22. #rideordie
TWENTY-TWO
#RIDEORDIE
Rose
I may have gone overboard.
Emerging from my new minivan, I push the button for one of the two side doors to slide open.
Doug, the valet, hustles over, pausing when he sees a few of my purchases tumble out of the van. “Hey, Marty!” Doug calls over his shoulder, eyes still on the plethora of baby items piled inside. “We’re gonna need the dolly cart.”
“Good thinking, Doug.” I pop up on my tiptoes, looking over the bags and boxes in the one hundred and forty cubic feet of storage that my new seventeen by six-and-a-half-foot vehicle allowed me to haul. “I want to?—"
“What. In God’s name. Did you do?”
Startled, I pivot on my sandals toward the front of my building where Jules, Trish and Jackie stand, mouths agape. Trish and Jackie look confused while Jules’ shock takes on a more personally affronted vibe.
“It’s one kid,” Jules says, like I don’t know how many babies are in my belly. “Why the hell do you need a minivan?”
“And why is it covered in glitter?” Jackie asks.
“Are those spinning rims?” Trish squints at my newly jacked-up, twenty-five-inchers. That do, indeed, spin.
“I’m pretty sure that isn’t a standard factory color,” Jackie remarks.
I shrug as they come closer. “I’m not going to be your standard mom.” The Texas sun glints off the surface of my newly refinished holographic rose gold glitter car paint, making me smile. “Plus, it’s one kid now. Who knows what will happen?”
That stops all of them in their tracks.
“And a minivan is like, super safe.” In case they didn’t know. Because they’re looking at me like I’m crazy instead of a responsible thinking adult about to have a child.
“So is a tank,” Jules deadpans. “Which would also be less embarrassing to drive.”
“It’s so…blinding.” There’s a hint of wonder in Trish’s voice.
I grin wider. “I know, right?”
“What do you mean by one kid now ?” Jackie asks.
I decide not to tell them about my newfound plans for becoming the old lady who lived in a shoe with her immense number of children. Except, you know, make it the young woman who lived in a penthouse.
After I left Brass Tacks, I promised myself that with or without Vance, my kid was going to have a large family.
Brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles. The whole shebang.
Whether that means I need to become Houston’s Angelina Jolie and adopt a horde of orphans or visit a sperm bank to make withdrawals, I’ll ensure all my kids are surrounded by nothing but love.
I’m saved from answering Jackie when Martin rolls up with the dolly cart.
“Thanks, Marty.”
“No problem, Miss West.” He stands next to Doug, both frowning at my van’s packed interior. “We’ll have this sorted in no time.”
I reach out to help, but Martin shoos me away. “Doug and I will bring your purchases up to you and park the car in the garage.”
“You sure?” I feel bad, but also, I’ve been doing retail therapy all week. I thought it would help, but my heart is still as sore as my feet are from my marathon of shopping.
“Yes.” Martin isn’t even looking at me now, completely absorbed with Tetris-ing my boxes and bags onto the cart.
“Okay, thanks guys.” And even though I’m not supposed to, I slip them both a fifty in their pockets when their hands are full.
When I turn to head into the building, I’m barricaded by my friends.
“We need to talk, sugar.” Trish, ever the diplomat, smiles. It’s a smile you give a wounded animal when you’re not sure if they’re going to bite your head off or not.
“Yeah, this week has fucking sucked.” Jules, ever not the diplomat, crosses her arms over her chest.
“Because it’s all about you,” I reply straight-faced.
Not looking at us, Jackie reaches out and touches the van, as if trying to analyze each glitter particle. “I think what Jules means is that avoiding Vance has become a logistical problem at work. Not to mention the moral and emotional implications of keeping a secret from a colleague and friend.”
“I was afraid I’d let something slip, so I drove the Airstream to Myra’s trailer park and parked it, telling Ian I was going on a writing retreat,” Trish adds. “I mean, it kind of is since I’m just holed up in there writing all day, but still, I’d rather be home.”
“Oh,” I say, chastised. I’d been so busy in my own world I hadn’t thought about how my friends were dealing with my baby news.
Jackie turns to me, looking annoyed at my lack of forethought. “You also stopped taking our calls, so we didn’t know when or how the talk with Vance went about the fetus development.” She pushes up her glasses. “Which bring us back to the avoidance issue.”
Jules pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fetus, Jackie? Really?”
Seeing as Martin and Doug are hefting a cow print car seat and boxes of diapers out of the van, I’m sure the fact that I’m pregnant is not going to shock them.
However, I don’t necessarily want to discuss my baby daddy drama out in the middle of the street.
“Come on, bitches.” I push between them. “Let’s go upstairs.”
The elevator ride is quiet. Mostly because Jules and I are trying hard not to laugh at Mrs. Smalls, my elderly neighbor on the sixteenth floor with the flatulence problem that she likes to blame on her equally ancient dog, Gilda. I don’t know whether to be glad or disgusted for the small reprieve.
When my neighbor and her dog get off on their floor, Mrs. Smalls crop dusting with each step, the stench remains as the elevator doors close again. Trish is almost blue from holding her breath.
Finally, we reach the top floor, stumbling out into the small security foyer and gasping for clean air.
Unlocking the front door, I walk inside and kick off my sandals.
“Gol- ly. That poor woman.” Trish, one step behind me, freezes in the doorway when she notices the changes to my apartment.
“Poor woman my ass.” Jules pushes past Trish, still waving her hand in front of her nose. “It’s the dog I feel sorry—” She also freezes. “What the hell happened here?”
Jackie peers between them, rocking forward on her toes. “Are you moving?”
I set my purse down on the automatic baby food masticator.
“No.” I look around at all the stuff I bought in two days, my twenty-five hundred square foot penthouse looking cramped.
“Well, maybe.” Vance’s mother’s house, in the family friendly neighborhood with a fenced-in backyard, comes to mind.
Me, instead of Helen, sitting at the head of the table filled with family.
I take a deep breath through my nose.
“Are you moving in with Vance?” Jackie asks, probably thinking that is the next logical step.
Trish claps her hands in front of her, looking hopeful.
“No.” My voice is monotone. “We broke up.”
This is met with silence until Jules cracks her knuckles. “Did that asshole call it off after you told him about the baby?”
All three sets of eyes bore into me as I rub my foot back and forth over the soft fibers of my rug.
“Rose.” Trish says it like a warning. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Sighing, I push the three Louis Vuitton tote bags I bought to use as diaper bags off the ottoman and sit down. “I didn’t tell him.”
“I don’t understand.” Jackie purses her lips. Not understanding something is Jackie’s pet peeve.
“How could you not tell him?” Jules turns like she wants to pace but is stopped by packages. “You have to tell him. Not only is he the father, but he’s also my friend.”
I glance at Trish, but there’s no help there. She looks like a mamma disappointed in her kid.
Feeling cornered, I go on the offense. “Well, none of this would’ve happened if I knew you were his friend to begin with,” I say to Jules, my voice rising. “You never even mentioned his name before.”
“What are you talking about?” Jules frowns. “I talk about Flashlight all the time.”
“Yeah, Flashlight . Not Vance or Bodie.” I throw my hands in the air. “I thought you were referring to some sort of newfangled Robonaut.”
Jackie sucks in a deep breath, eyes wide. “You can’t replace Robonaut.” Any other time her mild look of horror would be funny, but right now I’m feeling all kinds of foolish and frustrated.
“Flashlight is his nickname ,” Jules explains, like I’m dumb.
“It’s a horrible nickname,” I retort.
Jules takes a step toward me. “Why, you?—"
“That’s enough.” Trish’s Southern accent whips across the room. “You both are just upset.” She glances between Jules and me. “And you’re about to say things you don’t really mean.”
I take a deep, calming breath. Finding my inner Zen, I look Trish dead in the eye. “Flashlight is a horrible nickname. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.”
Jules opens her mouth, but I’m saved from her retort by my doorbell.
Good old Martin.
To the soundtrack of awkward silence, Martin and Doug haul my purchases into the master bedroom, seeing as both the soon-to-be-nursery and the living space are full. When they’re finished, I walk them to the front door and slip them another fifty each.
“Rose,” Trish says to me once I’ve shown them out. “You need to tell him.” Her voice is gentle but firm.
I stay facing the front door, not wanting to see my friends’ faces while I admit my biggest fear. “It won’t change anything.”
“You don’t know that, sugar.”
“Yes. I do.” Taking a deep breath, I face them. “He doesn’t want kids. He told me that before I got a chance to tell him I’m pregnant.” I laugh, annoyed that my eyes are stinging. “He’s even scheduled a vasectomy.”
Jules drops onto the sofa, crushing the bag of baby clothes from Marc Jacobs.
“Yeah. He’s that serious about not having kids with me.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “But he wouldn’t mind staying casual. Just not anything serious.” I can’t disguise my hurt.
We sit in silence, all of us thinking over what I just said. Even though I’ve tried hard not to think about his words to me that day, now that I’ve admitted it, they spin round and round in my head and heart on replay. Killing me softly with each turn.