The Baby Plan by Kate Rorick (7)

LYNDI HAD HAD BETTER WEEKS. OH, IT started out great! The wreath idea went over well. So well in fact, that Paula gave her the lead on the product—design, pricing, everything. It was a rush to get that kind of responsibility, and Lyndi came home from work smiling ear to ear.

Marcus was very happy to let her exercise her joy on him. Enthusiastic, even.

Then, the wreaths went over with the public so well that it crashed the Favorite Flower website. Lyndi had spent several nail-biting hours on the phone with their hosting company while Paula paced behind her, trying to get the website back up. Meanwhile, Paula tweeted and Facebooked maniacally, trying to put out an air of calm about their website’s problems, and assuring their customers they would be back online and taking orders imminently.

Then of course, they had to construct the wreaths.

When Lyndi had thought of the idea, she hadn’t taken packaging in with the cost. Because they usually didn’t worry about packaging with their bouquets—they simply went out rolled up in paper. But the wreaths were ungainly enough to require boxing, which made their costs go up. And so the wreaths were actually something of a loss leader—bringing them business, but not enough to justify their existence.

Paula and the other arrangers had looked at her like she was some poor pitiful kid when she figured that out.

She was less enthusiastic going home that day, and ended up sniffling on the big couch while Marcus gave her blankets and noncaffeine tea.

On the one hand, she was glad Marcus was willing and able to ride the emotional roller coaster with her. On the other, she’d really appreciate it if he didn’t assume her mental state was baby-related.

Although it could be—who knows? She’d definitely been feeling weirder lately. She forgot things sometimes (i.e.: wreath packaging), and her boobs were crazy sensitive. The morning sickness remained throughout the day and what she wouldn’t give for a nap!

But none of that meant any of her feelings about work weren’t valid. To be petted and cosseted was exactly what she didn’t want—and yet she was so grateful every time Marcus brought her a steaming mug of ginger tea.

So, she thought she deserved a night out of the house.

Honestly, she didn’t get together with her friends enough. So when she walked into Ora Café, the hip bistro she’d chosen for this month’s get-together, she felt the familiar sense of anticipation that came with seeing all her girls. She spotted them at a back table, and waved big to get their attention.

“Heeeeeeeeyyyyy!” they all cried in unison. “There you are!”

“Sorry I’m late!” she said, air-kissing and hugging as she went. “I got stuck on the phone with my mom.”

“What’s Mom up to these days?” Allison, one of her oldest friends from high school, asked.

“Oh . . . you know,” Lyndi hedged. “Some party she wants to throw over Christmas.”

“Ohhhhh,” Olivia cooed from the other side of the table. “Are we invited?”

“Are you going home for Christmas?”

As Olivia and Allison started in on their Christmas plans—wherein Olivia talked about a planned trip to Hawaii and Allison adamantly one-upped her with her spring break in Europe plans, Lyndi turned her attention to the other friend at the table, Elizabeth, and gave her a soft smile.

“What are you doing for the holidays?” she asked.

“Oh you know—making unnecessary runs to Target to avoid my family,” Elizabeth replied, with her trademark sarcasm. “Actually, I’ll probably be working over the break. Lots to read.”

Elizabeth, Olivia, and Allison had all been friends in school in Santa Barbara. They all had vowels as their first initial and apparently decided that made them cool sometime around fourth grade. Lyndi joined their group in eighth, when they expanded their social circle to allow consonants. When everyone graduated from college, they all gravitated to Los Angeles . . . as people their age in Southern California tended to do. And when they all found each other again, their daily group texts and weekly hangout sessions were born.

Of the three, Olivia and Allison were always the go-getters. The ones who wanted to be at the center of everything, be it soccer camp or the school play or the world. They both got marketing degrees and were immersed in the middle of their corporate worlds, selling things and branding and doing online multilevel . . . something. Lyndi and Elizabeth had been the artistic, dreamy types. Lyndi with her painting and graphic design, and Elizabeth always wanting to tell stories.

So while LA was the natural place to go for Olivia and Allison, as it was the center of everything, it was the only place to go for Elizabeth, who loved the movies more than Lyndi had ever known anyone could.

Seriously, when they were in high school, Elizabeth watched that movie from the ’80s, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Nineteen times. In a row. To study the structure, she said.

Yeah, Elizabeth was a little different from the rest of them.

At the moment, Elizabeth worked as a freelance script reader for a small film production company. It was, as she said, super entry level, but it allowed her to do two of her favorite things—reading and being judgmental—and let her set her own schedule, so she could hold down a receptionist job to make ends meet, and write on her own in the wee small hours.

“Nothing like family to give one fodder for story.” Elizabeth smirked, and Lyndi smiled right back. “But what about you? Anything new and interesting?”

“Well . . .” There certainly was plenty that was new and interesting, she thought, as her hand automatically went to her still flat and toned belly. “I got a promotion at work.”

“Oh my goooooooooddddd!!!!” Olivia squealed. “Congratulations!”

“Seriously! You’ve been working at that place, what—six months? God, it took me nearly that long to get my first promotion, too,” Allison piped up. “So, what’s the position? Stats? Do they upgrade you to a car from that little bike?”

“Um . . . no. The bike is mine, and I love it, you know?”

“Right.” Olivia nodded, elbowing Allison in the side. “It’s better for the environment.”

“That’s Lyndi—our little social conscience,” Allison added. “I mean, who else would choose an, er, awesome vegan place like this?”

“Vegan can be really healthy,” Elizabeth added in her dry drawl. “So you two might actually be able to eat something other than vodka.”

Allison quirked her head to the side, as if she were a cocker spaniel that didn’t understand, but Olivia blinked at Elizabeth with a frozen smile on her face and a steely look in her eyes.

Allison and Olivia had come to Los Angeles and thrown themselves into its winner-take-all lifestyle. Being perfect was as important as being hip, and so they often subscribed to the latest in elimination dieting. Unlike Marcus, who kept gluten-free for health reasons, Allison and Olivia seemed to practice whatever would keep them the thinnest, the leanest, the hungriest, as if it were a badge of honor.

Elizabeth wasn’t wrong—the last two times they’d had their girls’ night out, Olivia and Allison had only ordered vodka/zero calorie mixer drinks. Secretly, Lyndi was a little worried about them.

Elizabeth worried about them not so secretly. She just showed her love with a side of acid.

“Speaking of, should we order?” Lyndi said, hoping to clear the tension.

“Yes, and you with your promotion and raise can get the first round!” Allison cheered, and waved madly at the waiter.

Lyndi opened her menu, so as to avoid giving any answer. She would be expected to drink. Ora Café was even known for making its own beer and wine. This would be the first time she would have to figure out how to avoid alcohol since Thanksgiving, and she was a little nervous that the lie she had ready to go would come off as sounding like she was six and caught stealing her older sister’s lipstick.

Obviously she looked a little nervous about it, because she heard Elizabeth whisper from behind her own menu. “Don’t let Allison and Olivia get you down. You know that Allison’s promotion was from answering phones on one person’s desk to answering phones on a different person’s desk, right?”

Lyndi sent a grateful look Elizabeth’s way.

“Besides,” Elizabeth continued, “I like vegan food. What made you choose this place? Marcus introduce you?”

“Um, yeah. We went here a couple weeks ago, I loved their polenta cakes.”

Actually, while she did enjoy their polenta cakes, Lyndi had chosen Ora Café for far more nefarious reasons. Being vegan, she knew it would not have the one thing on the menu that she really wanted, but was on the No-Pregnant-Lady food list: eggs.

Not that all eggs were on the No-Pregnant-Lady food list, just the ones that tasted good. Runny, slightly undercooked eggs—over easy, poached, any form by which the yolk became a delicious, rich sauce for whatever else was on your plate.

Scrambled and hardboiled eggs were allowed. Boring and chewy, but allowed.

She could kill someone for an eggs Benedict.

In fact there were a lot of strange foods that were on the No-Pregnant-Lady food list, at least according to the daily pastel-colored emails she’d been getting. At first she was miffed that her repeated opting-out of the subscriber list was being ignored, but then, she saw their advantages. Along with being a good way to know exactly how far along she was (today was eleven weeks, five days exactly) she sort of got sucked in by all the new information.

It turned out, there were a lot more things outlawed than just alcohol. Foods on the list included but were not limited to:

• high mercury fish (goodbye beloved Tuna Fish Sandwich)
• raw or undercooked fish (goodbye beloved Spicy Tuna Roll)
• raw shellfish like oysters (gross anyway, no biggie)
• undercooked meat (no more medium rare steak, only dry pieces of gray blahness)
• deli meat (what counts as deli meat? Does it have to come in the Oscar Mayer packaging or is meat cut right off the turkey considered death on a kaiser roll? What about pepperoni?)
• soft cheeses (why?)
• bean sprouts (WHY?)

and of course,

• any egg that normal humans would consider edible.

So far, Lyndi felt like she was dealing with these new restrictions like any sane person would—whining reluctance. But, much like the prenatal vitamins Marcus had given her, she was doing what needed to be done. So if that meant avoiding the temptation of an undercooked egg, so be it.

She once held her breath underwater for six minutes. She could pull this off for the next thirty weeks or so.

The waiter came around and Allison and Olivia ordered something vodka-based and froofy. Elizabeth ordered a beer (the cheapest on the menu) and all eyes turned expectantly to Lyndi.

“Just sparkling water for me,” she replied. Then, to the group—“I’m on antibiotics.”

It was the easiest and absolute best lie. It had actually been recommended to her by one of those pastel-colored emails. Seriously, they had tips on “how to avoid questions when you’re not quite ready to tell the world”—aka, “how to lie to friends and loved ones.” Hooray for subterfuge!

But the antibiotics lie 1. Had the benefit of being hard to question, and 2. Kept people from convincing you to drink anyway, like they would if you said you were just cutting back.

“Eggghhh,” Olivia said, wrinkling her nose. “Infections are not very festive.”

“Seriously, what did Marcus give you?” Allison said, causing Olivia to smirk.

“Nothing!” Lyndi protested. Well, actually, he had given her something, but it didn’t require antibiotics. “I . . . I had strep last week, and I’m finishing up the medication . . . But I’m not contagious!”

She could feel the words falling off her tongue too fast, too muddled. Elaborating on a lie was never the way to go—all it brings is more questions, and recalling all the details of that one bout of strep Lyndi had when she was a sophomore in college was not going to cut it if Olivia or Allison decided to dig deeper.

Luckily, however, they didn’t. They just shrugged, as if to say “your loss,” and went back to their menus.

“So that means you have health insurance now?” Elizabeth asked. “You know, from your promotion? My freelance-ass is beyond jealous.”

“Oh—yeah! Don’t be too jealous—the paperwork made it almost not worth it,” she said, trying to appease with a little self-deprecation. She had actually gotten that all sorted with Paula last week, finally. Just got her membership card in the mail that afternoon, too. Now she just had to find an OB, set up some appointments . . . between this and the prenatal vitamins she was taking religiously, she was halfway to nailing this pregnancy thing.

Then her phone dinged with a text.

“Sorry,” she said to Elizabeth, glancing at her phone. Her heart fluttered as she read who it was. “My sister.”

She hadn’t spoken to Nathalie in nearly two weeks—which was forever for them, and forever-forever considering the current circumstances. Both of them being pregnant . . . you would have thought they’d have a lot to talk about. Even though she was determined to give Nathalie time, Lyndi still didn’t think it would have taken her this long to reach out.

“She’s . . . we haven’t spoken in a while, can you give me a sec?”

Elizabeth nodded eagerly, while Olivia and Allison both shrugged and went back to their menus and their conversation about the best pics to post on your online dating profile (the consensus was you needed one looking amazeballs in your best LBD, one looking sporty while hiking, and one at a party surrounded by people who enjoy your company—thus hitting the hot, healthy, happy trifecta).

Lyndi hid a smile. She had no idea what a gender reveal party was, but her mom was so enthusiastic. And if there was anything that was going to bring Nathalie out of her funk, it would be bewilderment over something their mom did. Hence half the reason Lyndi agreed to the party.

Sometimes little sisters had to be nefarious.

Lyndi grinned. She could practically hear Nathalie’s deep sigh of acquiescence.

The next text came fast and furious. Basically, if this were Harry Potter, Nathalie was typing out a howler.

Crap, her thumb slipped and autocorrected to 10!

Great, now she sounded like she didn’t know how far along she was. Even though the pastel emails reminded her daily of the countdown.

Seriously, Nat, she wanted to say, chill out. Her health care only kicked in a couple days ago; she couldn’t have made an appointment before now. It wasn’t like she was avoiding it.

Sort of.

Lyndi told her. And made sure to mention that she had ONLY JUST gotten her cards in the mail.

“Hold on?” Lyndi grumbled to herself. “For what?”

“Are you going to be on your phone all night?” Allison asked, taking a big sip of the froofy drink (that was Christmas themed, Lyndi realized). “I thought girls’ night out had a strict no-phone policy.”

“Give her a break, okay?” Elizabeth said. “She’s got some family stuff to deal with.”

Once again, she sent Elizabeth a grateful look. Out of all her friends, she knew she could count on Elizabeth to understand. Not because she’d ever been through anything like this before—Elizabeth was an only child, so sibling politics was unheard of, and never dated anyone so she could be a virgin for all she knew—but because she always had this amazing ability to see what the other person was feeling.

Lyndi guessed it was because she loved stories so much—and spent her time living in characters’ heads.

“Oh my God, speaking of family stuff,” Olivia began, smiling with relish. “Did I tell you all that my brother Steve knocked up his girlfriend?”

“No!” gasped Allison. Elizabeth’s head whipped around, and Lyndi . . . Lyndi just blinked.

“Yeah. They’ve only been dating a little while. My mom thinks she totally did it on purpose, to trap him.”

“I . . . I don’t think . . . I mean, who would do that on purpose?” Lyndi found herself asking.

“You don’t know this chick. Apparently, she’s totally flaky, never had a real job. And now she’ll have my brother taking care of her forever.”

Lyndi could feel her cheeks turning bright red. Thank God for the low lights.

Is this what Marcus’s family would think of her? That she got pregnant to trap him?

Right then, her phone dinged once more.

“Of course, we can’t say that in front of my brother. He’s, like, over the moon about it. Meanwhile, my parents are trying to gently convince him to have a paternity test. This is going to be the most fun Christmas ever!”

Suddenly, it was all too much for Lyndi. Her sister overstepping via text. The way Olivia was salivating over every juicy word of her own story. She began to feel the familiar nausea creeping up.

“Excuse me for a second, guys.”

She stood up, and before anyone could say anything (not that they would, they were all on tenterhooks for Olivia’s story) she stepped out the front door of Ora Café, taking a deep breath of the chilled winter air.

God, did she really think three minutes ago that she had this pregnancy thing down? Not according to her older sister, who no doubt had been to the doctor’s once a week since conception, was strictly following nutritional advice, and didn’t need a daily pastel email to remind her how far along she was.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to let her emotions get the best of her and just let it out. But she had three friends inside who would see right through her, and so, she made the only other emotional choice she could. She got angry.

Well, as angry as Lyndi tended to get, anyway.

There, she thought. That’ll show Nathalie.

Okay, maybe not so much. What she wanted to type back was that it was utterly presumptuous of Nathalie to think she knew what was best for Lyndi—vis-à-vis her body, her baby, or her schedule.

Instead, what she wrote was . . .

Fine. Felt snappish. Felt good to say. After all, everyone knows that fine doesn’t mean fine.

But . . . Nathalie had helped her out. She meant well. So after a couple seconds, she added . . .

Lyndi felt her body go slightly numb. And it wasn’t from the cold air whipping around her.

Because she hadn’t thought about that. She’d mostly been thinking about how to sign up for health insurance and how to avoid drinking alcohol when out with her friends and why on earth she couldn’t have eggs Benedict with delicious hollandaise sauce.

And she suddenly felt stupid, and cold, and sad.

Luckily, she had her sister, who weirdly, knew how to make her feel better, even while they were fighting via text.

Feeling slightly better, and much less nauseous, Lyndi straightened her shoulders and marched right back inside.

She put that same big smile on her face as she had when she approached the table earlier, although this time it took a little more effort.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“No worries!” Elizabeth said. “Olivia was just spreading her brother’s dirty laundry all over the restaurant.”

If Olivia had been sober, she might have taken offense at that. As it was she was buzzed and there was now a second froofy Christmas drink in front of her, so she just snickered and sipped.

“Everything okay with you?”

“Sure,” she said, putting on a brave face. “My sister is just freaking out about this gender reveal party my mom wants to have.”

“Gender reveal party?” Allison asked. “Wait . . . is your sister pregnant?”

“ . . . yes.”

“Oh, congratulations! You’re going to be an auntie!” Allison cried and clapped.

Even Elizabeth looked a little starry-eyed at the idea. Lyndi swung her gaze between her three friends.

“You guys are . . . good with that?”

“Well, of course!” Olivia replied. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“But . . . your brother.”

“Your sister is very different from my idiot brother. She’s been with her husband forever. God, I remember when we were in high school and she and her husband came and picked us up from that corner store after your car broke down—”

“The thing is, the gender reveal party . . . it’s not just for her.” At all their quizzical expressions, she took a deep breath, and continued.

“I’m pregnant, too.”

She could have dropped a nuclear bomb in the middle of Ora Café, and no one at their table would have moved.

“Marcus and I are very excited.”

It took a minute for her friends to find their footing. Unsurprisingly, the most buzzed found it first.

“Oh . . . my God!” Olivia cried, her voice pitched light, trying to sound happy. “That’s just . . . congratulations! Right? Congratulations?”

“Yes,” said Allison immediately. “Absolutely. Congratulations. That’s amazing news. So you’re going to . . . um . . . keep it?”

Ice ran through Lyndi’s veins. “Obviously.”

Then they fell silent again.

Lyndi turned to Elizabeth. Hoping for something. For her usual quiet, snarky support. For her ability to give light to the other side of things. For someone, anyone to be on her side.

Instead, Elizabeth just stuttered. “Well, okay. Um . . . hey, so, Allison, you know that new digital media lab your company is running? I’m thinking of applying—”

“Oh, you should—it would be right up your alley! I’ll send you all the info . . .”

“Ohh, my company is thinking of putting together a digital media team,” Olivia added. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked me to head it.”

And Lyndi was left mute, alone, sipping her sparkling water, while her friends did everything in their power to avoid talking to her.