Friendship (18 page)

25

It had been easier than Amy thought it would be to ask Sally if she and Bev could come up and visit while she and Jason were there—she said they were coming upstate for a leaf-peeping weekend and staying nearby—and Sally had offered (as Amy suspected she might) that they stay with them instead: “Plenty of room!” Sally sounded really excited. Amy almost felt sorry for her.

They sat down at the long glass dining room table to have lunch with Sally and Jason but without a plan in place about how they’d bring up Bev’s pregnancy and the idea that Sally and Jason might want to adopt the baby. Amy didn’t have a plan. It wasn’t in her nature to have plans, and she imagined that she knew why Bev didn’t have a plan: the idea of having this conversation, which would make the baby a concrete thing, a real future, was so terrifying that Bev refused to think about how the conversation itself might work out. But maybe Amy was wrong, and Bev
did
have a plan—a plan that she hadn’t shared. That was also a scary prospect. Bev and Amy were supposed to tell each other everything.

Amy looked at Bev across the table, but Bev wouldn’t make eye contact. Getting up and running out of the room at any moment seemed very possible, just on the verge of happening. Amy could feel the springiness of her leg muscles as they tensed. Next to her, Jason cut his chicken breast into thin slices, anointed each slice with a smear of arterial-red chutney, then used a deft fork-knife combo maneuver to marry it with a bit of salad green from the other side of his plate before slipping it into his mouth. He either chewed noiselessly or swallowed each little perfect bite whole, snake-style. It wasn’t disgusting, but it wasn’t appealing either. It made you feel that he might have a method like that for everything.

Sally was talking even as she came up the basement stairs; she’d been bustling around in the “wine cellar,” searching for the perfect bottle. “Honey, do you remember whether we liked the Grüner Veltliner that Augie sent from Munich? We have a whole case of it. Want to try a glass? Would anyone else like wine?”

“Yes, please,” said Amy. She darted a questioning eyebrow Bevwards, daring her to use not drinking as an excuse to mention her pregnancy.

“Too early in the day for me,” Bev said, wrinkling her forehead at Amy for a split second.

Jason just nodded and nudged his glass toward Sally, who situated herself at the head of the table and poured for herself first, then for her husband and Amy.

“Delicious chicken,” Amy said after a moment.

“Thanks! It’s local,” said Sally, then laughed at herself. “God, I’m sorry. I hate to be that person. But it is one of the cool things about living in the boonies—the local stuff. I mean, I got the chicken from my friend Diane. I probably
met
it.”

“Have you guys thought of raising chickens?” said Amy, and felt Bev’s foot nudge her ankle.

“I would really like to, yeah! I mean, but we travel so much, it would be hard.”

“Eh, we could travel less. I for one would like to start traveling less,” said Jason.

“Well, we don’t want you to start traveling less. We loved house-sitting,” said Amy.

“We’re so grateful, really. It’s so nice to get out of the city,” Bev said. Amy could sense her trying to compensate for her rudeness.

“Ha, well. Maybe you guys could man the coop when we’re in London! I don’t know, though. It seems like a lot of work, and they do smell terrible. Though it would be fun to go and gather the eggs every morning. I’d really feel like a farm wife.”

The conversation veered to other agricultural topics and from there to sites of interest nearby; Amy and Bev had already seen most of them, and Amy enthusiastically seconded Sally’s opinions. Bev pushed bites of chicken around on her plate, smearing the red chutney.
Are you okay? Is this okay?
Amy tried to telegraph to her friend mentally, but Bev seemed not to receive the psychic message. Instead, she pushed her chair back and left the room without saying a word. Amy tensed, half expecting to hear the front door slam.

Instead, she heard—they all heard—the unmistakable sounds of vomiting coming from the opposite side of the house. Bev had made it to the downstairs bathroom in time, it seemed, but not quite in enough time to close the door.

Jason didn’t bother to conceal his disgust. “Ugh, that’s not appetizing,” he said. His plate was spotless.

“Is she okay?” Sally said, the three light lines across her forehead deepening momentarily in concern. “Wild night last night or something?”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna go take care of her. Please don’t get up.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Sally, and Amy didn’t bother to try to dissuade her. They left Jason at the table—he picked up a magazine—and went into the bathroom, where a pale Bev was sitting on the floor.

“Sorry. I couldn’t close the door in time,” she said. “I pulled on it and it only, like, half slid.”

“Oh god, that fucking sliding door! It’s been on our to-do list for ages: normal bathroom door for the downstairs bathroom. I didn’t poison you, did I?”

Bev looked up at Amy, who widened her eyes and inclined her head slightly, not quite a nod of approval, more like the nudge you’d give a balky animal.

Then Bev looked at Sally. “I’m pregnant,” she said.

For the first time in their friendship Amy felt that she had no idea what Bev was thinking.

Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Bev straightened herself up to hork into the toilet again. Sally tactfully turned away, but Amy was experiencing that thing where you can’t wrench your eyes from wherever they happen to be focused without an extreme effort of your tiny facial muscles.

Jason’s footsteps were already audible on the second floor; clearly, the whole situation offended his sensibilities. With a forcible head shake Amy snapped out of her momentary paralysis and bent to rub Bev’s back. Bev slumped over the bowl. Sally caught Amy’s eye and mouthed something inaudible.

“On purpose?” Sally said it just slightly louder, loud enough for Bev to hear.

Bev laughed. “Yeah, I thought it would be a good time to have a baby. Since I had this downtime between dropping out of grad school and trying to restart my failed career. You know? It just seemed like a perfect opportunity.”

“She’s kidding,” Amy felt the need to clarify.

Sally was silent for a second; Amy thought maybe she was mourning whatever perfect hostess plans she had for the afternoon. Then she straightened up.

“I have some saltines in the cupboard. Bev, the best thing is to just nibble one of them slowly, and then you won’t feel as queasy. It’s totally abhorrent at first, but it works.”

Bev allowed herself to be led to the kitchen table, where she sat with her head in her hands as Sally pawed through the cupboards behind her. Amy sat down opposite Bev.

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Bev hazarded after a minute.

Sally looked at the girls, as if she were deciding how open to be with them, but of course she was going to tell them everything. “I’ve had a couple of miscarriages. We’ve stopped trying. Your standard story. We thought of embarking on the whole high-tech thing, but I was just grossed out by it—injecting yourself with hormones, walking around with this big, sore lump of bloated ovary inside you. It offended my hippie sensibilities.”

She put a plate of crackers in front of Bev, who picked one up and watched it crumble.

“These seem old,” Bev said.

“They’re three years old, yeah.” Sally was smiling, but Amy saw her jaw clench around the words. “Like, almost exactly. Anyway. So, you’re getting an abortion?”

Bev nibbled the disintegrating cracker tentatively, then with more gusto. “Well, unless you want to adopt my baby.”

“Um?”

Amy, unable to stand the weirdness of the situation, burst into nervous giggles.

Sally looked at them both coldly. “Did you come up here to offer me the baby? Is the baby-shaped hole in my life that obvious?”

No one said anything. Sally grabbed a cracker from the plate and chewed an edge of it thoughtfully, staring out the window over the sink that overlooked the backyard.

“You barely know us. Why did you think … Is it too late to…”

“Nope. I have a few more weeks. I just thought it was worth a shot.”

Amy felt sick. She scrutinized Bev, taking in her pallor and dark eye circles. She’d lost a little bit of weight in the past few weeks; the loss of flesh was starting to subtract a little of her face’s childish roundness. But she had a new beauty, a kind of physical authority she’d lacked before.

Sally abruptly got up from the table and walked into the dining room, where the table was still set with the remains of their lunch. Amy caught Bev’s eye and suddenly sensed her fear. They followed Sally into the dining room, where she was pacing. She didn’t look upset anymore, though. Instead, she seemed excited.

“Do you guys believe in God? Or, like, fate, or the universe or astrology, or anything?”

Bev shrugged. This was weird, but no weirder than anything else that had just happened. “I don’t. I mean, I was raised to, but now I don’t believe in anything. Amy believes in astrology, to some extent. And I guess Judaism?”

“Mostly astrology,” said Amy. “I mean, but not really. You know. As one does. Why, what about you?”

“Oh, I’m totally not into any of that stuff, but I do think you guys came into my life for a reason. I feel like I’m supposed to be involved in your lives. Is that super weird?”

“Does that mean you want the baby?” Bev said, all business.

“I don’t know … maybe? Or maybe there’s some other way of doing it, like, not adoption, but maybe I could just be really involved, like an aunt or a godparent?”

“Why would you want that? I mean, no offense, but you barely know us—I mean, me.”

“I don’t know. I like you guys! You remind me of … a younger me. Is that weird to say? But you do. And I would love to, like, support you, however I can, if Bev decides she wants to have the baby.”

Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Support, like, emotionally?”

“Sure, but maybe I could also help in other ways, if that makes sense? I could babysit, take the baby on weekends. It would be like I had a baby, but part-time. And actually, it would be the same for you. How ideal does that sound? God, you wonder why people don’t do it all the time.”

Amy and Bev looked at each other. “Well, but it would be a strange situation for the kid,” Bev finally said. “And also, I’m still not sure that I want to have a baby, even part-time.”

“Really? Why?”

“Uh, because choosing to have a baby seems completely insane even in the best of circumstances? Which, mine are not, especially financially.”

Sally shrugged. “Well, I’m sure everybody feels like that, yet the human race persists. And money’s not a problem for me. It’s like, the one problem I don’t have, you know? I don’t know. I think we should keep thinking about it. It could be fun!”

“Okay, but what about Jason? Do you need to consult him?”

“Consult me about what?” Jason said. He was standing in the stairwell. “I’m about to head out. See you at dinner? Is everything okay, honey?”

Sally walked over to her husband and, with an effort that would have been awkward if it hadn’t been smoothed by years of practice, leaned her head down very slightly to peck him on the cheek. “Totally. Go ahead out, baby. We’ll talk about it later.”

26

Late that night, Amy lay sleepless in Sally’s guest room for several hours. Every time her thoughts started drifting and morphing into dreams, she was jarred awake by a pastoral noise that shattered the otherwise total stillness of the night. A crow would caw or an insect or frog would shriek or croak. It was almost unbearable. She missed the steady white-noise hum of traffic on the BQE.

Finally she got out of bed and tiptoed to her door. Opening it a crack, she saw a ribbon of light leaking out from under Bev’s door across the hall. Tentatively, she knocked.

“Come in,” Bev said. She was in flannel pajamas that Amy hadn’t known she owned, baggy ones patterned with lipstick kisses. Her blond hair was loose and crimped from the braids she’d had it in earlier, and she looked innocent, almost angelic. She patted the bed next to her, and Amy got in. They lay next to each other, staring up at the ceiling.

“I miss you,” Amy said.

“I miss you too,” said Bev. “What happened?”

“I’m just weirded out by the idea of you having a baby. I mean, are you really considering it? I know talking to Sally about adoption was my idea, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s a
good
idea. And whatever she’s talking about seems like an especially not good idea. Who ever heard of a time-share baby?”

“I haven’t made up my mind about anything yet. I guess I feel insulted that you’re not trusting my judgment. Like, no offense, but it is my decision. It doesn’t really affect you at all, either way.”

Amy didn’t know what to say. She felt that it actually did affect her a lot, but obviously it affected Bev a lot more—so much more that it seemed somewhat monstrous for Amy to even talk about the impact it would have on Amy’s life.

After a minute Amy held her hand up toward the ceiling. Her nails were painted brown. “Hey, did you notice I got a manicure?”

“I did notice. I like that color, actually. I usually never like your nails.”

“I got them done at this salon in Williamsburg; it’s set up like a bar, with stools, so you can chat with your girlfriend who’s next to you while a team of silent Asian women sit across the bar from you and tend your cuticles.”

“Creepy. This is why I don’t get manicures.”

“Well, yeah, totally creepy. Anyway, so I was alone, and I had no choice but to eavesdrop on the conversation of the group next to me. One of them was a handbag designer, and I think they all had kids. They talked about their other friend who was pregnant and how it was
the best news
. The best news they’d ever heard. And about giving her a shower, and how one of them was a ‘domestic diva,’ and how the handbag designer named one of her handbags after somebody’s daughter. Oh, and the cute, stupid things their husbands did, sort of bragging about their husbands’ ineptitude with cooking or taking care of the kids.”