“Your terminology could use a little work,” I replied, smiling and wiping my eyes. “But I’ll give you some credit for not referring to it as a ‘parasite.’”
“Thank God, that was my second choice.” He hesitated for a moment, then straightened up and pulled me against him, tightly. “I love you, Madeline.”
“I love you too,” I said, muffled against him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”
“For the love of God. Stop apologizing.” He laughed, pulling away. “Do you want to tell anyone?”
I shook my head. “Not right away. You’re supposed to wait. Right?”
“I suppose so,” he said, laughing a little. “I have no idea.”
Neither one of us knew what on earth we were doing. For some reason, that thought didn’t scare me as much as it ought to have.
Six
As expected, the blood test also came back positive. By that point I’d gotten myself so used to the idea that I hardly reacted. I just kept nodding into the phone, not realizing that I was failing to verbalize anything until the nurse said “Mrs. Thorne, are you there?”
She ended the phone call with “congratulations,” which sounded pretty heartfelt. I thanked her, and hung up. I’d already spent the better part of the last two days mainlining all the information I could possibly handle, and then some: what was normal to expect at each stage of pregnancy? Formula or breastfeeding? Cloth diapering or disposable? And of course, the most hotly debated topic of all: to circumcise, or not?
Me personally, I just hoped I’d never have a boy so I could avoid the issue entirely.
My head was already overflowing with the number of things that could go wrong - and the number of things that were going to be nearly unbearable, even if they went right. I knew Daniel was going to take care of me, but I still felt strangely frightened and alone.
But after a while, I just gave up worrying.
I don’t know if I’d just exhausted my brain, but after a while I just sort of fell into a calm acceptance. I gathered up wine bottles out of the cabinets and bagged them up. I could always save them for later, but between the nine-plus months of pregnancy and however long I wanted to breastfeed, if I decided to, it made just as much sense to pass them along to someone else who might appreciate them. I was sure Lindsey would take them, if she’d be in town anytime soon. She usually visited whenever she had a meeting in the city.
Of course I couldn’t really give them to her unless I’d already decided to tell her I was pregnant. It wasn’t like I would just give up wine of my own accord.
“Do you think Lindsey would believe me if I told her I was giving up wine to lose weight?” I asked Daniel as he walked into the room.
He eyed me for a moment. “No,” he said, finally, heading for the fridge.
“I’m not sure if that’s meant to be ‘no, because you look beautiful just the way you are’ or ‘no, because you’re a raging alcoholic,’ so I won’t say thank you,” I replied. “But I really want to get this wine out of the house.”
“She’s going to assume you’re pregnant no matter what you say,” he pointed out, taking a swig from a bottle of water after he spoke. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “But, by all means, give her the wine next time she’s up. She’ll be thrilled. But there’s no way she’s going to believe for a second that you’re not pregnant.”
Thankfully, he seemed to know better than to try and suggest that I throw the wine away. What a mortifying idea. What a waste of perfectly good wine.
“Actually, we might be at the twelve-week mark by the time she’s back in town,” I said. “I’ll probably just tell her then.”
Daniel just shrugged.
It was odd, how well we’d seemed to settle into the idea of having a child. In a way I supposed it didn’t yet seem quite real, so we were able to dance around the idea lightly, taking each new challenge as it came. Although admittedly, so far the biggest challenge had been figuring out what to do with all the wine.
My phone started buzzing in my pocket. Suddenly, I realized just how much of a challenge it was going to be to talk to anyone for the next six weeks or so. “Hi, how are you? Oh, good, I’m just, you know, PREGNANT.”
I glanced at the number. It was Curtis, the gallery owner who’d first given me a chance on some of my drawings. I practically had to physically stop myself from leading with the exciting news.
“Hey, how are you?” he said, sounding tired.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“I know,” he said. He sounded like he was pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
I frowned. “Yeah? What’s going on?”
He let out a long, deep sigh. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the last couple shows didn’t really bring in much business.”
“I’m not going to lie,” I replied. “But, I figured that was just a result of my waning stardom.”
I could hear him smiling. “Well, maybe. It sure would be nice to have something to blame other than just pure inevitability. But that’s how it is. If you ask an economist they’ll tell you the recession is over, but it sure doesn’t look like that from my end of things.”
“Uh oh.” I sat down.
“Uh oh is right.” He cleared his throat. “I just got my lease renewal in the mail. I know this neighborhood’s been getting more and more industrial and business-oriented, and my landlord’s been wanting to be able to fill it up with something a little more lucrative - an anchor to bring in more traffic to the other buildings he owns on this block. The more business they do, the more rent he can get away with charging. He’s been jacking up my rent for ages, hoping I won’t be able to pay. But I’ve always found a way to. But this - he knows I can’t afford this.”
“Let me help you,” I said, almost without thinking. “I mean - a loan or a grant or something. Whatever people do in these situations.”
“You’re sweet,” said Curtis. “But I don’t want to put the gallery on life support. It just can’t keep itself going anymore. In a way, I guess my landlord’s almost being merciful by trying to cut things off quickly.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “Thing is, I can hardly argue with him. This place just isn’t a good fit for my gallery. It probably never was. But at the time, it was cheap; it seemed like the place to go. People liked it. But things have changed. It’s just not feasible anymore. I certainly don’t like it, but it’s time to face up to reality.”
I felt a strange, sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. After all the shows I’d done, all the time I’d put into that gallery - now it was just going to shutter up? It had never occurred to me that something like this might happen.
“This is awful,” I said, finally, in a feeble attempt to verbalize what was running through my head.
“It is awful,” he said. “And inevitable. I’ve been ignoring it for as long as I could, but the fact of the matter is, the community of artists that used to support this place has moved on. They got their corporate jobs, or they found their success on their own - whatever pulled them away, it worked. They’re gone, and the buyers are gone…there’s just nothing that justifies keeping this place open, except my own unforgivable sentimentality.”
I had to smile. “That seems like a good enough reason to me.”
“I know, I know. I can’t blame you. But it’s really better this way.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I guess my point, besides just letting you know, is that you’re more than welcome to bring some pieces down that you want to sell. Closures are great for business. I’ll have some empty spots in no time, just as soon as word gets out.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” I could barely even think about my drawings right now. “I’ll come down if I think of anything. Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do.”
“You’re a peach. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I laid my phone down on the counter, trying to absorb the news. It was strange; I knew galleries closed all the time, I had been noticing that not much had been selling at Starra lately. But it had never occurred to me that one day, it might just be…gone.
He was right, too, about the money just being a temporary solution. It was fruitless to keep a gallery open if no one was going to come.
Daniel was wandering back into the room.
“You look pensive,” he said. “You weren’t reading about birth defects again, were you?”
I shook my head. “Starra Gallery is closing.”
“That’s a shame.” He fiddled with his ring. “Anything we can do?”
“Not really. It’s just dying a natural death.” I spun around, slowly, on my stool. “You know, like these things do.”
He sat down next to me, looking like he was on the verge of saying something, but couldn’t quite force it out.
“Go on,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
He took a deep breath, and let it out.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About the whole…” he hesitated, chewed on his lip for a moment, and then began again. “Are you going to tell your parents?”
“Of course I’m going to tell my parents. Just, you know. Later on.” I cleared my throat. “Twelve weeks. Same as everybody else.”
His face told me he was assuming I’d put it off. And God damn it, he was right. I didn’t want to. I really, really didn’t want to.
“I just think our kid should have grandparents,” he said. “Even if they’re not perfect.”
“You know,” I said, looking at him. “My parents aren’t the only ones in the equation anymore.”
He stood up and walked away.
***
“You know, it’s not that I don’t like my father.”
I opened my eyes. In the pitch blackness of the bedroom - Daniel Thorne, prima donna extraordinaire, could simply not sleep with a nightlight on - I could hardly see him. But I was pretty sure he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“Okay,” I said, making an effort to switch my half-asleep brain back on.
“Assuming for a moment that he is my father,” Daniel added. “Which by the way - for the record - I still think is highly, highly unlikely.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.” I rolled over to face him, as if it mattered.
“I know you’re just thinking, what’s the harm? Why not try to meet him? Why not just give it a whirl, for the hell of it? Either way, it’s going to be an incredible story to tell at parties.”
“Well,” I said. “That would be a nice side effect.”
“The thing is, Maddy, the thing is…” There was a moment’s hesitation. “He’s toxic. And he doesn’t mean to be. He never means to be. I’m not saying, god, I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad he’s out of my life. But when I think about the possibility of interacting with him again…”