That Baby (42 page)

Danny makes a last minute decision to spend the night instead of driving home and begs us to join him.

Phillip calls Peggy, who has been watching Angel, to see if she would mind if we spent the night.
 

She told him that the little hellion ate a loaf of bread, bag and all. But she was sleeping curled up on the couch next to her and she’d be happy to.

“So what’s fun to do in this town?” Jennifer asks. “Is there like a water tower we can climb or a tractor we can ride? Wait! Can we go cow tipping? I’ve never been on a real farm.”

“What about a hayrack ride?” Danny suggests with a smirk that insinuates the only thing he wants to ride is Jennifer.

I’ve been wondering how I really feel about all this.

Truth is, even though Lori has been a bitch to me lately, I didn’t want to like Jennifer, out of some sort of left over best friend loyalty.
 

But I can’t help myself. She’s fun, down-to-earth, and seems genuinely nice.
 

And from what I can tell, she and Danny haven’t crossed any lines. They act like buddies even though their chemistry is palpable.

“We could call the Warren twins,” I suggest.
 

Thirty minutes later, we’re on a hayrack ride with a bunch of old friends, drinking beer.
 

Everyone adores Jennifer and she likes that no one is treating her any differently than we would each other.
 

“Jennifer is cool,” Phillip says, snuggling up with me in the hay.

“Yeah, she is. I really like her. Although, I still sort of feel like I’m cheating. Danny told me that he and Jennifer have emotional intimacy.”
 

“Sounds like us before we dated.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“It’s interesting,” Phillip says for about the tenth time today.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dear Baby Mac,

 
The work baby pool results are in:

A whopping 62% think you are a girl.

The most common birth date is September 29
^th.

They had to also guess your weight as a tiebreaker. If majority rules, you will weigh in around 8 pounds.

And in other good news, construction of the office building is complete!

All that’s left now is to watch all the cool finishing touches go into place. The traditional furniture. The modern artwork. The cool smart boards. The funky chairs in the break room.
 

You should be proud of your mommy. There were times I wasn’t sure I could pull off a project of this scale, but I’m so pleased with how it turned out.

I’m also happy to announce that my office/your playroom is done and this weekend we’re going to move all my stuff down there and hang the curtains.
 

On the nursery front: I was told your chair and crib have shipped. I think that means they are on a slow boat from China, and I’m pretty sure if I call and hound the company one more time I will never, ever see them in my lifetime.

Your dad keeps making me call them. It’s driving him nuts that everything isn’t done.
 

I told him to chill. That we still have four weeks.
 

But he’s starting to get a little crazy.
 

At first, it was sweet.
 

The car. The outlet covers. The cabinet locks.

The security system.
 

Now, he’s starting to annoy me a little.
 

Even though my birth plan is really just one simple line, he wants me write it down.
 

So, here we go.

I’ve packed a hospital bag for each of us and they are sitting by the door.

He’s also mapped out six different possible routes for our trip to the hospital—even though we are only a few miles away from it. (He has also mapped out multiple routes depending on where we are when I go into labor, like work, dinner, shopping, etc.)

He’s also redone our wills.

Upped our life insurance.

And I’m pretty sure he’s already chosen your college.

Just kidding.
 

I think.

September 7th

You’ve gotten huge.

I’m exhausted and headed home from work on Friday afternoon.

It’s been a long week.
 

We’ve moved all the office furniture into the new building and added all the decorative touches.
 

No one has let me do much because I’m pregnant, but I’ve been on my feet the whole time overseeing the process. The company grand opening party is next Thursday, and I want everything to look perfect.
 

I’m so incredibly proud of how it has come together but, right now, all I want to do is go home and soak in a warm bath.

Unfortunately, I don’t get to do that.

Danny begged me to try to get my friendship with Lori back on track.

I told him she needs to apologize first.
 

But then he told me that he decided to stop talking to Jennifer. When I asked him why, he said it was because he really liked her, and if he kept talking to her it would eventually destroy his family.

As I ring their doorbell, I feel torn about his decision. On one hand, I’m proud of him for being responsible, for not giving up on his marriage, and for making his baby a priority. On the other hand, my heart aches because I want him to be crazy, happy in love.

Lori answers the door and, upon seeing me, says, “Wow, you’ve gotten huge!”

I rub my growing belly. “I know,” I say sweetly, trying to kill her bitchiness with kindness. “Isn’t it exciting? I only have three and a half weeks left.”

“You know, just because you’ve had an easy pregnancy, doesn’t mean you’ll have an easy birth.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve skated through your pregnancy. That means you’ll have a rough delivery. It’s just how it works.”

My blood starts to boil. “It almost sounds like you're
hoping
my delivery won't be easy. Like it’s some kind of sick payback for yours being crappy. And, personally, I think that's a pretty shitty thing to say to a friend. Although, I don’t know why I’m surprised. You haven’t been my friend lately. The only reason I even stopped by is because Danny, who I love, begged me to. And since you aren’t on medication any more, Lori, what is your excuse for being such a bitch?” She starts to speak, but I hold up my hand. “Don’t bother replying. I already know the answer. You don’t have one. And I’m sick of it. Sick of the way you treat me. Sick of the way you treat Danny. He may be stuck with you, but I’m not! Have a great life, Lori.”

I’m pissed off when I march into my house.
 

I’m barely through the front door when Phillip’s mom grabs me. “I have a surprise to show you!”
 

She leads me toward the nursery.
 

Oh. No. No. No. No. No. No.
 

Please, God. Please tell me she didn’t do anything to the nursery.

But she has.
 

Phillip’s old crib is shoved into the corner where the rocker is supposed to go, and there are ugly cartoon animals stuck to the beautiful paint I spent weeks agonizing over.

And that’s when I lose it.

Tears stream down my face as I storm out of the nursery, grab my suitcase out of the hall closet, take it down to my room, and start throwing stuff in it.
 

“What are you doing?” she asks, following me.

“I’m leaving. I'm leaving my dream house. Because it doesn’t even feel like my home any more.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, as I slam the suitcase shut and wheel it down the hall.

“I didn't have a picture on the dining room wall because Phillip and I were waiting for the Plaza Art Fair, where we were going to find the perfect piece of art. Something that would always remind us of the place we went every year as kids and where we got married. Instead, there's some horrible picture of a place in Paris that we've never been to and was”—I can barely get out the words—“mass produced. And we didn’t have a kitchen table because we found a beautiful custom table that our kids and friends will carve their names in. But because the artist only makes one at a time, we have to wait another month before it will be done. And, in the meantime, I have a table that doesn’t match the style of my kitchen at all, and not only that, it’s made of”—I start crying harder—“pressed wood!”

I storm by the kitchen.
 

“And I fucking hate chickens. No one under fifty has chickens in their kitchen. No one! So you and Phillip can live here, because it's not even my house anymore.” I grab my portfolio and take out my dream house sketchbook and throw it on the counter. “I guess I won't be needing this any more. And, just for the record, no one knocks on our front door at night. We were having sex, because that's what newlyweds are supposed to do!”

I waddle out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

I throw my suitcase in the car and pull out of my driveway.

I have no idea where I'm going.
 

Once I get a few blocks from my house, I pull over.
 

I can barely see the road through my tears.
 

I don’t even know where to go.

I pat the top of my belly as the baby gives me a swift kick in the ribs and I intuitively know that I need to calm myself down.

Phillip

Stand up for your marriage.

I come home to find my mother’s bags packed and her sitting at the kitchen island.
 

I also notice something else new. “Is that a
chicken
rug?”
 

“Yes, Phillip,” she says curtly. “It is.”

“Did Jadyn buy that?” I ask delicately, knowing damn well she didn’t.
 

“Your wife is very talented,” my mom says. “Have you seen her sketchbook of all the things she wants to do to your house?”

“Of course, I've seen it. It’s our dream book. When we see something we like, she draws it to help me visualize it. We can’t buy everything at once, so we’re doing a room at a time.”

“Yes, that’s what I hear. Your wife packed her suitcase and left. And it's all our fault.”

“What do you mean she left?”

“I brought your old crib and hung some wallpaper in the nursery to surprise her.”

I run my hands through my hair. “Oh, Mom . . . ”

“So you
do
know,” she says.

“Know what?”
 

“That JJ has been unhappy with what I've been doing around your house.”

Now this is awkward. “Um, yes. I know.”

My mom points at me and she’s pissed. “Sit down, Phillip!”

I sit.

“JJ is your wife. Wife trumps mother if you are going to have a successful marriage,” she lectures.