The day before Christmas, I rode with Mimi and Pop to Baltimore’s Penn Station to meet Vincent’s train from Chicago. Mimi could barely contain her excitement. “This is the longest I’ve ever been apart from my son,” she said, turning in the front seat to look at me. “I know you must be just as excited as I am,” she said.
“I am.” I smiled. Excited and terrified. Vincent would be home for three days and three nights. He’d expected it would be four days and four nights, but the trains were packed and he had been lucky to get a reservation at all. I was personally glad he’d only have three days with us. I’d wanted his homecoming for so long, but now that it was finally here, I simply didn’t know how I was going to manage it. The secret between us was enormous and insurmountable. How could I possibly act like my usual self around him? How could I think about a wedding when it now seemed like an impossibility? Sometimes I wondered if it was all a crazy mistake. Maybe I wasn’t pregnant at all. My stomach was still as flat as it had ever been, and the queasiness I’d experienced in the mornings had lessened dramatically in the past week. Maybe all the symptoms had been the product of anxiety. The doctor had never done the Friedman test. How could he know I was pregnant without it? Any day now, my period would show up and the last couple of months would be a bad dream. That was my fervent prayer.
Penn Station bustled with holiday travelers, many of them in uniform, as we stood on the platform, waiting and watching for Vincent to arrive.
“Oh there he is!” Mimi grabbed my arm, hopping up and down, waving to her son as he stepped from the train a good distance ahead of us. Mimi was fifty years old, but at that minute, she seemed more like an excited little girl than a middle-aged woman. I watched Vincent stride toward us carrying his suitcase, a shopping bag looped over his other arm. He wore an unfamiliar camel-hair coat, and it struck me that he’d left Baltimore in late summer and now it was winter. He would have had to buy a whole winter wardrobe, clothing I’d never seen before. He smiled, quickening his pace to get to us. My heart contracted in my chest and I battled tears. I loved him so much.
Mimi got his first hug and Pop received a handshake and a warm pat on the shoulder, but Vincent’s gaze was on me the whole time he embraced his parents, his smile broad. He had never looked more handsome to me, and when he wrapped his arms around me and whispered in my ear, “How’s my beautiful nurse?”, I rested my head on his shoulder and cried. I’d missed the solid feel of him beneath my arms. I’d missed the woody scent of his aftershave. The slightly rough skin of his cheek against my forehead. He rocked me a little as we stood there. “Shh, sweetheart,” he said, holding me tight. “I’m here. I love you.”
I couldn’t find my voice. I clutched his arm as the four of us walked through the train station and out to the parking lot. In the backseat of the car, I sat close to him, my head against the shoulder of his camel-hair coat, my arm across his body as if I were afraid he might rise out of the car and disappear again if I didn’t hold him down. I dared to feel happy. I was right where I wanted to be. Where I’d always wanted to be.
I was quiet during the nonstop conversation between Vincent and his parents. He told us he’d had to stand for ten of the twenty hours on the train. He tightened his arm around me as he spoke. “It was worth every minute,” he said, pressing his lips to my temple.
He and his parents talked about their Christmas tree, the best they’d ever had, Mimi said, but she and Pop were waiting for Vincent to put the star on top as he did every year. My mother was preparing the Feast of the Seven Fishes that afternoon. Although she never made more than five fish dishes, we still called the Italian meal by its customary name. For our Christmas dinner tomorrow, Mimi would make her famous roasted pork loin and antipasto platter.
“But only fruit for dessert this year, Vinnie, what with rationing,” she said. “We have enough sugar for your coffee, but that’s about all.”
I only half listened to her chatter, too preoccupied with my own dilemma to really care about Christmas dinner.
In the Russos’ house, Vincent set the star on the top of their tree before he even took off his coat, much to Mimi’s delight. Then he lifted his suitcase in one hand, took my hand with the other, and we walked together up the stairs to his bedroom. The small room was still filled with pictures and memorabilia—photographs and ticket stubs and restaurant matchbooks—from our years together and I looked at them all with a mounting sense of loss. Vincent closed the door and turned to face me, that smile of his making me weak with desire for him. He unbuttoned my coat, then slipped his hands inside to pull me close. Silently, I breathed him in. I memorized the feeling of being this close to him. This is what I was going to lose because of the baby. Because of my foolishness. All I would have left was the memory of this closeness. The memory of loving him.
“This feels so good,” he said after a moment.
“Yes,” I agreed. He lifted my chin to kiss me. It was a tender kiss, his lips warm and soft and so familiar, and when I drew away, I discovered I couldn’t look him in the eye. “Should we unpack?” I asked, turning toward his suitcase.
He looked at the suitcase himself. “Let’s just leave it for now,” he said. “Is it too cold for a walk to St. Leo’s?”
I smiled, my gaze darting over his, coming to land somewhere in middle of the room. “Never too cold for that,” I said.
* * *
Our breath formed puffy clouds as we walked to St. Leo’s. We held gloved hands, not saying much, eager to get to the church.
We sat in our usual back pew, away from the few people who came and went in the hushed silence. We kept our coats on—it was never warm in St. Leo’s—but we took off our gloves to hold hands.
“You’re very quiet, Tess,” he said. “You usually can’t stop talking when we see each other after an absence.”
“When have we ever had an absence?” I asked. “I think the longest we’ve ever been apart were those ten days you spent with your New York cousins when you were twenty years old.”
“True,” he said. “But what I mean is, even when we’ve been apart for a day or two … or even a few hours … you always have plenty to say. Plenty to tell me. All the minutiae of your day.” He let out a quiet, teasing chuckle. “I expected you to flood me with information the moment I got off the train.”
I sighed. “After all this time apart, maybe there’s just too much information,” I said. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Well, give it a try,” he said. “When do you have to take your licensing exam for your RN?”
“March,” I said. How I would study for that exam when I had so much else on my mind, I didn’t know.
“And how are the wedding plans coming along?” he asked. “Did you decide on a dress yet?”
I didn’t think he really cared which dress I selected. He was just trying to get me to talk.
“Not yet,” I said. “There’s still time. Everything else is in place.” Everything, I thought, except the wedding itself. I could think of no way Vincent and I could possibly get married.
“When do the invitations go out?”
“Not until March,” I said. My chest contracted. I didn’t see how those invitations could ever go out.
He was quiet. After a moment, he put his arm around me. “I’m worried about you, sweetheart,” he said. “When we talked on the phone the last couple of times, and now in person … you seem withdrawn. I think you’re angry with me. Maybe you think I took advantage of your good nature. You’ve been extremely patient and a big support to me. I know it’s been hard on you. If you’re angry, just tell me. Yell or whatever you need to do to clear the air. I wouldn’t blame—”
“I’m not angry. I’m just…” I began to cry softly and he wrapped both his arms around me. Rocked me gently like a child. “I’m just tired and I missed you and it’s been hard not having you here,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “But only a couple more weeks till the doctor I’m covering for is back and then I’m home for good.” He gave me a squeeze. “You really have been strong through all this, Tess,” he said, “and I appreciate it. And soon, you and I will stand up at that altar”—he pointed toward the front of St. Leo’s—“and say ‘I do’ and have the rest of our lives together.”
I pictured the scene at the altar. Standing next to him in my white dress. Maybe the one with the rosettes that my mother loved. Gina by my side. And I suddenly thought of a way to make marrying him a reality. He was home for three days and three nights. I could sleep with him. I knew that went against everything either of us believed in, and yet … I could play on his guilt. Tell him how hard it had been for me, being without him. How desperately I needed him. I could pass this baby off as his. But even as the thought came to me, I knew I couldn’t do it, and the fantasy of our wedding slipped away. I couldn’t go into our marriage with a lie.
I couldn’t go into our marriage at all.