Julia 26
“Are you alright?”
I pull the pillow over my head and scream into it.
“Okay, then. Not so much alright,” I hear Matthew say as he climbs into bed with me.
I feel the palm of his hand under my nightgown, rubbing my back gently. Left to right. Up and down. Circle, circle, circle, just like he does to calm David. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs until I gradually stick my head out from the cotton cocoon that envelops me. He is lying with his head on his own pillow, facing me.
“Hi,” he says with a smile.
“Hi,” I echo.
We lie like that a little while, just looking into one another’s eyes. He runs the back of his hand along my cheek.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“Not unless you’d like to represent me at the CD launch party so I can stay home and play with our son …”
He tips his head back and laughs. “Hah! You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, too bad, Mrs. Ayers. I’m not the one the public is clamoring to see!”
“Ugh! God, this like one of those weddings that keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger. You know, they’ve temporarily cleared out one of the sculpture exhibits at the gallery to make room for us?”
“Wait, wait, wait …” he begins, scrunching up his face like he’s trying to process this information. “The Beau-Radcliffe is a huge space! How many people we talking about here?”
“Two-hundred,” I mouth with exaggerated enunciation.
“What?” He props his head up on his elbow so he’s looking down at me now. “How is that even possible? Who are they inviting?”
“Oh, let’s see… per the Kreisler Competition office, it’s an assortment of donors, press, Kreisler competitors and, of course, my personal guest list.”
“Which is all of what? Like a dozen people?”
“If that!”
“Now … when you say Kreisler competitors, you don’t mean …”
“Jeremy? No. I asked that he be excluded from the invitation list.”
“Still …”
Now I’m up on my elbow, too, a wave of panic washing over me. “What? You don’t think he’d show up, do you?”
Matthew shrugs and shakes his head, his dark hair falling over his eyes. I reach over and brush it back and he grabs my hand before I can pull it away.
“No. I don’t think so, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask Tony to be there …”
“Well, he’s on my list anyway …”
“I know, but as a guest. I think I’ll ask him to come in a more ‘professional’ capacity.”
“You really think that’ll be necessary?”
“I know I’d feel better.”
A horrific thought occurs to me and I can’t keep the panic out of my voice.
“What about David? Should we leave him home with Nat? I mean, just in case?”
Matthew sits up fully now, his back against the headboard. I follow suit and we’re side by side, as we often are for these serious conversations.
“No. I think we should stick with the plan and bring him. Nat will be there, and Tony and Maggie and Brett …We’ll have a lot of eyes on him at the gallery.”
I consider this and nod slowly. “Yes, you’re right.”
“I know,” he grins at me cheekily. “So, there it is. You’ll show up, hide in the back until you’re ready to play, give your performance and then sign a few CD’s. There’ll probably be a champagne toast in there somewhere so you might want to prepare a few words in response.”
“Oh, no! You think? Really? They’ll want me to speak in front of all those people?” I’m utterly horrified by the idea. Matthew shrugs and grabs my hand.
“Probably. But all you need to say is ‘thank you for coming’ and ‘thank you to the Kreisler International Music Competition for their support.’ That’s it. You can manage that much, can’t you?”
“I suppose,” I sulk. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“I’m sure!” he laughs. “But, you know, the party’s not for another couple of days. Perhaps we should do something to take your mind off it for a little while.”
He leans over and starts to pull me toward him, but I put a hand to his chest to stop him.
“What? Are you okay?” he asks, his impending lust replaced by immediate concern.
I take a deep breath and tell him what I’ve been wanting to say for three days now …but haven’t dared.
“Matthew …I’m late.”
His brows scrunch in confusion for just a second before they arch in understanding and surprise.
“Really?” he whispers excitedly. “We’ve only been trying a month …do you think...? So soon, I mean?”
“It only takes once, Matthew! And we’ve ‘tried’ more than a few times in the last month,” I giggle.
Suddenly, he looks like a kid in a candy store. His eyes are bright and wide, a goofy grin plastered across his face as if he can’t believe his dumb luck.
“Okay, so …what now? How soon can you see the doctor to find out?”
“The doctor? Oh, honey, we don’t have to wait that long,” I assure him with a pat to his cheek. “I’ve got a three-pack of pregnancy tests in the bathroom.”
“Jesus, Julia! What are you waiting for, then?”
He jumps out of bed and pulls me with him into our en suite bathroom. When we’re situated on the fluffy blue bath mats, he looks at me expectantly.
“What’s next?”
“I pee on a stick.”
“Ohhh … huh …” he says, suddenly looking a lot less enthusiastic.
“You know what? I’m nervous enough without you watching. Why don’t you just wait out there and I’ll do the test myself? It takes like three minutes to process.”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“Pee. On. A. Stick.”
He holds up his hands in surrender as he backs out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
****
I stare helplessly at the bomb in my bathroom. Oh, it doesn’t look like a bomb. It looks like an ordinary kitchen timer, but with each tick, it brings me one second closer to a life-imploding blast. I’m waiting for it to go off in my face, raining down debris and rocking my perfect, orderly little world. One way …or another.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
I’m perched on the side of the tub, unable to move or speak. Helpless to stop this collision with destiny.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The house is absolutely still. I can’t even hear Matthew pacing the floor anymore. He must’ve finally sat down. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the Long Island Railroad as it makes its way into Port Jefferson from points further west.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
With every passing second, I know I’m closer to my fate, my new reality. This little bomb has the power to change everything. Or, it may be a dud. It may simply end its countdown with nothing more than a reminder that anything may change at any time.
DING!
I jump up and stand, staring. I take a deep breath. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I can do this,” I whisper to myself as I take a tentative step toward the vanity, where the pregnancy test is resting, face down, on a washcloth. I close my eyes for just a moment and then open them again with resolve. Here goes nothing. Or everything.
I don’t pick it up all at once. Instead, I carefully lift the edge of it, tipping it back little by little until I see a tiny bit of color. Blue. A little more and I see part of a dash. And a little more, a line crossing it. A dash with a line crossing it. It’s a plus sign. A beautiful, bright blue plus sign.
I rush to the door and throw it open, ready to propel myself through the bedroom, but I stop short. He’s already there, standing right outside the threshold, waiting …almost fearfully. I hold up the blue plus sign for him to see. He looks from it and to me, and then back to it again.
“Is that … a plus?” he asks, as if he doesn’t trust his eyes.
I nod.
In an instant, he’s twirling me around, and we’re both laughing. When we stop spinning, he puts me down, but doesn’t let me go. His lips find their way to mine in a kiss that is as light and soft as feathers.
“Are you happy?” I ask him when he finally pulls his mouth from mine.
I see tears start to well in his eyes. He can’t speak; he only nods.
“You’re going to be a daddy,” I whisper.
Now comes his smile, making the skin around his eyes crinkle.
“I’m already a daddy, Julia,” he reminds me.
“Yes,” I say, putting a hand to the side of his face.
As if on cue, a high-pitched shriek comes over the baby monitor. Matthew sets me back down on the floor and delivers a kiss to the top of my head.
“That would be our firstborn, in need of a diaper change, judging by the sound of it,” he says. “I’ll get him, you relax. It’s time to start taking better care of yourself, Mrs. Ayers.”
“Matthew,” I protest with a laugh, “we’ve still got a long way to go. Please don’t start treating me like I’m made of glass already.”
“Oh, so the idea of a nice long bubble bath before bed isn’t appealing to you then? Would you rather put on the hazmat suit and get David into a clean diaper yourself?”
Well, since he put it like that … The corners of my lips twitch with the threat of a smile.
“Uh-huh,” he says, pointing to my face. “I saw that. Go! Soak until you’re a shriveled little prune!”
He doesn’t have to tell me again. I start to head back to ground zero so I can immerse myself in lavender bubbles, but I stop in the doorway and turn back to him again.
“I think it’ll be a girl this time,” I say.
“You think?”
I nod.
“Well, I think we should pick a boy’s name too, just incase,” he smiles.
“I want a musical name this time,” I blurt.
“What? You mean like Johann Sebastian or Wolfgang Amadeus?”
“No, silly!” I giggle. “Maybe Coda or Symphony.”
He’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“Coda Ayers?”
“Or … Symphony Ayers,” I counter.
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what to say to that, Julia,” he groans as he turns around and walks out of our bedroom, still shaking his head.
“Your mommy is crazy!” I hear him say to David through the baby monitor. “Crazy, crazy, crazy!”
Our son’s deep laugh tells me there’s some tickling going on a few doors down the hall. I rub my belly gently and smile. These are good minutes, I think. That’s the way I used to measure time as a child. But I had good reason; my entire life was lived minute by minute. One minute my father was fine. The next minute, he was beating me with his belt.
On this particular evening, the good minutes turn into a good hour. By the time I put on my robe and head back into the bedroom, I find Matthew and David both in our big bed, sound asleep. I stand in the doorway and watch my husband, on his side, with David snuggled into the crook of his arm. Their chests rise and fall, almost in unison.
Over the last two years, I have marveled at his capacity to love a child who isn’t his. A child who, with every passing day, grows to look more and more like his biological father. It seems as if so much of my life has been one disappointment after another, so to find myself in a happy marriage with a beautiful child and a flourishing career, well, it’s just that I never dared to think we could be this happy. Even now, I reach over and rap the wood doorframe, just to be on the safe side. I wouldn’t want to tempt fate.
But, then again, even I know that fate doesn’t always need a reason.