The Weight of Small Things (5 page)

8

B
ryn leaned back on the couch, watching through the door to the kitchen as Bob washed dishes. She smiled, looking around the living room. Worn, overstuffed chairs, nicked and scratched end tables, a small truck under the coffee table. It was comfortable and homey—just like Bob. She picked up a framed photo from the end table and studied it, a family portrait taken last year. Bob and Wendy and two chubby-faced little boys, all smiling for the camera. Bryn’s eyes darted from the photo to the man in the kitchen.
His hair is turning gray so fast,
she thought.
I didn’t realize it till now. He’ll be completely gray soon.

She shook her head, studying the picture again. Wendy’s smile was bright, and a mass of dark red ringlets circled her freckled face like a mane. Her left hand rested on Bob’s shoulder, a small diamond sparkling on the third finger.

What is wrong with her?
Bryn wondered.
Why would she leave someone like Bob? And for such a loser.

Bryn had met Wendy’s new boyfriend only once, and that had been enough. She knew the type—a middle-aged, beer-bellied, chain-smoking good ole boy with nicotine-stained teeth. The kind who measured the year by hunting and fishing seasons.

She looked again at Bob, wiping the counters now. Short, solid, kind, dear Bob. She laid the picture facedown on the table.

Stupid witch,
she said to herself.
Stupid, selfish witch
.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” she asked.

“I’m finished now,” he answered, laughing. “Your timing, as always, is impeccable.”

Bob walked into the room, carrying a tall glass. “You sure you don’t want a drink?” He stood over her, waving the glass.

“No thanks.” She smiled, shaking her head. “What is that, anyway?”

“Rum and coke,” he answered, dropping into a chair. “I’ve developed quite a taste for them lately.”

“Be careful.” Bryn eyed him cautiously. “That can be habit-forming.”

“I know.” Bob put the drink down on a coaster. “I usually just have one at night. So I can sleep.”

“Is it hard?” Bryn asked softly.

“Yeah, it’s hard.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each wrapped in thought. Finally, Bob leaned over and turned on the stereo. The opening notes of “Angel” floated through the air.

“God, I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I took Wendy to a Sarah McLachlan concert on our first date,” Bob said quietly.

Bryn leaned over and turned the music off. “Stop that!” she commanded. “Just stop it.”

Bob simply looked at her.

“Okay,” Bryn said quietly. “Look, she’s gone. She left, and she’s not coming back. You can’t make her come back. I don’t know why she left, and I think she’s a fool. We all do. But she’s gone, and you have to deal with it.”

“I know,” Bob said. “But I keep thinking maybe . . .”

“She’s not coming back this time, Bob. And even if she did, you couldn’t take her back again. Not this time. My God, she took your kids! She took your kids to live with that hill jack. How could you even want her back?”

“When I married her I said for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I keep thinking, maybe she’s sick. You know? And she’ll get better, and then she’ll come back.”

Bryn shook her head. She was feeling queasy again.

“It’s his fault,” Bob suddenly exploded, rising. He walked around the room, carrying his drink. “It’s that bastard’s fault. He took advantage of her.”

“Listen, Bob, I could buy that if this was the first time. But this is the third time. She’s not a child. She made a choice—an active choice.”

But he wasn’t listening.

“You know how she met him, right? He was going to give Micah guitar lessons. Instead, he ends up sleeping with Wendy. What kind of predator takes advantage of someone like that?”

“He’s a prick,” Bryn agreed softly, battling a wave of nausea. “That’s why you’ve got to get a lawyer, so that prick doesn’t end up raising your kids.”

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, stopping directly in front of her. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks so much,” she smiled weakly.

“I mean it, Bryn. You just don’t look like yourself.”

Bryn sat silently, running her hand through her short-cropped hair. She felt her lip begin to quiver.
Oh no,
she thought.
Don’t cry.

Stop it!
She felt a tear slide down her cheek.

Before she could stop she heard herself say it out loud. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh my God, Bryn. That’s great!” Bob dropped to one knee beside the couch. “That’s great! Are you having a lot of morning sickness? Is that what’s wrong?”

“Yes, I’m sick. No, it’s not great.” Bryn felt the tears welling in her eyes now, let them spill over and run down her face. “I don’t want to be pregnant. Paul doesn’t know. He doesn’t want a baby. I can’t have a baby!”

Bryn was sobbing now, her face buried in the couch.

“It’s not fair,” she cried. “Why didn’t this happen for Corrie? She
wants
a baby, she wants one so much.”

Bob sat on the floor by the couch, rubbing her back softly. “Shhh,” he said. “Stop with that. It’s not your fault Corrie can’t have a baby. She’ll be happy for you. You just worry about taking care of yourself right now. I remember when Wendy was pregnant with Micah—”

“Stop it! I’m not happy about this, okay? You don’t understand. Paul doesn’t want a baby. He’s never wanted a baby. And me? God, can’t you just see me, a mother?” She buried her face again. “This just isn’t fair.”

“You’re right, life isn’t fair,” Bob said quietly. “But yes, Bryn, I can see you as a mother. Maybe not a traditional, cookies-and-milk mom, but any kid of yours will have a free-spirited, unconventional, loving mom.” He cupped her chin in his hands and looked directly into her eyes. “You can do this.”

Bryn looked up at him and tried to smile. “You’re such a sweet man. But you just don’t know . . . you don’t understand. Paul doesn’t want a baby.”

“What about you? Do you want a baby?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, shaking her head and pulling away from him. “I didn’t think so. But now that I’m pregnant, I keep thinking . . . I don’t know, maybe. I mean, I’m thirty-two. Maybe this is the only chance I’ll get.”

She stopped and shook her head again, grimacing. “I can’t even believe I said that. Don’t pay any attention to me. I think I’m losing my mind. I can’t have a baby, and that’s that.”

“You haven’t told Paul yet?”

“No,” she said firmly, “and I’m not going to. It would just make him mad.”

Bob took her face in his hands again and looked into Bryn’s eyes.

“You’ve got to tell him,” he said firmly. “You can’t do anything until you tell him. It’s his child, too, and he has a right to know. Besides, maybe he’ll surprise you. Maybe once he gets used to the idea, he’ll be happy about it. Wendy didn’t think she wanted kids, but once she got pregnant, she was thrilled.”

“Yeah, so thrilled she left,” Bryn snapped, then, seeing Bob’s wounded expression, she immediately regretted her words.

“I’m sorry, Bob. Oh God, I’m sorry. Don’t pay any attention to me. I just need to learn to shut up.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m okay. But you’ve got to tell him. You know that, don’t you? You’ve got to.”

Bryn sighed, nodded. “I know,” she said softly. “I just don’t want to.”

 

An hour later she stood fumbling with her key. She could hear the television blaring inside the apartment. Paul was home. She turned the key, set her shoulders in determination, and opened the door.

“Paul? I’m home.”

He sat on the couch, watching the news and eating peanut butter on crackers. He looked up at her with a vacant smile, then turned back to the television. The smell of pot hung heavily in the room. Bryn winced at the smoke, willing her stomach to stay calm.
Oh well,
she thought,
now is obviously not the time to tell him.

She dropped her purse onto the table in the kitchen and plopped down beside him on the couch. “Any messages?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh . . . no,” he replied, his eyes never straying from the screen. “Hey, did you ever notice how long this guy’s nose is? Man, it must be a mile long.” He stared transfixed at the newscaster, who was reporting on a bomb threat at the Miami airport.

“How much did you smoke?” she asked, looking into the ashtray.

“Just one joint. Geez, don’t start,” he whined. “I just had one little joint to unwind. Don’t get all bent out of shape.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Bryn said soothingly. “Just asking.”

“I’ve got another one, if you want to join me.” Paul nodded toward a wooden box on the shelf. “It’s pretty good stuff. . . . Might make you feel sexy.” He leaned over and nuzzled her neck.

Bryn pulled away. “You need a shave,” she snapped.

“So I’ll shave,” he said with a shrug. He smiled and reached his hand out to touch her breast, then slipped it beneath her shirt. “Come on, baby. It’s been a while. Why don’t you smoke a joint and loosen up a little?”

He took her nipple between his fingers. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he whispered hoarsely.

Bryn rose abruptly. “I’m tired,” she said. “And I have a lot of work to do.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Paul asked. “You’re always tired these days.”

“Maybe I’m just getting old,” Bryn said, shrugging her shoulders.

Maybe I’m just growing up,
she thought.
God, how could I even think this man would be ready for fatherhood?

Paul stood up, wobbled slightly. “Head rush,” he said, smiling.

He walked over to Bryn, put his arms around her, slid his hands under her shirt again. “You’re not getting old, baby. You’re still my sleek sex kitten. Now come on, let me warm you up.”

He took her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom.

Bryn allowed herself to be pulled along. Pot usually made Paul horny. She knew if they didn’t have sex, there would be a fight. And she was just too tired to fight tonight.

Paul fell back onto the bed, pulling her on top of him, his hands clutching at her breasts. She looked down at his red-streaked eyes gazing up at her blearily and shook her head. He lifted her shirt over her head and raised his lips to her breast. She sucked in her breath sharply as she felt his teeth nip at the swollen, tender nipple. It hurt. Now he fumbled with her belt. She pushed his hand aside and unbuckled the belt, but he had already reached his hand down to shove her skirt up around her waist. She sighed and stood, letting the skirt slip to the floor, and waited.

Paul sat up and pulled her panties down to her ankles, then reached out to tickle the fur between her legs.

“There’s my little kitten,” he murmured, pulling her back down onto the bed. He rolled over on top of her, burying his face between her breasts, his hand still between her legs.

Bryn closed her eyes tightly. She felt sick and puffy and tired. She felt like glass. She wrapped her hand around his head, playing absently with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Just don’t get sick,
she told herself.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, raising his head to stare at her face. “You’re so stiff.”

“I’m just kind of tense, I guess.”

“Well,” he said, rolling onto his back, “let’s just make this easy, then.”

He walked into the living room and returned with a joint. “Come on, Bryn. Loosen up and let’s have some fun.”

A wave of nausea rolled through her and she bolted from the bed. She slammed the bathroom door behind her and knelt before the toilet.

“Bryn?” Paul’s voice was muffled. “You okay?”

“No,” she called back. “I’m sick.”

She threw up the little she’d eaten at dinner, then leaned back against the wall, feeling tears well up in her eyes. When her stomach had finally settled, she rose cautiously and walked back to the bedroom, where Paul lay on the bed, snoring loudly.

She sighed and pulled a blanket from the bed to sleep on the couch.

9

C
orrie sat at her desk, her head between her hands, staring blankly at the pages laid out before her. The winter issue was always so crowded. Christmas articles, alumni news, items put off from earlier issues that she wanted to run this year. And there were so many alumni pieces this time. She shook her head.
Concentrate,
she said to herself sharply.
Just concentrate on this.

Her mind would not obey. Even during Mass earlier that morning, her mind had wandered. Usually, early Mass grounded her. The candles, the incense, the rosary, they calmed her like nothing else, but not today.

She looked at the tentative layout before her. A piece on a student trip to Bethlehem. An opinion piece on religious displays on government property. A profile of a retired alum who worked as a department store Santa, complete with photos of the old guy with kids on his knees. The usual short blurbs about faculty publications and alumni awards. Class notes. Reunion news. Corrie was holding a page for the class photo from her reunion. She hadn’t gotten the file from the photographer yet. She’d asked for an extra copy of the photo to keep.

Yesterday, she’d been pleased with the way the issue was shaping up. Today, it looked like crap.

Fluff,
she said silently.
Fluff and mistletoe
.

She put out a good magazine. The administration loved it.
The Current
consistently brought in contributions to the alumni fund. She did a good job.

She stood abruptly, knocking pages onto the floor.

“Kenetha,” she called. “Can you bring in the winter folder?”

Her assistant walked in, carrying a green folder bulging with papers and photos. She took one look at Corrie’s face and said, “Don’t even say it. Don’t even tell me you’re making changes. I
am
taking a vacation this month. I
am
going to Tampa with Jared. I am
not
missing another vacation.”

Corrie laughed. “Just a little change,” she said soothingly. “Just one little change.”

Kenetha sighed, dropped the folder onto Corrie’s desk, and lowered herself into a chair. “That’s what you always say.”

“This time I mean it. We’re just going to change the alumni profile.”

“You’re not using the old guy playing Santa? That’s such a nice piece. And you already paid the writer
and
the photographer.”

“I know, I know.” Corrie nodded, sitting on the edge of the desk. “But it just feels too fluffy. We need a harder-edged piece to balance all the saccharine in this issue.”

“It’s the Christmas issue, Corrie. People want saccharine.”

“Yeah, and we’ll have plenty of it. But let’s give them some meat, too.”

Kenetha sat back in the chair, resigned. She knew the look on Corrie’s face, and she knew it was pointless to argue. “Okay, what are we doing instead?” she asked.

“I want to profile a guy I know. He graduated the same year I did, and he runs a community center in California that’s about to lose its funding.”

“There’s a cheery Christmas story,” Kenetha grumbled.

“Well, it could be if our readers decide to do something to help.”

Kenetha simply stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “If you’re going to ask for money, you’d better talk to the board first. You know how they feel about fundraising in the magazine.”

“Hell, Kenetha. We ask for money in every single issue for the alumni association. This is a worthy cause.”

“Honey, they’re
all
worthy causes. You know that. What’s so special about this one?”

Corrie didn’t answer. Kenetha looked at her closely, then smiled.

“Or is it the man that’s special?”

“He’s just an old friend, and it’s a good cause,” Corrie said firmly. “Besides, it’s a good story—especially for Christmas. You know, the Scrooges in Washington taking away the kids’ community center. Give our readers a chance to play Santa themselves instead of just reading about one.”

“And who is going to write this article on such short notice?” Kenetha asked, noting Corrie’s reddening cheeks and bright eyes.

“I’m going to do it,” Corrie said quietly. “I’ll fly to Los Angeles next week, spend a couple days, shoot some pictures, and be home before the weekend.”

Kenetha rose and walked to the door. “Have you told Mark yet?” she asked.

“No, but he won’t mind. Why should he? He’s in New York this week. He travels all the time.”

“But he’s not visiting old girlfriends,” Kenetha said tartly as she walked away. “Is he?”

Corrie shook her head as she picked up the phone and dialed the travel agency.

Kenetha has a vivid imagination,
she thought.
This is going to be a good article, that’s all, a chance to write about something important.

 

“Hey, you.” Bob stood in Bryn’s doorway looking slightly rumpled in chinos and a corduroy jacket. He always looked slightly rumpled. He smiled. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Bryn turned and walked back into the apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow. She was wearing Paul’s blue terry bathrobe over nothing. She felt like death warmed over.

“Sorry, I haven’t gotten dressed yet,” she said, waving him toward the couch as she stumbled to the bedroom to change.

She reemerged a few minutes later wearing shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt. “You want coffee?” she asked, heading for the kitchen.

“Sure, okay,” he answered, following her.

She began making a pot of coffee. Bob sat at the table, watching her expectantly.

“So?” he finally asked. “Did you tell him?”

“No, and I’m not going to.”

Bryn turned to face him, her pale face staring bleakly beneath a fringe of dark bangs.

“This isn’t your problem, Bob, it’s mine. Okay? I appreciate your concern, but it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”

Bob rose and walked to the counter. He put his hands on her shoulders and said, “Hey, I’m just concerned about you. I want to help.”

“Well, you can’t,” she snapped, turning away. “I’ll handle it myself.”

As she poured the water into the coffeemaker, she felt her stomach lurch. “Damn! I’ll be glad to be done with the morning sickness,” she said, turning toward the bathroom.

Bob sat listening as she threw up in the toilet. He watched the coffeepot filling, noted the dishes piled in the sink, the ashtrays filled with cigarette butts, the mini-blinds coated with a film of dust.

He filled the sink with soapy water and began washing dishes. By the time Bryn returned, shaky and paler than ever, he had cleared the sink, emptied the ashtrays, and was wiping down the blinds.

“What are you doing?”

“Just picking up a little. You know, you should ask Paul not to smoke in the apartment. It’s not good for you or the baby.”

“Stop it, Bob. I’m not having this baby. I told you last night, I can’t.” She grabbed the dishrag from him. “And I don’t need you to clean my damn house!”

He stood watching as she poured two cups of coffee, added cream and sugar to one, and handed it to him, keeping the black brew for herself. Then he followed her silently into the living room. She flopped down onto the couch and stared darkly at him. He sat down and sipped his coffee, waiting. He knew Bryn, knew if he waited she would calm down and talk to him, knew better than to be offended by her outburst.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee. Finally, Bryn breathed a long, shuddering sigh and set her cup down.

“Okay, look,” she said, leaning forward, “I cannot have a baby. Not with Paul. He’s just not father material. He doesn’t like kids and he doesn’t want them. He’d be a terrible dad. Hell, he’s still a kid himself.”

“He’s forty-six,” Bob said quietly.

“I know that, but he still thinks he’s twenty. Christ, he spends almost every night sitting here getting stoned. He’s still teaching as an adjunct after all these years. The school is never going to offer him a tenure-track position, and he knows it. But still he stays. He has no savings, no long-term plans, no goals or ambitions. Everything we own is in this apartment,” she said, waving her hand at the room. “What the hell kind of life could we offer a kid? Besides,” she added, “I’d be a lousy mom. I can’t even leave Paul and take care of myself. How would I take care of a kid?”

“Why don’t you leave him?”

“What would I do? I’m thirty-two and I’ve never worked a full-time job. I don’t think I could even get a full-time job at this point. Who’d hire me? And I can’t afford a decent place on my own.” Bryn took a pack of cigarettes from the end table, pulled one from the pack, and began tapping it with her fingernail.

“You’re not smoking again, are you?”

“No,” she sighed, returning the cigarette to the pack. “It took too long to quit last time. But, God, I wish I could have one now.”

Bryn stood and began pacing around the small living room. She looked like a caged animal, Bob thought. Taut, wired, and ready to spring. He waited again, silently.

“I know I should leave,” she said at last. “I know he’s not going to change. He’s not going to grow up. I know that.” She sighed. “It used to be so much fun, you know? He was so charming and fun. He seemed so
free
. But it’s not free, really, it’s just irresponsible.”

She picked up the cigarettes again, held the pack for a moment, then crushed it slowly in her hand.

“I could stay another ten years and nothing would change. He wouldn’t change. I wouldn’t change. Nothing would change.”

“Then leave.” Bob leaned forward. “Leave him and have this baby. You don’t need him. You can do it on your own—lots of women do. And you have so many friends to help you.”

Bob rose and took Bryn’s hand. “Corrie will help you, and Kenetha and Sarah. She knows all the good babysitters. And I’ll be there for you, too.”

Bryn stared at him in silence.

“You’ll be a good mom, Bryn. There’s no one with more love to give than you. I know it will be hard. Of course it will be hard. Even with two parents and a steady income, parenting is hard. But, God, it’s so worth it. You can’t even know. When you hold that baby in your arms, and he’s just looking up at you, trusting you, and you’re his whole world—or hers. God, it will just blow you away.”

Bryn let the tears spill down her cheeks. She didn’t even bother wiping them away. “You make it sound so easy,” she said. “You make it sound so good.”

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” he said, stroking her cheek. “But you won’t be alone.”

Bryn pulled away, wiping her hand across her face and sniffling. “God, can’t you just see my mother’s face? ‘No, Mom, I’m not finally marrying Paul. But I am leaving him. Oh, and by the way, I’m having a baby.’ She’d croak.” She began pacing again. “She’d finally disown me for good.”

“Until she saw her grandchild. You’d be amazed at the difference a baby makes.”

“You think?” She stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, staring toward the window. Then, abruptly, she turned to the kitchen. “I need more coffee, and then I’ve got to get to work. Aren’t you supposed to be at work now?” she asked.

“I’m running a group session at ten. But I’ve still got some time.”

“Well, I don’t,” she said, smiling slightly. “I’ve got a deadline to meet.”

She walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming, Bob. You’re a sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, Bryn. It will be all right.”

“Sure, I know.”

She closed the door behind him, then went to the bedroom and began pulling her clothes from the dresser drawers.

 

Corrie looked up from the email she was reading to see Bryn standing in the doorway of her office, suitcases in hand.

“Hi,” she said. “Where are you off to?”

“Can I crash at your place for a few days?”

“You and Paul fighting again?”

“No, I’m leaving him.”

Corrie smiled as Bryn dropped the suitcases and sat down.

“I mean it this time. It’s really done.”

“Okay, sure, whatever. If you’re finally leaving him, then I’m glad. But I’ll reserve judgment for a few weeks.”

“Witch.” Bryn laughed.

Corrie smiled again. Then her brow furrowed. “But about staying at my house . . . it’s okay with me. But I won’t be there next week. So it’ll just be you and Mark.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to L.A. for a story,” Corrie said, straining to keep her voice flat.

“Kind of a sudden trip, isn’t it? You didn’t mention it the other day.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No, but you hate to travel. Usually, you bitch and moan for weeks ahead of time. Now all of a sudden you’re going to L.A., and you never even mentioned it?”

“It just came up.”

“You’re not going to visit a certain community center in Pasadena, are you?” Bryn asked, watching Corrie’s face closely.

“How did you know?”

“He was talking about it at dinner last night, about you doing a story in the magazine. I told him you wouldn’t. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“It’s a good story,” Corrie said quietly.

“I can’t believe you! He comes into town, crooks his finger, and you go running off to Los Angeles to write about his project. God, Corrie, what is wrong with you?”

Corrie’s cheeks reddened and her mouth set into a hard line. She sat silently for a moment, staring at Bryn. When she spoke, her voice was so soft Bryn had to lean forward to hear her.

“You’re one to talk. Jesus, Bryn, since when have you started handing out advice? I’m going because this will be a good story for the magazine, a strong story, an important story. And if it does some good for some kids there, all the better.”