That Baby (10 page)

I imagine the gnome moving around at night.
 

I realize I'm being ridiculous. Even if he did smash the paper, he didn't move very far.
 

I pick him up carefully, turning him over to study his legs. There's no space between them, just a line appearing to separate them. Really, it’s just one big stub going into a large black mono-boot. More inspection shows that he has no knees. If he could walk, it would be more of a wobble.
 

This is crazy. There’s no way the gnome could move on its own. Someone must have moved it.

But just to be sure, I put the gnome in the china cabinet and lock it for good measure. I reconsider his placement as I have visions of him doing the mono-legged stomp all over my new china pattern. I unlock the door, grab him, and shove him face up into the top drawer of the hutch—like he's in a little coffin—with my new formal flatware.
 

Then I grab the crockpot and go back to making cheese dip for the game.
 

Phillip’s mom, who has been taking food down to the bar, comes back up and says, “JJ, do you have a dust rag? The bar, well, the basement is pretty dusty.”

“Uh, sure,” I say, handing her a dishtowel.

“Dusting only takes a minute,” she tells me. “I’ll have it cleaned up quick.”

I instantly feel like a failure as a wife. My face gets hot and tears threaten. “Phillip was supposed to dust,” I say to myself.
 

Mrs. D’s hand touches mine. “You’re barely settled.”

I know what she’s saying is true, but it feels like an excuse.
 

“Thanks. I’m gonna go change. Everyone should be here soon.”

I’m on the way to our bedroom when Phillip comes up the stairs.

“You didn’t dust the basement?”

“No, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, why get it spotless when it’s just going to get messed up at the party? So, are you ready to put on our shirts?”

“You need to tell your mom that you were in charge of dusting.”

“No way! I don’t want to get chewed out. Besides, this is our house and today is not about dusting. It’s about telling everyone we love that we’re expecting.”

“You’re right, Phillip. You’re always right.”

He laughs. “Except when you are.”

“You’re still right,” I tease.

I strip off my sweats, throw on a pair of comfy ripped jeans, my Mac Mommy jersey, and then put a cardigan over the top of it.
 

“You look sexy,” Phillip tells me, grabbing my ass.
 

“Are you going to say that when I have a stomach the size of a watermelon?”

“Absolutely,” he says with such sincerity that I actually believe him.
 

I’m running around, finishing getting everyone settled with drinks. Our friends, Joey and Chelsea, arrived just a few minutes ago, along with Danny’s teammate and his wife, Marcus and Madison.
 

Phillip hands me a bubbly drink in a wine glass.
 

I give him a
duh
look.

“It’s sparkling water and lime. Why don’t you to sit, relax, and enjoy the game,” he says.

“I’d rather sit on your lap, snuggled up with you.”

“I think I can make that happen,” he says, sitting in his favorite spot and pulling me onto his lap.

“They're newlyweds,” Danny says. “They still like each other.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Lori asks.

“I just meant it’s new,” Danny replies. “I wasn’t referring to our relationship. I still like you too.”

She looks down at her growing baby bump and frowns. “You didn’t ask me to sit on your lap.”

Danny says in a patronizing tone, “Why don’t we
all
sit on each other’s laps. Save some space.”

Tears threaten Lori’s face as she stomps out of the room.

“Oh, jeez,” he says. “She’s so freaking sensitive. Now she’s going to accuse me of saying we needed to save space because she’s fat. I can’t say anything right.”

Mr. Diamond says, “But you’re going after her, aren’t you, son? To apologize.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” Danny protests.

“You got her pregnant,” his dad replies.

Danny takes a long drag of beer, looks longingly at the opening ceremonies playing on TV, and then he sets the beer down with a sigh. As he’s walking away, he leans down and whispers to us, “Be glad you’re not pregnant.”

My mouth drops open in surprise. Phillip slides his hand down my arm and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll get through it just fine. I promise. I can deal with your little moods.”

“I have
little
moods?” The TV is turned up to Mach Four, so no one can hear me.

“Of course, everyone does.”

“You’re sure we should tell everyone so soon? Now, I’m nervous.”

“I can’t wait to tell everyone. Although, I keep expecting someone to guess, I can tell just by looking at you.”

“No, you can’t. You were shocked when I told you.”

He kisses the side of my face. “Oh, that's right.”

I snuggle up closer and pretend to watch the game as I whisper to him. “I think you're the one who looks all sneaky and adorable.”

“I’m adorable?”

“Yes. I love you, Phillip. You're the sweetest boy ever. Always have been.”

His finger trails along the bottom of my jersey, just brushing my abdomen. “Lori has really popped out. Hard to believe in a few months you'll be that way.”

“My body won't look the same.”

“Does that worry you?” he asks.

“A little. Especially after seeing how pregnancy seems to have affected Lori’s confidence.”

“You shouldn’t be worried. I'm going to spoil you rotten.”

I smile. I like being spoiled.
 

Sometime during the first quarter, Lori and Danny rejoin the group and when Phillip gets up to grab another beer, Danny asks me, “Is that the jersey you had made?”

“Yeah, it’s cute, huh?”

“Yours is cute too,” Lori says. “I like the sparkle.”

I’m waiting—hoping—that someone will ask me what mine says, but there’s an interception and everyone is glued to the TV.
 

At halftime, I take my cardigan off and wait for the fireworks to start. For someone to notice what the back of my shirt says.
 

But no one does.
 

By the third quarter, I can’t take it any longer. I stand directly in front of the TV so that everyone can see my back.
 

Mrs. Diamond looks from me to Phillip and says, “Mac Mommy?”

I smile. “Cute, huh?” But she still doesn’t seem to get it, and Mrs. Mac is deep in conversation with Ashley.
 

“So he's the Mac Daddy and you're the Mac Mommy?” Mrs. Diamond asks.

I nod again, an even wider grin taking over my face.

“Are you pregnant?”

Phillip bounds across the couch—possibly the fastest I've ever seen him move—and places his hand across my stomach. “We
are
pregnant.”

Somewhere along the way, his mom must have overheard part of the conversation because she makes a torturous sound, shakes her head, and says, “No?! What?! You’re pregnant!? No way!” She stands up, her hands in front of her face and starts scream crying, which turns into an ugly cry as she continues to screech. “No!? Really? Is this a joke?”
 

Phillip shakes his head. “It’s not a joke, Mom. You’re really going to be a grandma.”

“Ohmigawd, I don't believe it!” she yells, flailing her hands in the air.
 

“Believe it,” Phillip tells her, laughing so hard at her reaction he's practically crying. “We're six weeks along.”

She covers her face with her hands, overcome.

Then she starts running in place while waving her hands in the air and screaming. She grabs Mrs. D and jumps around her. “Did you hear that? I’m gonna be a grandma! I can't believe it. We'll be grandmas together!”

She’s clapping now and still crying.
 

Phillip’s dad is smiling big. He gives me a hug and congratulates his son with a slap on the back. Then I notice tears well up in his eyes as he glances toward the ceiling. I know he's thinking about my dad missing this moment.
 

Which makes me wonder how my parents would have reacted to the news.
 

I can't believe they have to miss out on this. It was bad enough to miss my wedding—but this is so much more.
 

My mom would have cried, but in a more dignified way. My dad would have been the more emotional one.

I have to admit, I'm happily surprised by everyone's reactions. The kid in me was kind of worried they'd say we are too young, that it's too soon. All the things I thought at first.
 

But all I see is joy in their expressions.

Lori mutters to me, “You have some explaining to do.” But then goes on to say something about our babies being future best friends.
 

Danny rolls his eyes and teases, “Poor Phillip.”
 

Finally, Mrs. Mac rushes over, fanning her face, and hugs us both.
 

Everyone gives us hugs.
 

Well, everyone but Chelsea.
 

I notice she's sitting on the couch, motionless, then she looks me in the eye, stands up and cries out, “I'm pregnant too!” bursts into tears, and runs upstairs.
 

Lori and I rush after her, finding her sobbing on the couch.

“I’m like a public service announcement for drunken hookups,” she cries. “Don't have sex in the bathroom at a wedding without a condom, boys and girls, or you'll be walking down the aisle at your own wedding in a maternity dress. If he doesn’t ditch you.”

I sit down next to her and smile. “You got pregnant at my wedding? That’s awesome.”

She laughs through her tears.
 

Lori asks gently, “Did Joey already know?”

“Yes, he’s been amazing. But I’m so afraid to tell our families. I want them to freak out like Mrs. Mac did, not question it.”