She, Myself & I (24 page)

“But doesn’t that piss you off? That they’re capable of being kind and loving to one another, and yet they didn’t do that when we were younger?”

“It did before, but I think I’ve gotten over it. And it’s good for Ben to have his grandparents together. I guess that’s probably it—it’s more important to me that he’s able to experience that, than it is for me to be angry with them about the past. Oh! I totally forgot! What ever happened? Did you get your period?”

“No.”

“Did you take a home pregnancy test?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And?”

“And I’m pregnant.”

“What! Oh my God! That’s so exciting! It is good news, right? It’s what you wanted?”

“Well, now that the shock has started to wear off, I am getting excited. And Zack is thrilled. Although he’s getting on my nerves. I agreed to let him move in for a trial period, and he’s overdoing the protective male routine. He keeps trying to stop me from running, or working late,” Paige complained.

The thought of Zack attempting to stop Paige from doing anything made me smile. He might as well go bang his head against a wall.

“But other than that, how is cohabitating?” I asked.

“I have to admit, I kind of like it. And Zack was already over here all the time, so it hasn’t been a huge change. He keeps talking about marriage, though, and that freaks me out,” Paige said.

“Yeah, I bet. But you don’t have to decide that now.”

“I know. But the house he’s building is going to be ready in a few months. He wants us to get married, sell this place, and move in there to have the baby. In fact, he has this whole picture in his mind of Pottery Barn meets Norman Rockwell,” Paige said.

“That’s not such a bad thing. No matter what you decide to do, it sounds like your baby is going to have a good daddy. Unlike my son, who has an asshole for a father,” I said.

“I take it you haven’t yet forgiven and forgotten,” Paige surmised.

“And I don’t plan to do either.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to throw it all away?”

Fear swarmed me, prickling at my skin, unsettling my stomach.

“He’s the one who threw it all away, not me. And I don’t know what to do. Aidan keeps calling here, and I talked to him for a few minutes last night. I told him he could see the baby tomorrow, but I think I might leave when he comes over here,” I said.

“Did he tell you about what happened between him and that woman he was talking to online?”

“No. I haven’t wanted to talk about it.”

“You can’t hide from it forever.”

I snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“Actually, Scott and I have seen each other a few times. He’s met Zack, and I’ve met his partner, Kevin, and we all get along really well. I think we have one of the healthiest postdivorce relationships possible,” Paige said smugly.

“Well, goody for you. I’m not quite ready to become newest, bestest friends with Aidan.”

“I know. But you should still talk to him.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, I actually wish I had talked to Scott about things earlier. I just froze him out, and I don’t think it helped anything,” Paige said.

“Did you just admit to being wrong about something? Because if so, we’re going to mark this day on the calendar,” I said.

“Don’t tease me, I’m feeling nauseated and crabby.”

“Okay. That gets better, by the way. The nausea anyway. I was crabby for the entire forty weeks.”

“No kidding.”

“Paige?”

“Yeah?

“I really am happy for you. And whatever you decide to do about Zack and the baby, you know I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, Soph.”

Chapter Twenty-six

As I walked into the gym Saturday morning, duffel bag slung over my shoulder, new sneakers squeaking against the tile floor, a warning rolled through my head:
Dr. Prasad probably won’t even be here. It was just a casual suggestion to meet up, not a firm date. He knows you’re married. Just get a workout, and if you see him, great, if not, no big deal.

Still, after I’d tossed my gym bag into a locker and touched up my lip gloss, I started to scout around for Dr. Prasad. I tried not to be too obvious about it—I walked over to the water fountain, which afforded me a pretty good view of the Nautilus side of the room, and after taking a drink, I casually scanned the room. Nothing. Next I canvassed the treadmills and bikes, faking an interest in the elliptical cross-trainer, and then finally checked out the juice bar. When I still didn’t see him, I was faced with a quandary. Rather than throw on sweats and head to the gym with bed head, I was freshly showered and wearing just enough makeup to look dewy skinned and bright eyed. If I started to work out, I might end up sweaty and stinky by the time he showed up. But if I sat in the café, perched prettily on one of the high stools that faced the juice bar, I’d look ridiculous.

“Sophie?”

I spun around. And there, looking gorgeous in a white T-shirt and navy shorts, was Dr. Prasad. Excitement jittered through me.

“Hi. Did you just get here?”

“Yes, just a few minutes ago. I was hoping I’d see you here,” he said.

His smile was warm, and completely focused on me.

“Did you want to get something to drink?” I asked, gesturing toward the juice bar.

“Yes, absolutely,” he said, and we walked over to the counter.

“I’ll have a large orange juice, and what would you like?” Dr. Prasad asked, turning to me and resting his hand on my lower back. About an inch up from my butt.

“Ah. Um. I’ll have a Berry Berry Smoothie,” I stuttered.

All I could think was: Dr. Prasad’s hand. Is right near. My ass.

“That’ll be five fifty,” the teenage boy behind the register said.

“Here, put it on my account,” Dr. Prasad said, handing over his laminated membership card.

“Oh no, you don’t have to pay for me,” I protested.

“I insist.”

“Thanks,” I said, ducking my head down.

This was fun. The conspicuous absence of flirting was one of the suckier aspects of marriage, right up there with the end of first kisses. Nothing beats a really great first kiss, and when you’ve been kissing the same man for ten years, it begins to lose its charm. Especially when said man is a complete fucking asshole who surfs porny websites when he’s pretending to work.

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Prasad asked as we sat down at a table.

“What? Oh no.”

“You were frowning.”

“No, no. I was just . . . remembering something I have to do. Anyway. Um. So how are you?” I asked.

“Very good. And how is little Ben?”

“He’s great. I thought he might be coming down with an ear infection this morning—he was grabbing his ear—but maybe it’s just another tooth coming in. Is that normal? Oh no. I’m sorry. I don’t want to harass you with medical questions,” I said, blushing.

The question had just sort of gushed out on its own volition. It was as though the Mommy part of me was trying to wrestle the femme fatale part for control of the conversation.

“No, that’s quite all right. It could just be teething pain. Why don’t you watch him for the next few days, and if he starts to run a fever or seems less animated than usual, bring him in to see me,” Dr. Prasad said. “And please, call me Vinay.”

“Okay. Vinay,” I said, testing it out.

“So, tell me about you,” Vinay said.

“Me? What do you want to know?”

“Do you work? Not to suggest that being a mother isn’t work,” he said, smiling.

I wondered if his shiny hair was as soft as it looked. I had to fight back an urge to touch it.

“I haven’t been, but I’m about to open a photography business specializing in baby portraits,” I said, surprising myself with this announcement. When had I decided that? Or had I just made it up to sound more interesting?

“Are you an accomplished photographer, then?”

“Yes,” I said, holding my chin a fraction higher. “I majored in it in college, and have been planning to open my own studio for a while.”

“Where are you going to have your studio? At home?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said. “But probably not at home. My husband and I are separated, so I’m not staying there now.”

I struggled to stay calm and serene with this admission. If I let on that I was still spitting mad at Aidan, so much so that I launched into a white-hot rage whenever I pictured his sordid little get-togethers with Cherry the Whore, Dr. Prasad—Vinay—might conclude that I hadn’t reached closure on my marriage.

“I’m sorry,” Vinay said. “Actually, no, bugger that. I lied. I’m thrilled to hear you’re available.”

And then he smiled so charmingly, I gurgled with laughter.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Vinay asked.

It had been a long time since I’d gone out on a first date, but from what I could remember, you’re supposed to play somewhat hard to get. Never accepting dates on short notice, for example, and not rushing to bed.

And then I remembered again: Cherry the Whore. The porny websites. Aidan masturbating in a darkened room. Anger whirred in my ears.

“I’d love to,” I said. “I just have to make sure my mom can watch Ben for me.”

I found out too late that Mom and Dad had tickets to the ballet. When I got back from the gym, Dad was there, and Mom was making grilled cheese sandwiches and heating canned tomato soup. I picked up Ben and shifted him onto my hip.

“Who am I, Ben? Oo, oo, oo,” Dad said, opening his mouth wide and scratching under his armpits. “I’m a chimpanzee!”

Ben giggled. Dad had finally found an appreciative audience for his repertoire of dumb jokes.

“The ballet?” I asked doubtfully.

“Don’t ask. I can’t believe how much they charge for the tickets now. Forty years ago, you could buy a used car for that price. Nowadays, forget about it,” Dad said.

“Your father surprised me with tickets! It’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” Mom enthused. She no longer seemed annoyed by Dad’s “forget about it” rants. It used to make her apoplectic when he went off on one.

My mom put a plate down in front of me, and I shook my head. “I shouldn’t. I really need to lose some weight, and I don’t think bread and cheese fried in butter is the best way to go about doing that,” I said.

“It will come off eventually. And I think you look beautiful. I was just noticing that you have some color back in your cheeks. Did you sleep better last night?” Mom asked.

“Erm, yes. Do you know if Paige has plans tonight?”

“I don’t know, give her a call. Where did you say you were going to go? Out with your friend Cora?”

“Yeah, she wanted to have a girls’ night out,” I lied.

I had decided that it might not be the best idea to tell my family about Dr. Prasad. Vinay. They might not think it wise, considering Aidan and I had only been officially separated for six days. Or unofficially. Whatever. So I’d told them a little white lie. It was a useful technique most daughters perfect during their teenage years, and if it had been a while since I’d trotted it out, at least my skills weren’t rusty. No one seemed suspicious.

Six hours later, Paige showed up. She looked pale and tired, and a minute after she arrived, she flew into the bathroom. I heard gagging sounds, and when she emerged, she looked like she was going to pass out.

“Estrogen poisoning,” she gasped. “What’s that smell? It’s making me sick.”

“I think Mom’s roasting a chicken for lunch tomorrow, is that what’s bothering you?”

“Chicken.” Paige turned around and rushed back into the bathroom. She refused to come out until I retrieved the chicken from the oven and tossed it into the garbage can in the garage, and then opened up all of the downstairs windows so that the chicken odor would dissipate.

“For me it was spinach. If it so much as touched my tongue, I’d gag and throw up,” I told Paige, once she finally staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed on the green plaid couch. Ben was sitting in his swing next to the couch and looked like he was close to drifting off.

“Don’t talk about spinach. I can’t deal with chicken, or spinach, or pretty much any meat or vegetable,” Paige said weakly.

“What can you eat?”

“Crackers and lemonade. And tuna fish sandwiches,” she said.

“You can’t stand the smell of chicken, but you can handle tuna?” I said.

She shrugged. “I can’t explain it. It’s out of my control. Where are you going with your friend?”

I hesitated, and considered telling Paige my real plans. But she was so out of sorts, telling her the truth might prompt a lecture on why dating now was an altogether bad idea. She might even refuse to watch Ben, which would force me to cancel.

“Just out for a bite. In fact, I better go, I’m supposed to meet her in a few minutes,” I said.

“I think it’s great that you’re getting out. After Scott and I split up, I spent every weekend at home, moping around, watching videos. And you look so pretty. Is that outfit new?” Paige asked.

I ran my hands down the front of the sheer navy blouse that showed off a cream camisole underneath and the pencil denim skirt, all of which I’d picked up at Banana Republic on my way home from the gym. I knew that I shouldn’t be shopping—Ben’s and my future was up in the air enough as it was already—but I figured this was an emergency. Plus I charged it to the credit card that I shared with Aidan, which seemed a poetic justice.