Maybe Baby Page 15

  Beyond the kitchen door, in the dark of the garage, Rusty was sitting in his car, Judy knew. All day he’d sat out there, smoking cigars, listening to talk radio. She wondered if Henry’s song ever came on, what his voice would sound like through the speakers —a voice that had come out of her, now rippling through static, playing back to her that first primal cry in the birthing room.

  Judy sighed. Why hadn’t she taken an interest? From the first moment Henry announced that he was saving for a guitar with the money from his paper route, she’d bristled. And when he began practicing in the basement, his voice wailing through the vents, she’d always found a reason to leave the house. Before that, there had been Carson’s crooning falsetto, a sound she loved, the mornings she awoke to him practicing his warm-ups, like an angel calling her from sleep. Those had been sweeter days, she reasoned, the whole family together.

  Then the angel he was disappeared, her dear blond boy. One morning, the house silent, no voice in the vents, just Rusty breathing beside her. She’d crept to the top of the basement stairs, waited, her breath already tightening in her chest. Step by step, she’d descended, feeling a heaviness enter her feet, a heaviness that had still not left.

  The air in the basement was still, both bedroom doors closed. Please let him be sleeping, she thought as she gripped the knob to Carson’s room, pressing her forehead to the door. But his room was empty, the bed made, the walls padded with neat rows of bright, square rugs—a patchwork of hearts and stars, flowers and birds, forest scenes and still lifes of fruit. And there, on the floor by his twin bed, was a new rug, his final yarn opus. From a cream background, two faces stared up at her. The face on the right was an image of Rusty, his narrow eyes woven in angry yellow; his mouth, bent into a frown at the corners, was open with a snake slithering out. Judy shuddered. To the left was a woman in profile, red lips pursed, eyes closed. Above the heads, black yarn formed the words Who are these people?

  Over and over, Judy read the words, studied the faces, her head shaking. An ache started at the back of her throat and moved, like vines, down through her knees and ankles. While the rest of the house slept, Judy crept out the back door and stuffed the rug into one of the trash cans behind the house, struggling to close the lid, fighting back tears.

  Back inside, she’d pulled Carson’s door closed and swore never to think of the rug again, to void it from her mind. Only then did she realize she was standing by his door, eyes closed, lips pursed.

  The steam from the eggs was becoming more than Judy could stand. Her face and neck were wet, her cheeks burning. Below her, six eggs sat perfectly still in the water. One by one, she lifted them out with a slotted spoon and placed them gingerly in the deep pockets of her robe—three in one pocket, three in the other—then opened the door to the garage and stood in the doorway.

  The air was thick with smoke, the windows to the car all open. No sound. “If you showed some interest,” she heard Gretchen say.

  “Rusty?” Judy called into the cloudy dark. In a far corner, she could just make out last year’s Christmas tree, its glinting ornaments still stuck to the plastic needles. “Rusty,” she said again, her voice just above a whisper. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Rusty sat in the driver’s seat, eyes closed. His hands were folded over his stomach, his head bent low, but Judy could tell he was not asleep. His cigar, resting in an old metal soap dish on the dash, was still aglow.

  Judy rounded the front of the car and opened the passenger-side door, frowning distastefully at the smell. She slid into the seat carefully, the eggs jostling in her pockets, then pulled the door closed.

  “I’m done talking,” Rusty said thinly.

  Judy leaned forward and turned the knob to the radio. “Then it’s time we listen.”

  Chapter 11

  THE PARTY

  In the morning, Gretchen awoke from an intense kick. She touched her belly and drew her knees inward to pacify the being inside. No luck. It thumped like something caught in a trap. Gretchen sat up on her elbow and put her hand on Ray’s sleeping chest, letting her fingers wander through the dark forest that had seeded itself across his sternum and down his midriff. What if, she thought, this baby comes out like a little hairy Ray? She laughed to herself, then realized it was the first time she had ever pictured the child as a particular sex. Until now, it had always been just that: an itty-bitty it-child. As she had sewed up the black onesies and even readied the second bedroom with a fresh coat of muted loden and a changing table from Hael made of pickled birch with a gray changing pad, she had never given any thought to the fact that this child really would be a male or female, even if its identity would be shielded from others during its early childhood years.

  That seemed weird, newly and oddly. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she could hold on to such a big secret for such a long time. What if she let it slip? Then what? Hael had assured her that once she got into the rhythm of it, she’d forget—change the diapers, pat the back, with no real consideration of it one way or another. Of course, there would be inherent challenges. You couldn’t really ask someone to babysit for long periods of time or depend on someone outside the community to change a diaper, not without swearing them to secrecy. And even then you put all of your trust in their hands. Outside of the community, it was a no-man’s-land. You were an anomaly, you and your mystery child.

  And later on—what then? How might this child adapt to society? When it realized it had been raised differently from other kids, would it rebel? Would it develop some bizarre scar, a repressed sensibility? Would it function normally?

  The ceiling above Gretchen seemed too bright, the thin bedsheet too heavy. She pushed it back and closed her eyes—this was just anxiety. Hael had warned her of this. Hael’s own parents had been relentless with their questions until she simply cut them off, leaving their phone calls unreturned, their letters unopened. Glyn’s parents were so horrified that they asked him not to speak to them until he was ready to act like a normal human being. Gretchen drew strength from these stories. It was possible to start anew, possible to divorce yourself from such scrutiny with the help of an accepting community. She felt lucky, so lucky now to be living here in this place, according to her will. She felt sure she was doing the right thing and secure that no one and nothing could undermine it.

  Even Henry had said, “Wow, you’re—wow—you’re my hero.”

  There was a knock at the front door. Ray stirred but did not open his eyes. Gretchen grabbed on to the edge of the bedside table and hoisted herself up off the futon. She lumbered through the living room, where the shades were still drawn, and opened the door.

  Hael stood there in a black bathrobe, her eyes pink-rimmed and puffy. “I had to come see you.” She hiccupped. “We were up half the night with M16 crying out for a granny.”

  Gretchen pressed her lips together and stepped back. Hael shuffled into the kitchen and sank down into a chair, plunking her elbows on the table. “So you know what I did this morning?” She looked up at Gretchen, who ran a hand over her belly as she moved toward the stove. “I got on the phone and I called Glyn’s parents and I called my parents.” She paused. “I told them the kids want to meet their grandparents.”

  “Wow.” Gretchen spooned some loose tea into cups from a mason jar and put on her teakettle.

  “Glyn is furious with me, but I had to do it. I mean, M16 wants grandparents, and I just feel terrible for depriving the kids of a relationship with them.”

  “Wow,” Gretchen said again, sitting down at the other end of the table. She bit her lip.

  “I mean, what were we thinking? What were we thinking we’d tell the kids—that we came from outer space? That we had no parents, no siblings? They would have figured it out sooner or later and then resented us for not telling them the truth. I mean, isn’t that just the saddest thing you’ve ever heard—a kid crying out in bed for a grandmother? It really crushes me. I feel like I’ve gone about this all wrong.” Hael withdrew
a Kleenex from the pocket of her robe and pressed it to her eyes. “I’ve been so obsessed with my own ways of parenting that I’ve completely deprived them of an extended family.”

  “Listen.” Gretchen extended her hand to Hael, then drew it suddenly back to her tummy. “Ow. It’s really active in the mornings.”

  Hael smiled weakly. “I really admire you and Ray . . .”—she sobbed a little—“for not giving up on your families. At some point we’ve got to acknowledge what we’re doing here, that it’s pretty far out.” She sniffed. “We can’t expect everyone to embrace it.”

  Gretchen nodded and continued to rub her belly. She had one hope just then, and one hope only—that her water wouldn’t break that night at Sunny’s birth party.

  That evening, Gretchen tried on different balloonish black and brown dresses, then dug through the bag she’d prepared for the hospital and pulled out an oversize black T-shirt and Ray’s rainbow sarong. Go bright, she thought. Why not? When Ray came out of the bathroom in jeans and a light sweater, she swatted him with a towel. “Be more fun,” she teased.

  “I don’t feel like fun,” he said. “Mind if I do a few stretches before we leave?”

  Gretchen followed him into the living room and over to his mat. “What’s the matter?” She swayed over him, adjusting the sarong around her belly. “You’ve acted strange ever since your mother arrived.”

  “Too much family,” he said. “Makes me edgy.” He rolled onto his stomach and went into a camel pose.

  “Well, I think it’s great.” Gretchen crossed her arms. “I think you’ve just got stage fright.”

  Ray breathed.

  “You’re spending too much time working. You need to relax, have fun with this.” She nudged him with a toe.

  “You’re so carefree?” Ray unfurled. “A month ago you stormed out of the house because I invited Sunny to the birth.”

  “It was an enlightened decision on your part.”

  Ray gripped her ankle. “Get down on the floor with me.”

  “You’ll be responsible for pulling me back up,” she warned, grimacing.

  “Done and done,” he said.

  This time when they pulled up to Sunny’s condo, Judy was on the balcony to wave at them. “Hello down there,” she called, one hand cupped around her mouth. “You’re not going to believe your eyes when you get to the top of the stairs,” she bellowed.

  “Is she drunk?” Gretchen murmured, shielding her face to look up at Judy, who leaned precariously over the railing.

  “It looks like she’s got on my mother’s muumuu,” said Ray. He gave Gretchen a wink and took her hand.

  “What do you think they’ve got planned up there?” Gretchen waddled along with her hand on the knot of her sarong, conscious that at any moment it might come loose.

  “If it’s like any of my mother’s parties,” Ray said, “it will be a little over the top.”

  Gretchen shrugged.

  “It might even be very over the top.”

  The doorman greeted them with a teasing grin. “I know just where you’re headed. Have a beautiful night.” He tipped his cap. Gretchen felt him watching them all the way to the elevator.

  Up four floors and ka-ching, the metal doors parted. Gretchen stepped out, looked down the hall toward 414 and stopped short. “Oh, my God,” she said, “is that what I think it is?”

  The doorway to 414 was surrounded with a ring of black faux fur, and the door itself was painted to look like a very abstract pink flower. From the other side of the door a voice sang out, “Come into the living womb!”

  Ray shook his head and reached forward to take the knob. “Wait,” Gretchen said. “I just want to stand in this moment. This . . .”—she paused—“is so great.”

  “Surprise!” Sunny cried out when they opened the door a moment later. She and Judy bounded forward in identical muumuus, tossing up handfuls of red confetti. Gretchen stepped back, startled and giggling. “You guys are wild,” she said.

  “This is a little weird, frankly, Mother,” Ray said, his voice dour.

  “Come here, baby,” Sunny said, grabbing her son by the shoulders and maneuvering him into the kitchen as if she were pushing a shopping cart. “Let’s get a drink into you.” She pressed a smoothie into his hands and plunged a straw into it. A tiny plastic baby was glued near the top.

  After a moment, Judy drew up to Gretchen’s side, her face flushed. “I’m having the best time,” she gushed. Then she whispered, “I’ve been here all day. It was my idea to decorate the door like a vagina.” Judy wrung her hands and went from flushed in the cheeks to a full-on blush from the neck up.

  Gretchen caught herself on a sleek iron bookshelf to keep from toppling over in shock. “You?”

  Judy nodded to one side, then the other, as if to a small crowd around her feet. “Well”—she waved a hand—“Sunny did most of it.” She hiccupped, then broke into a full round of nervous giggles.

  Gretchen caught sight of Rusty standing alone in the far corner of the room with a beer. He was facing a row of long windows that overlooked the lake. Without seeing his face, Gretchen read his scowl.

  “What’s with Dad?” she asked her mother.

  Judy shook her head and batted at the air with both hands as if she were dispersing flies. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably just grouchy. He just got here and has hardly said hello to anyone.”

  “You drove down here separately?”

  Judy shrugged but offered no explanation.

  “Well, I hope he doesn’t try to drive home by himself too late. He can barely see.” She furrowed her brow, rubbing one arm absentmindedly.

  “Listen,” Judy said casually, leaning in close. “Let’s both just have a good time, shall we?”

  “Dad.” Gretchen reached around her belly to give Rusty a hug and was surprised when she met his eyes by how sunken his face looked. His hair looked strangely straggly—not that he had much up there but a patchy gray nest, but he had always been extremely fastidious about cutting it; now it wisped out over his ears. It was only a matter of weeks since she’d seen him, and already he seemed to have changed, or maybe it was just more obvious here by the window with the clean light coming off the lake.

  “Hey,” he said. His voice sounded forcibly cheerful as he patted Gretchen’s back.

  “Have you lost weight, Dad?” Gretchen asked.

  “Aww, it’s nothing,” he said. It was his old firm tone. “Looks like you’re gaining for me.”

  “Tell me.” She swayed in place. “I feel like I could pop and drop it any minute.” Then she took his hand. “Come on in the kitchen. Have you met everyone?”

  “I’m good here.” Rusty stood firm, raised his beer. “Just enjoying the view of the water.”

  “So you’ve met Klaus?” Gretchen asked, looking up to see Judy spinning out of the kitchen with a plate of what looked like deviled eggs. There was music playing, and Judy seemed to know the words.

  “Is this Cat Stevens?” Gretchen asked Rusty.

  “Hell if I know,” Rusty said under his breath. “Maybe.”

  “I’m surprised Mom knows the words. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sing along to music.”

  Rusty sat back against one of the couches and slung his arm over a pink cushion. “It’s her new thing,” he said. “Last night she forced me to listen to the radio with her in the car.”

  Gretchen put a finger to her lips, then bent over to speak in his ear. “Promise not to be a crank tonight. Sunny and Klaus are really nice.”

  Rusty just raised his eyebrows and gave Gretchen a quick two-fingered salute.

  Out on the balcony, Gretchen was surprised to find Klaus manning the grill in khaki shorts and what looked like plastic breasts under his apron.

  “Hej,” he said to Gretchen, offering a too-bright smile that revealed two lines of long, thin teeth. “That’s ‘hello’ in Swedish.”

  “Ahhh.” Gretchen leaned against the balcony and set her feet together. “What about that getu
p there? A little Nordic fetish?”

  Klaus pulled aside his chef’s apron to reveal a jumbo rubber breast with a garishly painted nipple. “Just for parties,” he said, bobbing his head happily.

  Judy swung out in her muumuu, holding what Gretchen was glad to see looked like a glass of water. “Have you checked out the hors d’oeuvres?” Judy asked, pointing to the patio table behind Klaus. The tablecloth was fashioned out of the same material as the muumuus and tied at the corners with pacifiers. There was a platter of raw veggies with dip served in baby-food jars, a tray of Judy’s deviled eggs with tiny cutouts of baby faces stuck to toothpicks, and to top it all, some sort of molded shrimp dip in the shape of an infant sucking its thumb.

  “Sunny really knows how to throw a party,” Judy said, stabbing at the molded infant’s foot with a knife and smearing it onto an oval cracker.

  “Okay, everybody!” Sunny’s cry came from the kitchen, and the next minute she poked her head out onto the balcony, her mouth wide open to reveal all her bottom teeth carpeted in gold fillings. “Is everyone ready for their baby bib?” She closed her jaws and bestowed her best coral smile on Gretchen. “I’m just kidding, honey, but I do have champagne”—and here she thrust an arm out from behind her—“in a bottle!”

  Sunny hooted at her own joke and clapped a hand to her chest. “You first,” she said, extending a big white baby bottle to Gretchen. “Just a sip.”

  “I’m still nursing my smoothie.”

  “Ha! Great pun. She’s one of us!” Sunny spun around, carrying the bottle high up in the air, and marched to the table as if she were leading millions.

  Gretchen exchanged glances with her mother and smiled, pleased by the general spirit of gaiety, even if Sunny was beginning to get just a teensy-weensy bit on her nerves. When she entered the living room, she was glad to see Ray and her father sitting together on the couch by the window.