. . . . .
Monica and Loralei organized my only baby shower, and it was just the three of us. And it was perfect. I had really grown close to them over the last several months. It was nice to have real girlfriends again.
At our little shower, Monica asked how long I was going to keep it from my parents.
“I’ll tell them after it happens,” I said. “I don’t want to deal with all of that while I’m pregnant.”
“Plus,” Loralei added, “maybe they’ll be so happy to be grandparents they’ll just let it go.”
“Doubtful,” I said, folding up a jumper Monica had given me for the baby. “Plus, I hate the idea of using the baby as a buffer in my relationship with them.”
“Oh, sorry,” Loralei said.
“It’s fine.”
The subject quickly turned to other things, and we sat on Monica’s deck, eating cake and enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon.
. . . . .
Max came home from shooting the film one evening and said Anthony and Carl had been giving him a hard time about not having a bachelor party.
“So have one,” I said. I was sitting just outside the den on the patio. I had my iPad with me and I was out there watching episodes of Dexter online. I had paused the show and was watching Max at the bar, as he made a White Russian, and he looked up at me when I said it.
“What?” I said.
“You’re encouraging me to have a bachelor party. You do know what goes on at bachelor parties, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Drinking, strippers…”
He walked over and sat down next to me. “And you’re okay with that.”
I shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like you’re going to fuck them. Plus, maybe they’ll get you all worked up and you can come home and fuck me.”
Max swallowed the sip of his drink and let out a little laugh. “I don’t need strippers to prime me in order to fuck you, Olivia.”
“What if I said you could bring one home and we could have a threesome with her?”
Without hesitating, he said, “I’d say you were asking me a trick question. Good try.”
“Good answer,” I said, moving over to his chair and cuddling up next to him.
. . . . .
Max’s mother called me late one morning and said she needed to talk.
I resented being put in this position, and certainly didn’t need the pressure.
“Paula, just like I said last time, I can’t keep anything you say from Max.”
“I know, honey,” she said. She’d never called me that, and I wondered if it was an honest outpouring of affection or if she was trying to get on my good side before she broke some even worse news than what she’d told me before.
“Maybe it’s not a good idea at all,” I said.
“I really need to talk. Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in the driveway.”
Shit!
So much for keeping the pregnancy from her. I ran through all my alternatives, and none of them were good.
I suppose I could have been firm and told her that it wasn’t a good idea for her to be at the house until she talked to Max, but I would still need to do that face to face. Telling her over the phone or through the intercom speaker at the front door would have raised all kinds of new weirdness.
I could have called Max and asked him what he thought I should do, but he was busy, deep into the shooting of the movie, and there was no way I was going to add this to his to-do list.
“You’re here?” I asked, for no other reason than to stall for time.
“Yes, can I please come in? Or could we talk on the front porch, at least? This is really important. I took a chance just stopping by. I wasn’t even sure you were home but I see your car. Why are you home, anyway?”
This was my chance to get out of revealing the fact that I was pregnant, and somehow — pure luck, I suppose — the answer came to me.
“I sprained my ankle.”
“Oh, no. Is it bad?”
“Yeah,” I said, making my way to the front door, unlocking it and heading quickly to the kitchen. As quietly as I could, I put a bunch of ice cubes in a plastic bag, wrapped it in a towel, then made my way to the couch. I reclined, putting my leg up, with the towel-covered bag of ice draped over it. Then I bunched up a blanket, put it over my belly, then added a throw pillow for more bulk, and rested my hand on it. It must have looked ridiculous, but it was the only thing I could come up with on the spot.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
I sighed. “Just come on in. The door’s unlocked.”
Then I remembered the wedding ring, and slipped it off, placing it under a pile of scripts on the coffee table.
“You leave your door unlocked when Max isn’t here?”
“No, I just unlocked it for you and had to get back to the couch.”
A couple of minutes later, she was standing in front of me, eyeing my wrapped ankle and insisting that I let her make me lunch.
“It’s fine, really,” I said. I hated being deceptive with her, but I really had no choice. I couldn’t go behind Max’s back and let his mother know that she was about to be a grandmother. That was up to Max, on his terms, on his own timing.
It was uncomfortable seeing her again, and I know she felt the same way toward me. I wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible, so I told her I was waiting on an important phone call and that I’d probably be tied up for the better part of an hour once the call came in.
“Okay,” she said, “I understand. I know you two are very busy. Max is probably lost without you on the set.”
“I’m sure he’s fine.”
She fidgeted for a moment, then said directly: “I told Max’s father I couldn’t speak with him anymore.”
Now, that I was not expecting. I had been sure she was going to try to get me to talk to Max, soften him up, and help her get him to understand. But this was a much welcome turn of events.
I almost moved enough to dislodge the blanket and pillow covering my baby bump, but I managed to control myself. “Really,” I said flatly, almost shocked.
She nodded. “I think what happened was…” She began to tear up, but I couldn’t move toward her to comfort her. “Sorry,” she said, regaining her composure. “I think I wanted normalcy in my life again, and for a long time that’s what he was for me. But that longing for nostalgia wore off. It’s actually been several weeks. It was just now that I decided to eat crow and come over here.”