True Confessions of the Stratford Park PTA

Before he left for work I told him I was going in late because I had some PTA business to take care of at school and asked him to meet me for lunch.

“What, like a date in the middle of the day?” he says, kissing me on the neck.

“Yeah, like a…date.”

He slips his hands inside my robe. “Or maybe I could come home for lunch.” Kisses me full on the mouth. Queasiness crests and rocks me like a little boat on the ocean. I pull away, weighing whether I’ll need to make a run for the bathroom. But the rebuffed look on Andrew’s face jolts me back to level ground.

Why wait until lunch to tell him? Just do it now.

But he’s already walking out the door, murmuring, “See you at eleven-thirty.”

I arrive at Dexter’s a little early, feeling a little better until I get a whiff of the catch of the day. The lunchtime din is at an all-time high and I wonder if I’ll be able to last. The server brings a basket of bread and water with the menus. I nibble on the bread and try to tell myself that it’s mind over matter. I didn’t have a lick of morning sickness with Anastasia. She’s been a model child. I wonder if the way I feel is any indication of this child’s personality—

The thought floors me and I realize that this is the first time I’ve actually thought of this little interloper as a…human being.

Oh, God, what are we going to do? I don’t want another child.

I sip my water and watch Andrew materialize through the crowd.

Okay, here we go. This is it.

Two women at a nearby table turn their heads to watch him as he passes. They have good taste.

With his thick, dark, curly hair and lithe runner’s build, he just seems to get better looking with age. People have said he looks like a mature Orlando Bloom. I can see the resemblance in his handsome face.

“Sorry I’m late.” He kisses my cheek and pulls out the chair across from me, glancing around the crowded restaurant as he sits down. “I was tied up on the phone. Clients in Paris.”

He waves at a man across the room.

“Jerry Singer with Nicholas and Anders,” he says looking at Jerry not me.

For a moment, I’m afraid Jerry Singer is going to come over to our table, but the woman he’s sitting with says something and draws him into the conversation.

“This was a good idea.” Andrew smiles, finally focusing his attention on me for the first time since he arrived. “I’m glad you suggested it.”

All traces of this morning’s misunderstanding have vanished and that puts me at ease. Well, until his brows knit and he touches my hand. “Are you okay?”

I smooth my hair with my free hand. “I’m fine. Why?”

He picks up a menu and opens it, glancing up at me. “I don’t know. You just look a little pale, I guess. A little tired.” He pulls his hand away and picks up the menu. “What are you going to have?”

“Your baby. I’m going to have your baby.”

I can’t help it. The words rush up my throat and into my mouth, the same way the bagel I tried to eat for breakfast came right back up and I couldn’t stop it.

Andrew looks momentarily amused, but all too soon that melts into confusion, as if he doesn’t understand.

I sit frozen. Oh God, why did I do that? I didn’t want to say it like that. I close my eyes a moment, trying to get my bearings.

“We’re pregnant, Andrew.” The words are softer this time. I open my eyes to gauge his reaction. “We’re going to have another baby.”

He closes his menu and lays it down. His entire face is now a dark, defensive question. “There’s no way. This can’t be.”

He sits back hard in the chair, turns to the side, rests his arm on the back of the chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I know,” I say, trying to comfort him. “I had the same reaction because of your vasectomy.”

I’m suddenly aware that a woman who is dining solo at the table next to ours is listening. I glare at her. She has the decency to turn away.

But my husband won’t look at me. Still, I know that look, that closed body language. He’s not just mad, he’s livid.

I didn’t expect him to jump for joy. I’m not exactly thrilled either, but I never imagined he would act this way. As if it’s my fault.

“Andrew, come on. I’m just as shocked as you are, but we’re in this together. Talk to me.”

His expression is as hard as stone. “How can we be having a baby if I’m shooting blanks?”

“What? What are you saying?” The pitch of my voice rises, but I don’t care. “Of course we’re pregnant. Do you think I’ve been having sex with another man?”

He finally looks at me. Stares me straight in the eyes and shrugs.

The server arrives at our table, and I sit there flabbergasted as Andrew gets rid of him. The woman next to us is looking at us again, but this time I don’t care. All I can focus on is the way my husband is looking at me as if he’s caught me in the act of infidelity.

Something inside me snaps.

I stand and grab my purse. “I am not going to sit here and plead with my husband to believe that I’m carrying his baby.”

Maggie

After we leave Stratford Middle School, Barbara drops me off at home and goes to run errands. I hope she doesn’t think I’m unsociable for not going with her. I just need some time to put away the things we brought with us from the car and make arrangements for a storage shed before the moving van arrives tomorrow.

I’ll have to store the majority of our furniture because the carriage house is furnished. I just don’t feel right asking Barbara to move her things out.

Besides, it’s better this way because it reminds me this arrangement is temporary. Sarah and I can’t stay here forever. Just long enough to figure out what we’re going to do.

It’s the first I’ve been alone in days and I take a moment to savor the freedom. I walk through the rooms of our little three-bedroom dollhouse, getting a feel for our new home, letting it speak to me the way old houses do.

There’s no foyer. The screened front door opens right into the living room, which is complete with polished hardwood floors and a fireplace, though why one would need a fireplace in Florida baffles me. Off to the left is a tiny galley kitchen and dining alcove; to the right, a squat hallway holds the lone bathroom and our bedrooms.

It’s about half the size of our house in Asheville, but the place is bright and cheerful, furnished in white wicker and shades of yellow. Generous windows in the living room invite in an abundance of light.

I’m soothed by the hominess of the place.

It’s such a beautiful day, I open the front door and windows to air out the closed-up musty smell places take on when they haven’t been lived in. My bedroom window looks out toward the lake. I open the blinds and stand there a minute enjoying the quiet of the house, the way the green lawn slopes down to the lake. I love the huge live oaks, the way the Spanish moss that’s draped on the branches dances in the wind.