11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
“Expectant mothers should avoid as much stress as possible. Even women attempting to conceive should do their best to keep calm, cool, and collected at all times, and not worry. There will be enough stress and worrying with the arrival of a baby.”
A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood
Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)
S tressing about things can do nasty stuff to your body. I feel like crap today; I’m tired and my tummy’s upset. I chalk it up to my period arriving any day now.
I had a horrible sleep—filled with nervous tension about seeing David. For some reason, at one-thirty in the morning, it got into my head that David only wanted to see me because he felt the need to tell me off about breaking his heart all those years ago. That thought would not be vanquished, as much as I tried to put it into the do-not-think-about box in my head. It’s how I deal with things—mentally compartmentalize them into boxes in my head—the do-not-think-about, the too-horrible-to-consider, and my favourite, the thoughts-that-will-make–me-drink-too-much-if-I-think-about-them. Then if I have the time or inclination, I bring them out slowly when I’m ready to deal. But I don’t often have the inclination, so there’s a ton of stuff holed up in those boxes in my head.
Then about four-thirty (no, I didn’t get a lot of sleep), when I couldn’t stop thinking about poor unbabied Emma, I had the brilliant idea for David to be the father of my baby. I’m sure you already came to that conclusion, but sometimes it takes me a little longer. I mean, how perfect? I know him; I know his family; I know his family’s history. I could just ask for a small jar of Jiffy Sperm, and he could go on his way. Or maybe (this thought is what kept me awake for most of the night), he got in touch with me because he’s ready to give me another chance. He wants me back in his life, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about the Jiffy Sperm; we could do it the old-fashioned way. It could be like the last twelve years never happened. It could be that fate led him to walk into the wine store on the day I was working. Thursdays are the only day I work late.
Normally I don’t believe in stuff like fate and destiny, because if I did, then I’d have to consider that it was my fate to be alone and without a baby, and I don’t think it is. I was made to be a mother. For no other reason, just look at the size of my hips!
It was still quiet upstairs when I got up Saturday morning. Because Coop and J.B. both work such late hours, mornings can sometimes blend into late morning-early afternoon, and if I’m not busy, it’s easy to abide by those hours. But today I had things to do, people to see. I could start my new life with David!
So I jumped out of bed, showered, and gave my legs an extra-smooth shave, and then I rubbed scented body lotion onto every skin surface I could reach. Of course, when I was doing this, it was in front of the mirror. Naturally, I couldn’t help comparing the body I see now to the body David last saw. The decade has not been kind. The hips are a little wider, the belly a little less taut. The breasts are still full and luscious-looking (one of my ex-boyfriends once told me that, and I liked the description), and while there are no stretch marks or unsightly veins, I definitely no longer have the body of a twenty-two-year-old. But that’s okay, since neither will David. Not that his body was ever the attraction between us. If I recall correctly, it was okay, kind of long and lean, without any of J.B.’s muscular firmness.
Now, why should I be thinking about J.B.’s muscular firmness?
I shook the image—both images—out of my mind and got dressed. Immediately, I felt better. I know I’m not Playboy material or anything—I look okay naked, but I look a lot better with clothes on. No one has told me that; it’s just my female intuition.
And then I was off to see David, to let whatever would happen, happen.
Anyone who lives in the city with a living brain cell knows not to drive anywhere close to Woodbine and Queen in the summer, and here I was—a beautiful Saturday morning in June, in my car, driving south on Woodbine, trying to make a left onto Queen Street. Impatiently, I waited for a break in the traffic. I’d waited so long to see David again. Like a sign from above, Alanis Morrisette came on the radio with ” You Oughtta Know. ″ I love that song. David bought the CD for me when it first came out, and I used to play it over and over again, despite his being absolutely sick of the song. But he would always let me listen to it without complaint. He was a good guy. He is a good guy.
I was going to see David, and everything would be all right. I’d be able to have a baby. This was the right thing to do. I had no idea how things would work out; I just knew they would.
It’s so nice being such an unconcerned optimist.
It was easier to find David’s house than it was to find parking close by. The address David gave me was nice—a duplex, with a huge porch and a gorgeous red maple in the front yard. It was on a street directly north of the boardwalk, which explained the lack of parking. I finally found a spot three streets over. By pure luck, someone was leaving just as I drove by, but I had to reverse up a one-way street to claim the parking spot. In my excitement, I twice kissed bumpers with the Expedition behind me, but I checked when I got out and there was no damage. Not that my little Jetta could hurt a huge gas-guzzler like that.
So I was there. And despite the traffic, I was early. It wasn’t even ten thirty, and David said to show up around eleven. What was I thinking coming so early? Now I had to wait around like a loser. I was actually standing in front of his neighbour’s house, sort of hidden by a huge maple tree so that David wouldn’t see me if he happened to glance out the window.
So either I stood out there for half an hour, went for a little walk to waste time, or headed up to David’s door and hoped that he was not too put out by me being early.
I checked in a nearby car window to make sure what I was wearing was appropriate. I had on a faded denim skirt that hit mid-thigh, and layered tank tops in white and blue because it was hot for June. I might be ghostly white and covered in freckles, but at least the skin that was showing wasn’t all squishy and cellulite-y. Because of the humidity, I pulled as much of my hair as I could into a ponytail—my curls always look freaked out when it’s humid. I thought I looked fairly good. Okay, maybe even better than fairly good.
I was good to go. Let’s go see David and get this on. Unfortunately, I still couldn’t head to the door .
″Casey?”
Aw, fuck a duck. While I was standing there hiding behind the tree, who comes walking up the street from the beach with a couple of dogs (a beautiful brown Labrador and a scrappy little Jack Russell) but David? I knew I was one mass of blushes. Even the tips of my ears were warm, and I had no idea what to say.
″Hi,” was the only thing that came to mind.
″I was hoping to get back before you got here, but someone,” he tugged on the leash for the Lab, “insisted on taking his time.” He gave me a big smile. “It’s good to see you again.” He pulled me into a hug that was at first awkward, but then quickly eased into being warm and comfortable. I could stay like that all day, except that David must have been running on the beach because he sort of smells a little, but I was not about to complain. I’d missed his smell. I exhaled without even realizing I’d been holding my breath.
″Let’s go in,” he said as he pulled away.
″I’m sorry I’m early,” I told him. “I guess I misjudged the traffic coming down here.”
″No problem,” he told me. I watched as David pulled the dogs behind him and crossed the street.
″You live—there?” I asked before I could stop myself. I still hadn’t moved. David gave me a funny look over his shoulder from the middle of the quiet street.
″Couple houses up. #104.”
For whatever reason, I had it in my head that he lived at # 105. David gestured with a sweep of his arm to a duplex almost exactly across the street from where I was. “Home, sweet home.”
I stepped onto the porch behind him and almost got knocked aside by the Labrador’s wagging tail. This place was just as nice as the one across the street, with lots of terra-cotta containers filled with flowers and an old milking jug painted with a picture of a lake, a loon, and a dock. There was even a woven reed mat with “Welcome” on it. I felt my spirits sink as David unlocked the door. There had to be a woman around here. How uncomfortable was that going to be, if she came home to find an ex-girlfriend hanging around? I’d be pissed.
″Are you sure?” I stammered as David held the door open for me. “I mean, won’t it be weird if, you know, someone comes home and finds me here? ”
″Depends on what you’re planning to do to me,” he teased. “Get in here. I’m hot—we’ll have a drink. All very innocent and unweirdlike. Don’t worry.”
I wished he would just say if he was married or not. It was starting to freak me out. As soon as I was inside, I began scanning the place as David pointed out the various rooms; I started to feel a little hopeful when I saw no evidence of womanly knickknacks or magazines. When there’s a serious girlfriend, you can always tell. I thought for a moment I’d hit the bull’s eye—then I see the copy of Us on the kitchen table, but there’s a picture of Jennifer Aniston on the cover and I remembered David always liked her. There was actually not a lot of clutter, which really surprised me when I thought back to the pigsty David used to call a room. His domestic abilities must have improved some.
I told David how nice his place was. It was one of those open-concept places, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room all occupying a huge space with gorgeous, dark hardwood floors. There was not a lot of furniture, just the bare essentials—table and chairs, couch, television, and bookcases. I smiled when I noticed the collection of Harry Potter books among his tattered science fiction novels. How did I know David would have them?
″Sit down,” David invited. “I’ll get us a drink, and we can start to catch up.”
I sank into the comfortably shabby couch and kept looking around.
There was lots of evidence of dogs, including a faint aroma like wet wool. Not very pleasant, but the dogs themselves were great, especially the Lab. He parked himself right at my feet, and I got the feeling he was telling David he approved. Yay! I’d already won over the dog.
″Oscar,” David scolded as he poured my Pepsi into a glass “Give her some room. He loves making new friends,” he said as he gave me an apologetic smile.
″He’s beautiful.” I reached down to give him a scratch, and the Jack Russell scrambled over, eager for some attention as well.
I tried to look at something other than David, but my eyes were continually drawn back to him. He was wearing tattered cargo shorts, which he kept hitching onto his thin hips. Still a swimmer’s body, I thought, noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of the rest of his body. And the legs—his calves were always impressive, and age hadn’t changed them much. Or the bony knees. David’s knees are probably his worst body part. They’re quite horrible, like upside-down muffin tins smack in the middle of very nice legs. Nice legs, ugly knees.
″So,” David said, handing me the glass. I’m careful not to touch his hand. “Long time.”
″Too long,” I said, and immediately regretted sounding like bad movie dialogue.
We talked about the dogs for a while until David asked how I’d been. I told him about my teaching and where I’m living. I told him about Cooper, but left out J.B., since I felt weird talking about him.
And I didn’t want my weirdness to ruin this wonderful comfort I was starting to feel with David. It was always so nice with him—we never ran out of things to talk about. David told me about his job, the traveling he’d done, and how much he loved living in the Beaches. I was not hearing any mention of a girlfriend, and the thought perked me up immensely.
″Um, do you mind—can I use…” I asked awkwardly, after a Pepsi and two glasses of water. Pretty soon I was going to have to start crossing my legs.
″Bathroom’s the first door down the hall.” David smiled, motioning to the hallway off the dining room area.
“Thanks.” This was also a good time for a reconnaissance mission. I have the quickest pee on record, and then used the running water to mask the sound of me opening the cupboard doors. I found nothing more exciting than towels, extra shampoo, and toilet paper in there. Razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste in the medicine cabinet, and a bottle of Tylenol and a little jar of Tiger Balm. And only a box of condoms and a tube of KY under the sink. Okay, nothing surprising. David has sex. Did I expect him to live like a nun? Or I guess a monk since he is a guy. The main thing I discovered was that I didn’t discover any evidence of a woman. Good to know.
I came out of the bathroom with a big smile on my face to find David back in the kitchen.
″Are you hungry, Casey? I’m starving. Want a turkey sandwich?” He held up a package of deli meat.
″Um, sure, but look, I can get out of here if you have things to do.”
“I thought we were going to hang out. I have absolutely nothing else I need to be doing,” David assured me with a smile, while slathering mayo on whole-wheat bread.
″That’d be great,” I said shyly .
After the sandwich—not up to Cooper’s standards, but tasty nonetheless—David suggested a walk on the beach. At the word walk, Oscar instantly woke up, and Jack, the Jack Russell, got all yippy so that decided it for me. David clipped on the leashes, and I took Oscar as we hit the boardwalk, talking all the while.
After my calves began to beg for mercy—my infrequent exercise regime has long fallen by the wayside—we dropped the dogs at the house, headed to Queen Street, and walked along the shops. Eventually, David expressed hunger again and took me to his favourite pub for an early dinner.
″So no wife or babies yet?” I asked after our food was brought to the table. I toyed with the chicken in my Caesar salad. I had to ask. I’d waited too long, and besides, I did get to spend the day with him.
″None for me. You?” David smiled.
I shook my head, trying to mask my huge exhale of breath. “No, not yet. Soon, I hope. Real soon.”
″Me too,” he admitted, finishing his beer. “Does the biological clock start ticking for men, you think?”
″Maybe.” There were changes in David, I noticed. I knew there would be something, but it’s nothing bad. He seemed more open and less reticent since I last saw him, but that could just be because he was excited to see me. And he did seem excited to see me. I’d been very encouraged by that.
David’s face was tanned. He looked well with colour in his thin face, but it also accentuated the fine lines in the corners of his brown eyes. He’d aged, but then again, so had I. He’d matured, I decided as he told me about some place in Central Asia he wanted to visit next year, but hopefully so had I. We were kids when we were together. We grew up together, as much as you can grow up in your early twenties. He was my first love, and I know I was his first lover. He was ready to share his life with me, and I gave him the boot because of a childish, spur-of-the-moment reason.
″I have to ask,” David began with a smirk on his face, like he could read my thoughts. “How was Europe?”
″Oh, God,” I blurted out, slapping my hands to my face to hide my embarrassment. “Oh, David, I’m so sorry!”
David waved his hand at me and laughed. “No, no, don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Ancient history, water under the bridge; I won’t bring it up again.”
I wanted him to bring it up. I wanted to tell him breaking up with him was the stupidest thing I had ever done and I’d regretted it every day since. But I didn’t say anything because I’m a coward and because David didn’t seem to be bothered by discussing how I broke his heart all those years ago. I’d be bothered if the situation were reversed. And now I was bothered because he was not bothered. I felt a sharp twinge of unease as I told him about my sister Libby and the girls.
″I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you,” David told me after dinner, with some surprise in his voice. I told him I should be going, and he walked me back to my car. The street was quiet, and I could see the lights just beginning to prick on through the leaves of the trees. Queen Street and all its bustle was barely discernible. It would be a nice place to live.
″Me too,” I told him.
″Look, I really don’t want you to drop out of my life again.” David leaned in the car window and looked imploringly at me. “Let’s get together again. How about tomorrow night? There’s a new Jennifer Garner movie out.”
″Okay!” I said with a little too much excitement for a simple movie invite. “I want to see that.” I remembered our movie dates. David and I used to go at least once a week, sometimes twice, always sitting in “our seats” in the middle of the theatre, with a large order of popcorn and bag of Fuzzy Peaches to share, a 7-Up for him and a Pepsi for me. David was the only man I know who admits to enjoying a good romantic comedy, the typical “chick flicks.” When teased, he used to say taking me to see them would get him laid, but I knew the truth. His movie collection contained every one of Meg Ryan’s movies.
″Can I pick you up around seven, then?”
″Sure… no! No, I’ll… meet you there. Yonge and Eglinton okay with you?”
There was no way I was having David stop by the house until I knew exactly what was happening. That would just open up a whole can of what-the-hell-is-going-on.
David finally said goodbye, without the kiss I sort of hoped for. Earlier I had given up hope of the idea we would end the day in bed, but I thought a kiss might not be too out of line.
My mind was full of jumbled thoughts as I drove home. Most were happy thoughts, but I had a disturbing one as I pulled into the driveway. How different was the David I had just spent the day with from the David I remembered from all those years ago and the David I’d kept close to me in my fantasies? Was I missing something because my memories were clouding my judgment ?
When I unlocked the door, the house was quiet. Cooper and Emma were working at the restaurant and J.B. at the bar. If I hadn’t just spent the day with David, I might be tempted to drop by for a drink. But all I wanted to do was sit and think about every single word David said to me and try to interpret them. Had he been thinking of me as much as I’ve thought of him? Did he blame me for ending things, and did he regret not fighting for me?
On my bed, I found a folded piece of paper.
″ Hey ,” it said. ” Dinner tomorrow? I have laundry that needs to be done. J.B. ″