sister."

"Yeah, so?" he shrugged. It was old news and nothing for his dad to be concerned about.

"I mean, you're going to have another sister," Michael continued. "Frankie and I are expecting a baby."

"Oh, it's a girl?" he asked offhandedly as he assembled the perfect spoonful of ice cream, banana, and whipped cream. He paused before bringing it to his mouth. "What's her birthday going to be?" he inquired casually.

"I'm due December tenth," Frankie volunteered.

"That's good. You'll be able to take a deduction on your taxes for this year," Jonathan advised. "Are you planning to file jointly?"

"We're not getting married, if that's what you're asking," Michael answered.

"Not yet," Frankie clarified.

"OK," Jonathan said, continuing to work on his dessert.

"Hello?"

"Tony?" Michael said, holding the payphone receiver tightly and plugging his other ear. "Would you and Angela mind if we kept Jonathan tonight?"

"Why? What's going on?" Tony asked.

"Frankie and I broke some big news to him, and I think he's in denial. He's acting like he already knew."

"About her being knocked up?" The silence was an answer in itself. "Not for nothin', Mike, but the kid ain't dumb and neither am I."

Michael was speechless.

"Listen, you hang onto Jonathan. We'll talk tomorrow," Tony offered, seizing on the chance for a night alone with his wife.

"OK."

"Tell Frankie I said congratulations," he finished.

Michael went back to the booth, where Jonathan was chomping on the maraschino cherry he had saved for last. He handed Frankie his keys. "I don't think I can drive right now," he confessed, his head spinning.

Saturday, June 13, 1987

"Dad? Jonathan?" Sam yelled from the front door. She went to the kitchen and found a fresh pot of coffee, but no family. "Mom? Guys?" she called on her way upstairs.

She assessed the scene. Jonathan's room was empty and his bed was made. The door to the primary bedroom was open, but the ensuite bathroom was closed. She heard water running, then some sounds from her parents that caused her to turn and leave with haste. It was only half past eight, Jonathan was nowhere to be found, and she knew the old wives' tale that you get a baby out the same way you get one in. She shuddered as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Michael had told her it was important to be knowledgeable on current events for her interview. She decided to enjoy a cup of coffee and read the newspaper. Maybe that would also give her the maturity she needed to face the lovebirds impassively.

Sam was engrossed in the front-page story about Reagan's speech at Brandenburg Gate, and nearly done with her java, when a beaming Tony launched the swinging door open and exclaimed, "Samantha! My Sammy-girl! Sam-a-lam-a-ding-dong! How was your sleepover?"

"Fine. How was yours?" she asked pointedly, folding the newspaper.

"Is that my coffee you're drinking?" he retorted playfully.

"Were you going to drink the whole pot?" she asked. "I just finished eighth grade, which means I'm practically in high school," she said, sitting tall in her chair.

"Gosh, Sam, I was planning to drink the whole pot. I was also planning to clean the whole house, but since you're so grown, so interested in sharing, you can help."

"Oh, that's quite alright. I have reading to do," she said, pushing her mug away in favor of the international news.

Angela waddled in, tore a banana off the bunch, and tossed it in her purse. "You need more than that," Tony said. "Hold on." He spun through the kitchen tossing snacks in the air and catching them in a paper lunch bag.

"Are you sure you can still drive?" Sam asked. Every day, she thought it was impossible for Angela to get any bigger, yet she seemed to be growing exponentially in every direction.

"Good morning to you, too," Angela snapped. "I can drive perfectly fine."

"Here, babe, in case you don't have time to sit down for lunch."

"Oh, Tony. I am so lucky. You're always watching out for me."

"I'm watching out for both of you," he said, framing her belly and leaning in to kiss her.

"How do we look?" Angela asked, twirling slowly in her sapphire blue empire-waist dress.

"Not for nothin', but Callista ain't stealing her mother's beauty," Tony answered with a glint in his eye.

"Thank you, honey."

"Course, she's a Micelli," he continued. "She's gonna be a looker one way or the other," he said smugly.

"You do make lovely girls," Angela said, giving Sam a warm smile. "Hey, is that coffee?" she asked.

"Don't you have to get going, Mom?" Sam deflected.

"Oh, yes. Right. Love you," she called to both Tony and Sam, as she rushed to the door.

"Love you, too!" they called back.

"Hey Dad? Not that I'm complaining, but isn't there someone missing?"

"Mona spent the night with Ricky at the Nottingham," Tony said absently.

"What about Jonathan?"

"Jonathan is still with his dad. I guess Michael and Frankie had some big news to share with him last night, and he didn't take it like they expected him to."

"Is he OK?" she asked. "It must be weird to go from being an only child to having three siblings in such a short time."

"You knew?" Tony asked, sitting backwards on a kitchen chair and resting his chin on his arms over its back.

"Jonathan told me at Lyle and Christy's wedding," Sam disclosed. "Between that and meeting his grandparents and great uncles again, he's been sort of freaked out."

"He's been talking to you about it?" he confirmed.

"Yeah, 'course he has." She gave her dad a look of disdain. "There are some things you just can't talk to your parents about."

"Oh. I see. Well, um, thanks," Tony said.

"No problem," Sam replied, picking up the news again.

"I appreciate you helping me with the house, too. Angela's nesting hasn't kicked in yet, and I don't think she's gonna be able to do much from here on out."

Sam rolled her eyes. "What do I have to do?" she asked.

"I made…a list!" Tony announced, revealing a long narrow piece of paper. He tore it in half. "Do as much as you can before one. Then we'll have a quick lunch and you can shower and change into your interview outfit.

"But my reading," she protested weakly.

"I'll turn on public radio," he said.

"What did your man pack for you, babe?" Antoine asked, tossing his head toward the paper bag as he applied bleach to his client's roots.

"I don't know, but I am getting hungry again already," Angela said. Antoine reached over and picked up the bag, handing it to Angela, who balanced it on top of her enormous bump. "Iced tea, jalapeno Crunch Tators, whole dates, and pineapple chunks," she told her stylist.

"Yum," he said politely. It was a random assortment, but at least nothing she brought was excessively odiferous.

"I think I'll have some pineapple now, she said, finding a plastic fork in the bottom of the bag. She opened the plastic container and spilled only a little juice onto her cape. "I should get one of these for home," she joked.

"Let me get that out of your way, babe" Antoine said, putting the rest of the stash back on his station's table before it could land on the floor.

Two hours later, Angela was well on her way to an even blonde from root to tip. She had managed to consume everything in the bag, including the fiery Crunch Tators, which required all sixteen ounces of iced tea. "I need another bathroom break," she said meekly.

"Sure. When you come back, we'll wash you," he advised.

Angela waddled to the toilet and lifted her skirt out of the way. Callista seemed to be launching herself off her mother's diaphragm, banging her head repeatedly on her bladder. It was probably the spicy chips, she guessed. After relieving herself, she washed her hands and went directly to the shampoo bowl. "It's looking perfect," Antoine reassured her. "Let's do a deep condish."

While the conditioning cream worked to mitigate the damage just inflicted on Angela's strands, the expectant mother felt her stomach start to cramp. Beads of sweat sprang up on her brow, and she gripped the arms of her chair. "Let me know if the water is too hot," Antoine reminded her. "You look a little…."

Angela squeezed her eyes closed and checked in with her body. This wasn't labor, she deduced. It was just something she ate. One of the many things she ate, much too quickly.

"I need to use the restroom again," she said while Antoine wrapped her hair in a towel.

"Yeah, babe, go on," he said, releasing the footrest and helping her stand.

"How many things have you checked off the list?" Tony asked Sam. It was nearly one in the afternoon, and he was finishing his allotment of chores.

"Two," she grumbled. "This house has a buttload of baseboards, Dad. You do know that Callista won't be crawling for months, right?"

"It's not about her getting dirty, it's about keeping the air in the house free of dust and dander," he lectured.

"Can I rest now?" she begged.

He took pity on her and nodded "I'll make you a sandwich," he said. "Chicken salad or tuna?"

"Dad, I don't eat tuna. The dolphins?" she said, exasperated.

"Right. Take a load off," he said, waving toward the couch. The phone rang as he entered the kitchen, and he picked up the red handset, tucking it against his shoulder as he opened the fridge. "Yellow!" he answered cheerfully.

"Hey, Tony."

"Mikey! What's up?"

"I was thinking Jonathan could stay with me until you and Angela get back from Sam's interview. Frankie and I don't have reservations at La Fleur until eight-thirty."

Tony couldn't resist the allure of gossip. "Oh yeah? You gonna pop the question?" he chuckled.

"No way! She's not ready for that kind of commitment."

"Gotcha. So just the baby?"

"We're talking about buying a house."

"Wow, Mike. That's really something! I think we should be back to pick Jonathan up around six."

"Is it alright if we stop by to grab his clarinet before you head out to Watertown?"

"Why don't we drop it off on our way there? Around two-fifteen?"

"That works. Thanks, Tone."

"Always a pleasure," Tony said, hanging up. He quickly toasted some bread and scooped prepared chicken salad into a bulging sandwich with lettuce. When he brought Sam's plate out, she was already asleep on the couch. "Caffeine crash?" he asked, rubbing her upper back gently. "I'll get you a Coke."

"Thanks, Dad," she said, sitting up to eat.

Angela burst through the front door carrying the thermos and Tupperware Tony had packed that morning. "Sweetie, you need to change!" she told Sam.

The teen choked down a mouthful. "I know, I know," she agreed. "You gonna eat?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry," Angela said honestly. Her stomach had just settled as she was leaving the salon.

"Your hair looks nice," Sam said around her lunch.

"Thank you."

"Who is this blonde bombshell?" Tony flirted. "You look amazing!" He set a soda can directly on the coffee table, rings be damned.

"Don't get used to it. In a couple of months, I'll be a slovenly, sleep-deprived brunette."

"Nothing more beautiful than a loving mother," he flattered, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Dude, I'm trying to eat," Sam complained. She shoved the last bit of sandwich in her mouth, left her plate on the coffee table, and took her Coke upstairs.

All three Micellis were able to get cleaned up and dressed nicely by two o'clock. Tony brought Jonathan's clarinet, Sam brought her invitation letter with directions to the admissions office, and Angela simply found her way into the passenger's seat of the Jeep.

When they stopped at Michael's apartment, Tony got out to drop off the instrument case. A familiar mop of dishwater blond darted right past him and toward the Jeep. "Mom!" Jonathan yelled. "Come look at my room!"

"Darling, we don't have time right now," Angela said, as she put her feet on the ground and started waddling toward the front door. "I'll look after we get back from your sister's new school."

"If she gets in," Tony said.

In the Jeep, Sam crossed her arms in protest. "I heard that!"

"Jonathan, we need to let them get on the road," Michael advised from the foyer. His girlfriend drifted past him, walking straight up to Angela without explanation. She didn't even think about why. It was as though some outside force was controlling her body.

"Oh shit!" Angela said, grabbing both of Frankie's hands tightly.

"What is it?" Frankie asked, her eyes going wide in panic.

"I just felt my water break," Angela whispered, a plea for help written on her face.

"No, you didn't," Tony scoffed. "You're not even having any contractions," he insisted, stepping to Frankie's side and reaching for his wife's shoulder. Angela turned her upper body slightly, and amniotic fluid poured onto the cement.

"Mom! You wet yourself!" Jonathan cried.

"I think she's telling the truth, Tony," Michael said, in his usual sardonic tone. "Son, go get some bath towels, would you?" he asked, pushing the boy into his apartment.

"What are we going to do?" Sam yelped. She expected her father to answer, but nobody did.

Jonathan returned with a tall stack of towels, and Frankie pulled out the one she found ugliest, putting it down on the front seat of the Jeep, then guiding Angela to sit on top of it. It was lucky she was wearing dark clothes. She decided to take control of the logistics, since the men seemed incapable or unwilling. If she later needed to apologize for overstepping, so be it. "Tony is going to drive Angela to the hospital. Michael and I are going to take you and Jonathan to Taft for your interview. And when we get there, we'll call home and check for messages."

Tony felt like he might black out. Michael took him by the shoulders. "You can do this. Just don't fuck it up or she'll never forgive you."

"No pressure," Tony said with a weak smile. "Thanks for taking the kids."

"It'll be fun," Michael said. "Jonathan can see my team's picture from the state basketball championship."

"Good luck, Samantha. I'm sorry about all this," Angela said.

"Hey, I'm the one who kept bugging you to have a baby with Dad," Sam said lightly. She hugged her mom and mumbled against her shoulder, "I hope it goes OK at the hospital."

"It'll be fine, sweetheart. I promise," Angela responded.

"You better be right," Sam said under her breath. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby."

"I wanna give her a hug, too!" Jonathan whined. He stepped up on the door frame when Sam was out of the way.

"We'll call and let you know what's going on as soon as we can, darling," Angela assured him.

"OK, Mom." He leaned his slight weight over her and squeezed tight.

"I love you so much," she said, not eager to release her firstborn.

"We gotta go!" Sam barked. Frankie was standing behind her protectively, mostly for Angela's benefit.

"Me too," Jonathan said with a serious expression. He let her kiss him on the cheek and jumped to the ground.

"The Harley Roberts Room is on the right as you enter. Just go up the stairs past the bust of Taft," Michael said, pulling over on Main Circle to drop Sam off as close as possible to her interview. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "You've got two minutes."

"Go get 'em!" Frankie said. "We'll find you after."

Jonathan didn't utter any words of encouragement. He was still on the fence about this whole boarding school thing.

Sam trotted up the walkway, under a gothic arch, and through the large wooden double doors. She was greeted by a recent graduate and led to a sitting room full of oriental rugs and tight back sofas. "Make yourself comfortable. Mr. Peters will be right out."

Michael found parking and led Frankie and Jonathan into Main Hall. He stopped in front of the trophy case. Jonathan was unimpressed, and he skipped down the hall to look at the debate team plaques. "You were a star basketball player?" Frankie asked, squinting at the team photo in disbelief.

"I wouldn't say that. I was on the bench most of my junior year, when we won the state championship. After that, my dad told me he'd made a large donation in exchange for a guaranteed place on the team. I refused to play my senior year." It was one of many fissures in their relationship.

Frankie stroked Michael's cheek. His privilege hadn't given him a happy childhood. She was thankful that she'd had to work for everything she had.

"Let's go rub Abe's nose for luck," he suggested, pulling out of the deeply vulnerable moment.

"So, you touch his nose and knock on the podium every time you pass?" Jonathan asked, looking up at the bust of Lincoln. "Doesn't that cause foot traffic to back up?"

"You're one smart kid," Michael told his son. "It's just a tradition, not something you have to do every time. During midterms and finals, it gets crowded, though."

"I wonder if Sam is done yet," Jonathan said.

"Let's go over to Admissions and wait for her," Michael offered.

"There's a pay phone!" Frankie said. "Why don't you check your messages first?"

"Alright." He dialed home and punched in the code to play his messages.

Hey gang, Angela isn't in labor yet. They're giving her IV antibiotics right now, and we'll go home after that. It's just a waiting game at this point. Hopefully she won't have to be induced.

Michael hung up and crouched down to speak to Jonathan. "Your mom is ok. She's not having the baby just yet, but it'll be soon."

"We should cancel our dinner reservations," Frankie said.

"Let's just regroup when we get home," he proposed.

"Alright."

The family of three sat together in the reception area of Admissions. Before long, a door opened, and a man's voice rang through the quiet space. "I'd love to meet your parents."

"Oh? Uh, funny story. They're not here," she started in a timid voice.

Michael was suddenly right next to her, an arm over her shoulder and a hand out to greet her admissions officer. "Kensington Peters? It's been ages," he said.

"Michael Bower? You're here with Samantha?" he asked, confused.

"I'm sure she was just about to tell you that her parents are having a baby. I had the pleasure of filling in today."

"Could I speak with you in my office?" Mr. Peters asked. "Privately?"

"Sure. Sam, I'll be right back."

"Thank you for your time, sir," Sam said. She backed away and walked over to Frankie and Jonathan.

"Nice office, Ken," Michael said as they entered a cherry-paneled room with velvet drapes.

"What is your relationship to the applicant?" he replied coldly.

"She's my son's sister. My ex-wife married her dad and adopted her."

"This is very delicate. See, Samantha would like to reside in our dorms."

"Yes?"

"And we're renovating over the summer, taking out all the triple rooms and making them doubles."

"So?"

"So we have a wait list for boarding. Legacies get priority, of course."

"Can you treat Sam as a legacy?"

"You understand, I'm sure, that our legacy policy is not just a matter of affiliation."

"So, even though her brother is a legacy, she's not?" Michael asked.

"Her mother has some financial means, but she's not what we would consider wealthy."

"What are you saying?"

"We're not going to get anything beyond tuition by admitting her. In fact, we'll be taking away a spot from a potential donor family."

"A family like mine," Michael guessed. The admissions officer nodded.

"I have discretion, but it would require a financial commitment for it to make sense."

Michael was surprised his old classmate didn't rub his fingers together to underline the hint. "I see," he said.

"Let me know if your parents are interested in putting their name on anything," Mr. Peters continued. "Bower Field has a nice ring to it."

Michael nodded slowly. The guy had never been anything but entitled. How appropriate that he was using the trait professionally. He decided to play along, if only to keep Sam's options open. "And how long would they have to make their wishes known?"

"A week or so. It really depends on the magnitude of the contribution."

"Thanks, Ken. I'll be in touch." They shook hands, in a cordial ritual of respect that neither felt. Michael returned to the seating area, where Frankie was promising the kids they'd find out more about their mom's situation as soon as they got back to Fairfield.

"Can we go right back?" Sam asked. "I know I was supposed to tour campus…." She trailed off. It was ridiculous to wander around looking at ivy-covered brick when Angela was in the hospital. Jonathan was quiet, but he met her gaze and gave her a tiny nod of agreement.

"Of course," Michael said. "Let's go."