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From: basmith@newshost.li.net (Brenda Ann Smith)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Kate and Emily: Decisions.
Date: 19 Jun 1996 01:58:31 GMT
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Decisions.
(6/12/96)
I decided to keep the baby. The week after we returned from
Memphis I made an appointment with my gynecologist. She
confirmed that I was indeed pregnant--about nine weeks. That
explained why my clothes fit more snugly than before. We
discussed abortion and I knew that I wouldn't be able to do that.
I wanted to have a baby: I wanted to be a mother.
What I couldn't decide what whether I should tell Michael.
I knew all the philosophical arguments, but when it came down to
it I didn't want to share this with someone I didn't love. If my
child was going to have another parent it wasn't going to be he.
And that brought me to you. Every day, every hour I wanted
to pick up the phone and call you. But I knew that I shouldn't.
You had to deal with this in yourself first and only then would
we be able to do it together.
But days went by and you didn't call.
A month later on a Friday night I took a train downtown and
headed for a bar. I wanted a drink badly, more so when I got
there and found myself surrounded by all those other women
drinking. Instead I sat down at the bar and ordered a Coke. I
scanned the crowd as I sipped my drink. Most of the women looked
like young professionals, late twenties to early forties. They
sat two or four to a table, talking and laughing and drinking.
Some of them were kissing. Some of them danced to whatever song
played on the jukebox.
A woman took the seat to my right and when I glanced at her
out of the corner of my eyes, I nearly fell off my stool.
"Jennifer?"
She turned her head and blinked. "Emily?"
It had been more than two months, but I was not mistaken
about her identity. Neither of us knew what to say next.
"Goddamn, this city's getting too small," she muttered.
"How are you?" I asked. "What brings you here?"
"I'm all right, I guess." She shrugged once. The bartender
came over and she ordered a whiskey and a beer. "Just here to
seek some comfort."
"Oh," I replied, not quite understanding what she meant.
The whiskey and beer appeared and before she said anything
else she tossed the amber liquid into her mouth, holding it for a
few seconds before swallowing. Then she took a long swig of
beer. "Well, my fiance called it off."
"I'm so sorry to hear that."
She nodded and pointed to my glass. "What're you drinking?"
"Just Coke."
I held it up and she clinked the neck of her beer bottle
against it. "Salud." She drank more and then said, "I guess I
deserved it, though, since he caught me fucking one of his office
buddies. Mike something-or-other. Anyway," she continued,
waving her hand impatiently, "he told me he had a meeting but he
didn't. Lying bastard." I managed to stifle my laugh. "What're
you doing here?"
"I'm just here to think," I said.
She looked around. "Kate here with you?"
I shook my head. "Nope."
"Oh?" She glanced at me. "If I can tell you that my fiance
dumped my fat ass, you can tell me why you're here alone."
So I told her the whole long story, about my visit home and
my pregnancy and everything. It felt good to talk to someone
about it. Whatever her other faults, Jennifer was an attentive
and sympathetic listener. She was also very attractive in a
flashy way, which I probably would have noticed the first time I
met her if I'd been less upset.
As I finished she nodded slowly, comprehending it all. "You
want to get out of here? There's a nice coffee place two doors
down."
"You don't like it here?" I asked.
"No, I do," she replied. "I just don't think a woman in
your condition ought to be taking in so much secondhand smoke."
I smiled at her concern and agreed to leave with her. She
paid for both our drinks and we headed to the coffee shop. There
was only one other person there, an elderly man in the corner
reading the Times over a cup of cappuccino and a canoli. We took
a table against the wall and a waitress came to take our order.
I decided on a napoleon and a glass of water. Jennifer wanted a
cappuccino.
"All that stuff you said back in the bar, that sounds
exactly like Kate," she said. "Don't feel like you're the only
one who ever got treated this way by her. It's the way she is."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"I don't mean to suggest that Kate doesn't know how to
love," Jennifer said, tracing figures on the formica tabletop
with her fingernail, "but it comes a little harder for her than
for other people. It started when she was young but within these
last few years, with her mother's death and then Molly's--that's
hard for anybody, no matter how strong you are."
The waitress brought our order and Jennifer took a few sips
of the cappuccino before setting it down and cupping her hands
around the hot cup. "When her mother died, she went to a
psychologist to talk about her grief. But when Molly died..."
"What?" I rested my elbows on the table and gazed steadily
at her.
"Kate spent the last three years of her life boozing and
fucking," she said softly. "And I don't say that as a judgment.
God knows if that kind of tragedy happened in my life, one-two
like that, I'd probably be in a padded room in Bellevue. But
it's like since then she's cut herself off from everyone else,
emotionally anyhow. She was a different person when Molly was
alive."
Words stuck in my throat. "I had no idea. She never said
anything."
"That day you came to the loft she and I got into a fight."
Jennifer's voice was low and gentle. "She asked me if I loved
her and when I told her I did, she thought I was lying. But I
really do. I don't love her like you do, but I remember the
person she used to be. I loved that person passionately. She
was so beautiful and vibrant and exciting that she just took your
breath away." Her eyes sparkled warmly with the remembrance. "I
even tried to seduce her once, and she wouldn't give me the time
of day. Molly was her whole world. Yeah, she's a different
person now."
We stayed in the coffee shop the better part of the evening.
When I looked down at my watch it was almost eleven o'clock.
"Damn, it's past my bedtime," I said, stretching my arms above my
head.
"It's Friday night. Live a little!" Jennifer grinned at
me.
I covered my mouth as I yawned and shook my head. "Uh-uh.
I have errands to do tomorrow. Busy, busy, busy."
"Well, since you're abandoning me I guess I'll go home and
do my nails or something." She looked at the check and took some
bills from her purse and lay them on the table. She stood up.
"Which train you taking?"
"Umm...one of the red ones," I said. Jennifer laughed.
"The number one."
"Great. That's the one I need, too."
She lived only a few blocks from my apartment. We walked
together, slowly, talking all the way. "This is my building," I
told her, stopping. I smiled at her. "It was a great evening.
You were the last person I thought I'd enjoy spending time with."
Jennifer laughed and then gazed at me. She lowered her head and
mumbled something. "What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"No, come on." I nudged her playfully. "Tell me."
"I just think that God--or somebody--has the worst timing."
Her lips curled into a smile. "You know?"
"Yeah. I think I do."
"Well." She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand.
"Good night." She turned to leave.
"Hey--Jennifer?" I called. She stopped, turned, and looked
at me. "You could, you know, call me or something tomorrow. If
you're just hanging out and want something to do. I'm in the
phone book."
Jennifer smiled. "Okay. Thanks." She lifted her hand and
waved. I waved back and watched her walk away.
When I got upstairs the first thing I did was check my
answering machine. No messages. I'd hoped there would be one
from you. I stepped out of my shoes and lay down on the sofa
before picking up the phone. I almost dialed your number but
called my parents instead.
"Hi, Momma. It's me."
"Hi, baby. How're you doing?" she asked.
"I'm all right." I curled the cord around my forefinger.
"How is everybody? How's Daddy?"
"Oh, we're all doing good here."
There was a long silence as I tried to find the words to say
what I had to say. "Momma, I'm pregnant."
And then the silence resumed as my mother tried to
understand the words I had just said. "You are?"
"Yes, I am. And I'm keeping the baby. I, ah, I guess
you're going to be a grandmother," I said, trying to sound more
cheerful than I felt.
"Yes, I guess I am. When is it....when?"
"January. Early January."
I could see my mother's face as I talked to her. She was
probably sitting in the kitchen with Daddy and they were having
tea before bed. She was trying to maintain a straight face and
Daddy was looking at her, one eyebrow cocked as he listened to
this strange conversation. He nudged her and she swatted his
hand away.
"I just wanted to let you know," I said.
"That was considerate. Thank you."
"I guess I'll hang up now. Good night."
"Good night."
I put the receiver back on the cradle and reached for the
remote control. David Letterman was in the middle of his
monologue. I'd gotten one thing out of the way: they knew I was
pregnant. If only I could think of a way to let them know I was
a lesbian.
I got up and trudged into the kitchen. I opened the freezer
door and withdrew the pint of Ben and Jerry's strawberry kiwi
sorbet. Your favorite flavor. I heated it in the microwave for
ten seconds to soften it and went back into the living room,
resuming my position on the sofa.
My mind sifted through the things Jennifer had told me. You
had so many secrets you never shared with me and it hurt. I
began to doubt that you loved me the way you insisted you did. I
just couldn't understand how two people who were supposed to be
close could be so far apart.
I had shared every detail of my life, no matter how
insignificant, with you those four weeks we were together.
Things I never told Michael or any other man I dated. Things I
didn't tell my parents. Things I didn't tell Bill. But the only
things I knew about you were the kinds of things that I knew
about my friends: your favorite food, movie, color. I wanted to
know more about my lover.
I lay there and slowly consumed the entire pint of sorbet as
I re-evaluated our relationship. I wanted less to call you. It
was your turn to do something and if you didn't, you didn't. I
wouldn't be the one to crawl back. And as I began to fall
asleep I fervently hoped that Jennifer would call the next day.
She did, at around ten o'clock in the morning. I was
kneeling in front of the toilet, my hands clad in yellow latex
gloves and wielding a blue-and-white toilet brush. I pushed the
button for the speaker phone to talk to her, which she said she
hated but she talked anyway. We decided to see a Broadway show
in the evening and to go out for ice cream afterwards. It was
more enticing than the prospect of cleaning out the refrigerator
so I agreed.
I finished cleaning the bathroom and tackled the kitchen
afterwards; the living room and bedroom would wait until the next
day. I gathered clothes that needed to go to the cleaners in a
shopping bag and dropped them off on the way to the A & P. I did
some light shopping, mostly junk food but I only ate dinner at
home during the week. I bought two bags of my favorite oatmeal
raisin cookies rationalizing that they were kind of healthy
because, hey, they were oatmeal. I also bought a bottle of
calcium supplements for the one growing in me.
When I got back there was a message on my answering machine
from my father. I wasn't surprised. I had expected him to call
the night before, after my mother had gone to sleep. He used to
do that when I was in college and called home with bad news.
Momma would tell him afterwards and then he would wait until
about midnight, sneak out of bed, and call me for a talk. I took
great comfort in those calls because my father was much more
mellow and calm than my mother but I didn't want to talk to him.
At least, not then. So I threw all my dirty clothes into a
laundry bag and dragged it behind me down to the basement.
Jennifer was coming over at seven-fifteen. I was ready by
six-thirty. I was nervous about going out with her. But it
wasn't really going out like two people who like each other go
out. I liked Jennifer but I wasn't sure that she liked me, so I
figured that it didn't qualify as a date.
She arrived on time and looked stunning in a white jacket,
with gold buttons, and pants. She'd gotten her dark brown hair
cut and sported a hairstyle like Teri Hatcher's on "Lois and
Clark."
"You look fabulous!" she said immediately, taking in my
emerald green slip dress.
"I look fat." I was definitely beginning to show and had
been surprised that the dress even fit.
"Nonsense," she replied, smiling. She kissed me on the
cheek. "Are you ready to go?" I grabbed my purse, locked the
door, and we left.
"My ex-fiance Dave gave me these tickets to How to Succeed
because it's probably my favorite show right now," she explained
to me on the train. "I adore Matthew Broderick so I could watch
this show about a bazillion times and never get tired of it."
"I've never even seen it," I said. She raised an eyebrow.
"My ex-boyfriend wasn't a big theatre-goer."
"Kate is, though," she said.
"Yeah, we went to a few plays but most of them were off-
Broadway or newer shows because she's seen so many of them," I
told her. "I mean, I've never seen Cats either, you know?"
Jennifer laughed. "So we'll go see the kitties some time."
We had excellent seats: orchestra, about eight rows back in
the center. Jennifer sang along to all of the songs under her
breath, much to my amusement. She was a lot of fun, though.
During the intermission we both had to use the bathroom and, as
always, there was a long line at the ladies' room but no line at
the mens' so Jennifer opened the other door and said, "Zip up,
boys, I'm coming in!" Laughing, I followed her under the stares
of a few old ladies; but then we were joined by about five other
women who high-fived Jennifer on their way out.
"You've got some balls," I said, chuckling, as we walked
along Broadway after the show.
"Hey, I was always taught that holding it in was bad for the
body." She winked and grinned at me. "So do you feel like ice
cream or what?"
"Actually, I feel like something more substantial, like..."
We approached a Chinese take-out place and I stopped in the
doorway. "Kung-po chicken."
"Mmm...sounds good to me."
"We'll take it back to my apartment," I said, going in.
It was torture to sit on the subway while the smell of kung-
po chicken and fried wonton wafted up to my nose and filled the
entire car with its spicy, garlicky smell. Jennifer leaned over
and whispered, "I'm actually drooling over here. How many more
stops?"
We sprinted up the stairs (we didn't have the patience to
wait for the elevator) and I unlocked the door and rushed into
the kitchen, Jennifer close behind. She opened the white cartons
of chicken and rice and ripped open the wax paper bag of wontons
as I grabbed two plates and two forks. "What do you want to
drink?"
"Whatever you got," she replied as she munched on a wonton.
Her jaw dropped open and she fanned her mouth with her left hand.
"Ow! Hot!" I giggled and took a bottle of beer from the
refrigerator for her and a bottle of mineral water for myself.
Her eyes lit up and she gave me a thumbs up sign. "Good choice."
"Well, I have to get rid of it," I said. "It's too much of
a temptation for me."
We went into the living and sat on the floor around the
coffee table. My main concern was eating, since I'd had lunch
about nine hours earlier with only an apple since then. Jennifer
wasn't quite as starved and talked in between bites. I listened,
nodding as I shoveled the rice into my mouth.
"Have you begun to think about names for the baby?" she
asked when we'd finished eating.
I leaned back against the couch. "If it's a girl, I was
thinking about Rosalie. I don't know about a middle name yet.
If it's a boy I'm going to call him Nathaniel James, after my
grandfather."
"I like those."
Maybe it was the way she smiled when she said that, but
suddenly I didn't want her to leave. I didn't want to have sex
with her, either, but I wanted her to lie in bed with me and talk
me to sleep with that gentle, lilting voice that seemed to caress
my very soul.
"Jennifer, will you stay with me tonight?" She looked at
me, puzzled. "I don't want to do anything. I just want you
here."
"I'd like that." And she smiled again.
She lay next to me in bed and drew me close. Her breasts
were warm against my back. Her right hand lay on my "womb." (I
said it was my intestines, she said it was my womb. It felt
good, so who was I to argue?) I closed my eyes as she began to
tell a story about two women who fell in love over a carton of
kung-po chicken.