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“Please don’t call me that.”

Still embraced, we both cracked up.

After a few minutes, Laura declared that she needed coffee badly. As for me, I continued making the salsa.

“So…how was last night?” I asked with a giggle.

“Great,” she smiled.

I started clapping and shouted, “Yay!!”

Laura laughed.

The morning continued to improve when Isabelle woke up. Seeing her face brought everything back to reality. How thankful I was for her! After breakfast, I dropped her off at the gymnastics place. Then I decided it was time to call Preston. Laura had gone back to sleep, so I figured I’d get it over with. I stepped outside and sat on my back porch, looking at my beautiful garden, ironically the same place I’d chosen to tell Preston he was going to be a father, and I called.

“Hi,” I said when he answered.

“Hi, Baby!”

There was no need for small talk. I didn’t try to cushion it and I didn’t try to tell him lightly, I guess because there was no nice or easy way to say it. So I just simply said it.

“I lost the baby.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I had a miscarriage,” I said flatly.

The silence that followed was torturous. Waiting for his reaction was painful. Finally, after what seemed like ten minutes, he spoke. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, “I mean, are you in pain?”

God, he was sweet. Preston’s gut reaction made me realize what a genuinely good-hearted person he was.

“Not really. A little bit maybe,” I answered.

“I’m really sorry.” Now he appeared to be in somewhat of a daze, and I got the feeling he was having a hard time grasping the news.

“I am too.” My eyes welled up with tears. “I really mean it. I would have loved to have had your baby, Preston.” Was I lying? I wasn’t sure.

There was more awkward silence. A strange feeling suddenly crept up on me. It seemed as if the two of us had just lost the road map that had shown us how to connect. I now felt like I was on the phone with a stranger. “Say something,” I finally said.

“I seriously have no idea what to say.”

“Well then, I guess we should hang up.”

“Let me call you later,” he said, “Is that okay?”

His words were unconvincing and as I said good-bye, I wondered if I was ever going to talk to him again. I realized right then how little I knew this man, whose baby I had actually committed to having. What was even worse was the fact that if I never heard from him again, I wasn’t so sure I cared.

Everything had suddenly become so confusing. How could I have craved him and wanted to have his baby one minute, and felt so disconnected the next? I was beyond mixed up and messed up and screwed up. I was a basket case who needed one thing at this moment: more sleep. I went upstairs and plopped down on my bed, my eyes closing seconds later. And then I slept. And interestingly enough, I dreamed about Luke.

His arms were wrapped around me and I was kissing him, not only with my lips but with all of me, my core, my bones, my veins and my blood, as if I needed him to know that although we were technically platonic friends, he was already buried deep in my heart.

We kissed and kissed, and Luke made me feel secure and protected and out of danger. I felt a sense of calmness, as if being in his arms would make everything okay. Ironically, though, the intensity of my feelings were making Luke dangerous to me. As long as his soft lips were on mine, covering them and keeping them warm and cozy, I was anything but calm. I was panicky, actually, unable to deal with the intense feelings and vulnerability taking over my soul.

All of a sudden, Luke stopped kissing me. He put his hand on my belly and asked, “What do we have here?”

I looked down and suddenly I had this big round pregnant stomach. I was eight months pregnant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Luke,” I said, “It’s gone. There’s nothing here.”

Luke looked down again. “Are you sure?”

That’s when I woke up. My heart was pounding. I sat up, realizing I was dreaming. I felt unbelievably relieved, but it was a bit strange that I had just had such an intense kissing dream about Luke. Then again, spending time at the beach with him had been incredible, and even with everything going on, he was lodged in my head. Or let’s be honest, maybe in my heart, too.

.

Chapter 17

I
ronically, just like the day Laura moved in with me, it was pouring down rain with thundering and lightning the day Helene packed up and left her husband of more than four decades to move in.

When she called my cell phone to tell me she was five minutes away, I told her to wait in the car, and that I’d pull my car out of the garage so she could pull hers in. That way, we’d be able to unpack the car without being outside.

The minute Mom got out of her car, though, no one unpacked anything. Instead, Helene started to cry. Right there in my garage, I held my mother in my arms while she sobbed for what seemed like a long time.

“Where’s Izzie?” she finally asked.

“She’s inside reading a book with Laura.”

“I don’t want her to see me crying,” said Helene.

“Okay,” I said, wiping my mom’s tears with the sleeve of my shirt.

“I just can’t forgive him,” she said, “And I’m not so sure he’s sorry for what he did.” She was no longer crying, but the look of sorrow on her face was almost worse.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said, putting my hand on her arm, which seemed so little to me now, so fragile. The rock solid, strong mother I had known all my life now seemed weak and wounded all of a sudden.

“Go inside and relax,” I said, “I’ll bring the stuff in.”

Laura told me later that the second Mom walked in, Isabelle asked, “Grandma, are you crying?”

“Oh no,” Helene lied, “I have awful allergies.”

“I think my dad had allergies, right Aunt Laura?” she asked.

“Yes, I remember that,” my sister answered.

That night, the four of us had dinner together and my mother explained to Izzie that she was going to be staying with us for a little while.

“I know. I saw the suitcases.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” asked Izzie, “Did you have a fight with Grandpa?”

“They’re just taking a little time apart from each other,” I explained gently.

“Are you getting a divorce?” she asked.

“No!” I interjected.

My mother looked at her, “Maybe, sweetie.”

Izzie looked really scared.

“But please don’t worry about it,” my mother continued, “Grandma’s very strong. Whatever happens, I’ll be okay. And I’ll always love you. And so will Grandpa.”

Izzie got tears in her eyes and then so did I. ‘How much more could she take?’ I wondered. First, her dad dies, then her aunt gets separated and moves in with us. Now, her grandparents were splitting up, with her grandmother becoming another houseguest. If I was still pregnant and had to tell her she was also going to have another sibling, I wasn’t so sure she could have handled that piece of news. I found myself thinking that there really was truth to the statement, “Things happen for a reason.”

After three games of
Operation
, seven hands of
Uno
, and four books, I put Izzie to bed.

“Is Grandma going to be okay?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Will I ever see Grandpa again?”

“Yes! He’s my dad. Why wouldn’t you see him?”

“At least he’s not going to die.”

“What?”

“Well, divorce is better than dying.”

“Yes, I suppose it is, smart girl.”

“I am smart, just like my dad, right?”

I leaned over and kissed her on each cheek. “Yes, you are very smart just like your dad.”

When I came downstairs, two women were seated at the kitchen table eating salsa. That’s when I decided to tell my mother about the pregnancy and the miscarriage. Laura actually held my hand while I spoke.

My mother listened the whole time, never interrupting with comments or questions. A look of shock was on her face throughout my entire story.

“So, are you completely disgusted?” I asked.

“Disgusted?” my mother responded, her eyes welling up with tears, “No, I’m not disgusted. I’m very sorry that happened to you.”

“Thanks for being such a cool mom,” I said. She really was. Here was a woman in her late sixties, who had slept with one man in her life. Now she had two single daughters. “Cougar” and “boy toy” weren’t in her vocabulary until I became one and got one. My good-hearted mother, who was naïve until the day her husband chose to cheat on her was not passing judgment on me for anything. Not for having casual sex, not for becoming pregnant, and not for deciding to have a baby with a young womanizer.

I went on, “I hope you know that I realize how careless I was.”

“That’s good,” she said.

“But,” I said with a tearful smile, “I have to admit, I’ll miss him. I enjoyed every minute of that relationship.”

“How do you know it’s over?” asked Laura.

“I just think it is.”

“Well, you enjoyed him. Isn’t that what life’s all about?” said my mom, “And isn’t it better than sitting around feeling guilty over a dead man you didn’t kill?”

Now I cried on my mother’s shoulder, literally. I felt like I was five years old again, and it felt safe and comfortable and wonderful. I needed my family beyond belief at this moment, and they were here for me. They had always been here for me and for that, I felt very lucky.

My dad called a few minutes later. Laura picked up the phone.

“Hi,” I heard her say in a cold, unemotional voice. He must have asked her what she was doing because she then said, “Just sitting around with YOUR family, kind of wondering why YOU’RE not here.” After a few moments of what I suspected was dad apologizing, Laura said, “Look, I don’t really have anything to say to you right now. My husband just left me for another woman. You’re pretty much just like him.”

I glanced over at my mom, who had her head down. Then I heard Laura say, “Hold on.” She handed me the phone.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Do you feel the same as your sister?” said Dad.

“No, of course not. But, I am wondering what you’re thinking.”

“Can we get together and talk, Em? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“Sure.”

“Sure, what?” said my mother.

“I can hear your mother. Is she sitting right there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, can we have coffee tomorrow?” he asked.

“Let me have a little more time. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

There was silence, and both Laura and my mother were just staring at me.

“I love you, Em,” said Dad.

Right then, I caved. “I love you too, Stan.”

Laura shook her head in disapproval and I couldn’t even look at my mother, because I felt like I was being disloyal. But he was my dad!

I added, “I’m really mad at you right now, but I still love you.”

“Thank you, Em.” It was at this moment, I could have sworn my dad was crying.

“Talk to you later. Tell your mother and sister I love them.”

“Okay, bye, Dad.”

I hung up. “He said he loves you guys,” I said softly. Both of them just sat there.

The next couple of weeks at my house included lots of wine drinking, salsa eating, talking, crying, laughing, and bonding. Three heartbroken women and one adorable, innocent child were living together, sharing each other’s lives, and it all seemed to make sense, as if God had put us all together to learn from each other and help one another. And I have to say, I found it unexpectedly enjoyable, under the circumstances of course.

There were nights the three of us would sit up and talk for hours, my mother mostly listening, and seemingly reflecting on things, and my sister exploding with her newfound sexuality. Yes, Miss Prim and Proper was now sleeping with Dan, and finding out what it was like to actually have great sex.

“He is so hot!” she told us, “I never thought sex could be like this.”

“It’s pretty fun to sleep with a guy who’s actually attractive, huh?” I joked.

Laura and my mother burst out laughing.

“I’m really happy for you,” I said, “I mean that.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. Then she looked at our mother, “Do you think I’m a slut, Mom?”

My mother answered to both of us. “You girls don’t think I know anything, do you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Just because I was a virgin when I married your father, it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate good sex!”

“Please don’t go here,” said Laura.

At that moment Laura’s phone rang. “
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars…let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars…in other words, hold my hand…
”

“Thank God!” I shouted, “Interrupted at the perfect moment!”

“Is that Frank Sinatra?” asked my mother.

“Yes,” exclaimed Laura as she went to answer it, “Dan and I both love Frank Sinatra.

When my sister answered, we could hear Alan yelling at her in the background. “What the fuck?” I heard him say. Strangely enough, Laura was not fazed by it. In fact, she was smiling.

“It was a joke, Alan,” she said calmly. Then I heard more shouting on his end, and Laura continued to smile, almost holding back laughter at this point. “Don’t be mad,” she said, “I apologize.” More yelling. “I have to go now,” she said, “It’s late. Good-bye Alan.”