Chapter 38 Rebecca
He’s back ,” was all the text from Gigi said.
Rebecca knew immediately. Their dad was the only “he” in their life who didn’t require identification.
“He could’ve visited two weeks ago when we were there,” Rebecca told Tom over dinner. An elaborate butter shrimp dish tonight—protein
and fat for the baby, who should now be the size of a pea, per Rebecca’s research. “But instead he deliberately waited until
after we left.”
“I doubt it was personal,” Tom said, pushing the shrimp around his plate with his fork. “He doesn’t seem to put much thought
into things.”
Rebecca prickled. “It was definitely personal.”
Tom assumed the best in people, a great quality until it came to her dad. Tom didn’t get it. His parents had been happily
married his whole life. For his sake, Rebecca was glad he couldn’t relate. But she wanted to feel like he was on her side.
“This is my dad’s way of punishing me for not asking him to walk me down the aisle,” Rebecca went on. “Well, we’ll see if
he makes more of an effort when the baby comes. He can’t assume he has unlimited access to his grandchild.”
Pregnancy was making Rebecca spiteful. Or maybe it was the cumulative effect of being an outsider in her new life. She was
feeling more and more like Gigi. Surprisingly, she liked the zing of it, the way words launched off her tongue.
“We’re not going to use our child as a bargaining chip,” Tom said. “Having a good relationship with the grandparents will be important for his development.”
“Or hers,” Rebecca said. And she didn’t need a lecture on the baby’s emotional development. She was the one reading all the
books and regurgitating them to Tom before bed. “I guess we don’t have to decide everything right now.” Though deciding things
was what she’d been doing lately. Drawing up plans for the nursery, bookmarking baby clothing and strollers, screening potential
babysitters to find one she could trust (none yet), investigating preschools, and even getting sucked into a few college prep
articles. (She would like their child to be able to go to an Ivy League; it had never felt on the table for Rebecca. She wanted
everything to be on the table.)
“How about we drive back up to the island to see your dad this weekend?” Tom suggested. “I could take a half day on Friday.”
“No,” Rebecca said, though it meant something that he offered. “He’ll probably be gone by then anyway.”
She wondered what time her dad would sneak into her mom’s room tonight. Perhaps Gus would be warier under Gigi’s watch than
her own.
They sat in silence as they ate, silverware clanking. Music drifted over from next door.
“I think we should host a party,” Tom said abruptly.
Rebecca looked up from her plate. Tom was not a party person. He didn’t like attending them and despised hosting them—the
way people treated your stuff, the inability to kick them out after two hours. It was a rant Rebecca had heard several times.
“Why?” she asked. “Did you get promoted?” Rebecca’s excitement rose. They could get a head start on the baby’s college fund.
“No, I just think it would be good for you, good for us . We can invite the neighbors.”
“But no one will come.” Rebecca felt her tear ducts activate. “I’m going to be such a lame mom,” she said. “I don’t do anything.”
Tom patted her shoulder and told her she was going to be a great mom, the very best. “And that’s why I think the party would
be good,” he said. “Give you something else to focus on other than the baby.”
Rebecca had put looking into grad school programs on pause. Her heart wasn’t in it. She liked the idea of learning but hated
the idea of teaching, which would be the most likely employment on the other side. To put all that time, effort, and money
into school when she just wanted to stay at home with the baby, at least for the first year or two, seemed silly. Though so
did being “just” a mom. She could practically hear Gigi’s judgment. Even Eloise had always advocated for women to have their
own source of income. Rebecca felt weak for relying on a man to provide for her. Yet she felt strong with Tom, stronger than
she ever had before. It was a paradox she couldn’t quite grip.
“What would the theme be?” Rebecca asked. She was a firm believer that all parties must be themed. Nonni was the same way.
“Summer?” Tom suggested.
“That’s not a theme. It has to be more creative.”
“Ask Gigi. She’ll have ideas.”
“She’ll say Woodstock or Burning Man.”
Gigi had gone to several hippie festivals, living off the land, probably walking around naked and high. Rebecca squirmed just
thinking about it.
“Burning Man isn’t a bad idea,” Tom said. “We could light a bonfire, have everyone bring a little something to throw in. A
metaphorical catharsis.”
Metaphorical catharsis was not a phrase she had expected to leave Tom’s lips. She thought she’d married a financial advisor. She liked that she
was still learning new parts of him. Though it scared her too, the idea of the unknown.
“People would think we’re druggies,” Rebecca said.
“Okay,” Tom said, slipping back into his usual self. “It was just a suggestion.”
“I appreciate it. We just need to consider our reputation. We’ve clearly gotten off on the wrong foot here.”
“I don’t think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I think we’ve gotten off on no foot,” Tom said. “No one knows anything
about us.”
“No one’s tried to get to know us!” Rebecca was so done with the insularity of this place.
“ Don’t you have a car?” Rebecca imagined the neighbors would say if she knocked on their door asking to borrow eggs. “ The grocery store is only ten minutes away.”
“Maybe we’ll have to be the one to make the effort,” Tom said.
She shelled her shrimp, chewing slowly. “I’ll think about it.”