33. Lucy
33
LUCY
T hings don’t go back to the way they were before our fight, not quite. Court and I spend Sunday arranging the baby’s room and putting clothes away in the dresser.
There are signs that he’s different. When I find a checklist online of baby items and realize we’re missing many of them, he’s more resigned than eager to place the order. It’s completely different from how he acted at the store.
I ask him to play the video of the baby’s sonogram, but the gleam isn’t in his eye anymore when we watch it.
Finally, at dinner, I ask him if there’s anything more than the problem with Matilda.
At first, he puts me off, stuffing his face with pasta rather than answer.
But I persist.
Eventually, he opens his phone to a website about paternity testing and slides it over to me.
I pick it up. “What’s this?” But as I read, I get it.
There’s a blood test you can take at any point. And I just did a blood draw.
“You think I’m trapping you without knowing the baby is yours.” It’s not a question. I slide the phone back.
He doesn’t respond, but this time, he doesn’t eat to avoid talking. He pushes his plate away.
I don’t feel like food, either.
“Court, I didn’t know about that test. I wish I had. We’d have the results by now, and none of this would be an issue between us.”
His expression hardens, and I realize more damage has been done than I thought.
My voice cracks when I ask, “How can you be like this?”
Finally, he speaks. “I’m not like anything. I’m here. You’re here. The goat’s here. The baby’s coming. Nothing will change between now and then.”
“But we’ve changed!” I stand from my chair. “It was wonderful. And now it’s not.”
He sighs. “It’s a tough situation.”
I pick up my plate and turn away. I don’t want to be next to him. “It was tough from the beginning.”
“But then we got a goat notice. Then we realized we had two pregnancies in the house. And you insisted we had to leave.”
He’s right. I did do that.
“And then you found out about the blood test,” I add.
“Look, we’re going through a lot.”
I open the pot I’m using to compost food waste and scrape my plate into it. “I know.”
“We can’t expect to be some perfect couple straight out of the gate. We barely know each other.”
I don’t want that to be true. I want to think that we are perfect. That the baby will have this beautiful family to be born into.
I knew it was impossible, but I still wanted it.
I should have gone to the library. I should have looked up paternity tests. I should have known what I was doing before I came to New York.
But I didn’t. I showed up, goat in tow.
My impulsiveness is catching up to me. My desperation.
“So, that’s it?” I ask. “We exist like this until the baby’s born?”
He sighs. “I don’t know how to fix all this. The goat. The apartment.”
Other people commute, but probably to get to farmland, it’s too far.
I came with problems. I came with impossibilities.
My messages with April and Summer keep popping into my head.
Call your family. They’ll help!
Salty bastard has money, doesn’t he? Will he use it against you?
I know how the test will come out, but I keep forgetting that he has to believe me for now. And that’s been shaken.
I open the dishwasher to have something to do.
“Maggie will get those,” Court says. “I’ve increased how often she comes to three times a week.”
“I can do it.”
“But very soon, it will get harder.”
I can’t stop him from bringing in Maggie. I should be grateful. I know it. But I feel like a leech. A lying leech with a baby, a goat, and a goat baby. Too many problems.
Not worth any of them.
I close the dishwasher. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Lucy…”
I keep walking.
Last night, I stayed in the guest room, so I go there again.
Matilda won’t come with me, so I don’t try to drag her with me or take her to the balcony. Court can handle her. Hopefully, she’ll mellow out as the pregnancy progresses.
I change out of my shorts and top and into pajamas. Almost everything I own Court bought me. I’m not my own person anymore. Even my goat loves him more.
I text with April for a while, feeling sick. She soothes me and says she and Summer went in on a gift for the baby. I type out Court’s address for where to send it, even though I’m not completely sure I’ll be here.
But where else would I go?
The baby shifts in my belly. He’s coming soon, like it or not. Matilda’s baby, too.
Some things can’t be stopped.
When I come out for breakfast, Court is already gone to work. I make a piece of toast, not sure I can eat much more.
Matilda stands on the dining table, watching me warily. I guess Court let her in, or else she spent the night inside. She has her diaper on. I walk close to sniff it to see if she needs cleaning up.
She takes several steps away from me.
“Matilda, really? You’re going to be like this?” The tears start. I can’t control them at all anymore.
She doesn’t smell bad, so that’s one less thing to worry about at the moment.
I sit on a chair, and she skitters to the opposite side.
My fingers find the grooves of the deep scratches she’s leaving in Court’s table. He’s been awfully tolerant.
I manage to swallow the toast and move to the baby’s room, which brings me more peace. I set the bassinet to rocking, then the swing. I open and close the drawers, fingering the soft fabrics and letting the fresh scent of baby detergent waft out.
It will be okay. I’ll be okay. Julian will be okay.
There’s a knock at the front door. Is it Maggie? Court said she would be coming more often. I wait a moment, since she always lets herself in after knocking.
But there’s only another knock.
I head down the hall and open the security panel screen to see who is out there.
And suck in a breath.
It’s my parents!
How can this be?
How did they know where I was?
I smooth my hair and open the front door.
“Mom? Dad?”
Mom rushes forward to gather me in her arms. I remember this feeling, now that I have it again.
She was always a hugger.
Dad stands behind her. “Lucy-Lu,” he says. “It’s been so long.”
Mom pulls back to look at my belly. “It’s nearly time, isn’t it?”
I don’t know what to say. So many emotions roil through me that I can’t contain them all. Shock. Rage. Relief. Hope?
“Can we come in?” Mom asks.
I take a step back.
Dad glances around. “Nice place. He’s the dad?”
I shrug.
Mom can’t stop staring at my belly. “You’re carrying higher than I did. Are you feeling okay?”
“Mostly.”
Mom walks to the sofa and sits down. “Please let’s talk. I know you’re very angry with us. I think we can find some common ground. Can we try?”
She sounds so reasonable.
I sit on a chair. When Dad enters the room, our attention is drawn to the dining room with a scrabbling sound.
It’s Matilda, jumping down and racing for the living room, head down, aiming for us.
“Matilda! No!” I stand, but Matilda only butts the chair where I’m sitting.
When she spots Dad, she trots over, pressing her head into his hand like a puppy.
“So, this is the infamous Matilda,” he says, rubbing her temple. “Mom always had goats like this around.”
“Until you sold her farm to a developer.”
He lets out a long rush of air and sits next to Mom. Matilda follows him and stands by his legs for more attention.
Mom straightens her skirt. “Let’s clear this up right away. April and Summer felt this was probably the crux of your upset.”
“You talked to them?” My body flashes hot.
“They contacted us,” Mom says. “They were worried. They said things weren’t on solid footing with the baby’s father, and they wanted more people on your side.”
“Like you were on my side about being vegetarian? Or loving the farm? Or being different from you all?”
Mom shares a pained glance with Dad. “We didn’t do right by you on that. We kept thinking it was a phase. We should have gone to more trouble to cook for you.”
“And maybe not sold the only thing I ever cared about?”
Dad leans forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “I know that farm meant a lot to you, but you aren’t aware of what it meant to me. My father tried to force me there. To expand it and work in the sun, caring for animals I didn’t love like they did. I wanted out of there. They tried to trap me. When Mom was gone, I could finally eject that piece of my history.”
I didn’t know any of this. “But I wanted it.”
“You were so bright, so smart. I thought I was saving you from yourself.”
And look where I am, holed up in an apartment with a man who barely tolerates my lifestyle, same as them.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
“Will you let us help you?” Mom asks. “I promise we will respect your choices. Vegetarian. Composting. Low energy usage. Water conservation.”
Would they?
“I won’t leave without Matilda,” I say.
Dad reaches down to pat her back. “We have the yard. I can shore up the fence. This is no place for a goat. I can’t imagine this man of yours wants her here.”
“She’ll have lots of space to run,” Mom says. “We can put you in your old room and make a nursery out of Jasper’s. I was already thinking of retiring. I’ll get out early. Help with the baby. You can even pursue a career again if you want. Or raise her at our house.”
“Him.”
They look at each other. “It’s a boy?”
“Yes. Julian.”
Mom clasps her hands together. “What a lovely name.”
They’re being so… reasonable. It has to be a ruse. A trap.
But I never knew Dad’s story before.
“Lucy, we’ve had a lot of years to think about how we handled BeeBee’s death,” Dad says.
“You didn’t think about me at all.”
“We did,” Mom says. “Just from our perspective. Not yours. We don’t want to lose you forever. And we’re thrilled to be grandparents. Do you love this man?”
I hesitate. How can I? “I don’t know him that well.”
Another glance between them. I know how it sounds.
“If you want to stay here, we’ll figure out a way to be close,” Mom says. “I can still retire. I don’t think we can afford anything in Manhattan, but maybe we can rent a place in one of the boroughs. At least give you an out if it’s not working with the father.”
I can’t tell them it already isn’t.
“I still have the problem of Matilda,” I say. “And she’s going to have a kid herself in a few months.”
“Oh,” Mom says. “You really need a yard then.”
“We found out about Matilda a few days ago…” I trail off. How did I get in this mess? It’s embarrassing to have my parents know about it.
“We can help,” Mom says. “We’ll get Matilda back to Colorado.”
“How?” I ask.
Dad strokes a preening Matilda. “We flew in, but we can rent a car and a U-Haul or a trailer for her.”
Driving. That makes sense. I can’t fly this late, anyway. “We’ve been getting SUVs with a big dog package in the back. It works well.”
“See,” Dad says. “We can make a family trip of it. We’ll call your mother’s OB/GYN and make sure you can be seen. How much time do we have?”
“A week.”
“A week!” Dad looks stricken. “We should go then. It will take two days to get home, maybe three. Annette, you can book some hotels once we’re in the car. Plan for ten-hour driving days. We can’t push Lucy or her goat.”
“Is that okay?” Mom asks. “Do you want to come?”
And leave Court?
Isn’t this what he suggested from the beginning? He told me to go home and have the baby and send him the test results.
I can do that. We tried my way, and it got too complicated.
Maybe there will be some other time for us. Later, when the baby is proven to be his, and Matilda’s not pregnant, and we don’t have to hide her on a balcony.
Right now, I’m tired. So tired.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” Mom’s response is a half-sob.
“Okay,” I repeat.
She jumps up from the sofa to wrap her arms around me, startling Matilda.
Dad stays with the goat, settling her back down.
“I’ll help you pack your things,” Mom says. “Bradley, find an SUV to rent one way to Colorado.”
She wraps her arm around me as we walk to the guest room for me to pack up.
I almost hesitate as we pass the baby’s room. It’s set up.
But we can’t take all that.
I get Mom started with packing my clothes in the guest room. Then I sneak to the baby’s room to take a few onesies, a couple of the fancy ecofriendly diapers, and the teddy bear Stanley gave us.
I leave two things behind.
The goat locket. I’m still not sure what he meant by it.
And the phone. I’ll get my own.
Court and I might have a moment in the future. But my little family needs a different home for now.