Baby Proof Part 17

"Ahh. Strategic. If you pick his favorite, you'll appear to be pandering. Still thinking about him. If you pick his least favorite, you'll look spiteful which would also indicate that you are still thinking about him."

I laugh, because his a.n.a.lysis is spot-on. It's so nice to be with a man who has no instinct for jealousy. As a result, I feel I can tell Richard anything.

"Guilty as charged," I say.

"So," Richard says, smirking. "Anything off the limits of discussion today?"

I tell him he should probably stay off the topic of divorce and babies. "Which includes, of course, getting a divorce because of babies. Other than that, go for it."

We head uptown to Annie and Ray's, hitting almost no traffic and arriving exactly on time. Richard pays for our cab, and we dart out of the backseat, umbrellaless, into the lobby where he tosses his empty coffee cup into a trash can. Annie and Ray buzz us up, and we climb the stairs, finding the door open a crack.

"h.e.l.lo?" I say as I wipe my feet on their sisal mat. My heart is pounding at the thought of Ben being on the other side.

"Come in! Come in!" I hear Annie trill.

I push open the door and put my gift, an engraved silver cup, on a table in the front hall. I look in the living room, and see that we are among the first guests to arrive. I feel an odd mix of disappointment and relief when I see no sign of Ben. For the first time it occurs to me that perhaps he's not coming. Maybe he's avoiding me. Maybe he's out of town. Maybe he's vacationing with Tucker. Maybe I should have just asked Annie.

"Claudia, honey!" Annie squeals. She is holding Raymond Jr. at her hip, but hugs me with her free hand. I can't believe how much he's changed in just a few months. He has moved beyond the tiny, chicken-legged newborn stage and is now in the alert, chunky, Gerber-baby stage. Babies are such a tangible reminder of the quick pa.s.sage of time, but I resist the urge to comment on how much he's grown. I don't want to highlight what a neglectful friend I've been.

"Hey, Annie!" I say, kissing my friend's cheek before I turn my attention back to her son. He is wearing a cream linen jumper with a Peter Pan collar that is probably more expensive than most of my outfits. Annie is like a European when it comes to clothing, she has very few items in her closet, but all of them are extremely high quality.

I raise my voice a few octaves and say, "Hi, there, Raymond!"

I always feel self-conscious, almost foolish, when I talk to babies or very young children to whom I'm not related. Raymond scowls and looks away, burying his face in his mother's shoulder with an accompanying death grip to her elbow. It's as if he knows the truth about me, that I ended my marriage to avoid one of him. Don't they say babies and dogs can sense things about people?

Annie glances eagerly in Richard's direction just as I say, "Annie, I'd like you to meet my friend Richard. Richard, this is Annie and Raymond."

Richard says, "It's so good to meet you, Annie." Then he pats Raymond on his bottom, making that rustling Pampers sound. "Hey, buddy! How you doin'?"

Raymond Jr. holds firm. He will not be tricked.

"Nice to meet you , Richard," Annie says, her eyes flickering with curiosity. I offered her no details over the phone, nor did she ask me any questions. I could tell it took all of her willpower to not delve beyond, "So? Things are good?" I told her that they were. Now I have my proof: a distinguished, older man.

Richard and Annie make small talk, which consists mostly of Annie asking Richard a series of questions. What do you do? Oh, so you work together? How long have you been there? Where are you from ? He answers pleasantly, though minimally, and asks a few questions of his own as Ray joins us with a "Well, well, what have we here?" look on his face.

I can tell right away that Ray does not approve of my guest. Which could mean a variety of things. It could mean that he is sad that his dear friends are no longer together. It could mean that he is feeling protective of Ben. Or it could mean that he thinks I'm sort of a jerk for introducing any hint of controversy into his son's special day. I am starting to feel as if the latter is most likely.

I wonder if Annie gave Ray any advance warning. Surely she did. Then again, I'm sure she's had other things on her mind, like the all-encompa.s.sing care of a new baby. Perhaps she is so consumed with her son that she and her husband rarely find time to talk anymore.

I watch Ray introduce himself to Richard with what appears to be an aggressive handshake. Then he turns to me and says, "Good to see you, Claudia." There is something aloof in his expression, and I find myself thinking that our friends could be taking sides. Ben's side.

"Nice to see you, too," I say. "Congratulations on Raymond's big day."

Annie fills the ensuing lull with a beverage offer. Richard glances over at the makes.h.i.+ft bar set up on the other side of the room and tells Annie thanks, but he'll just help himself. "Does anyone want anything?"

I spot a half-dozen bottles of champagne set up like trusty soldiers and nod. It is only eleven, but I am definitely ready for a drink. "Whatever you're having is fine," I tell Richard, knowing how couple-y my words are.

Ray's face suddenly lights up as he belts out an "Uncle Ben's in the house!"

I inhale sharply but keep my eyes straight ahead, fixed on Raymond Jr. I know it's not possible for a six-month-old to know what's going on, but I swear that baby of Annie's turns, sneers at me, and then smiles at Ben who I can feel standing directly beside me. Close enough for him to smell my perfume-because I am breathing in his natural scent, one that I didn't quite realize Ben had. Sort of like coming home after a long vacation and realizing that your apartment really does have a unique smell.

Ben leans in to kiss the top of Raymond's head. He makes no comments about how much the baby has grown. Clearly he's come around a time or two.

Then he turns to me and says, "Hi, Claudia."

I exhale and allow myself to make one second of eye contact. He looks exactly the same. He looks like Ben. My Ben.

"Hi," I say. My voice sounds funny, and I feel a sudden shot of weakness. Physical weakness where my knees feel as if they might give. I try to smile, but can't. I'm not sure what to do with my hands. I wish I already had my drink. Annie and Ray exchange a glance and then slip away to greet other guests.

"How are you?" I manage to say as my eyes fall on Ben's bare left ring finger.

"I'm fine. You?" he says.

I tell Ben I'm fine, too, as I watch Richard out of the corner of my eye. He turns, observes me with Ben, and then turns back toward the window, a flute of champagne in each hand. He sips from one. He must know that I'm talking to my ex-husband.

"It's good to see you," Ben says sincerely.

"You, too," I say. It is.

"I'm glad you came," he says. "I wasn't sure if you would."

I glance at Richard again who is still staring out the window.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," I say.

"Oh, well, I'm actually Raymond's uh, G.o.dfather," he says earnestly.

"Oh. I didn't know," I say. "What an honor."

"Yeah," Ben says. "It is pretty cool."

I smile as I feel an insane rush of what feels pretty close to high school jealousy. Like the feeling I had when my best friend Pam was elected to the homecoming court. We were so connected at the hipwe even looked alike. People always asked if we were sisters, even twins. So why was she chosen over me? I feel the same way now as I wonder why Annie and Ray gave Ben the nodand not me? Is it because I don't want children? Is it because they're taking Ben's side? Is it because I've been a bad friend? Or maybe they were just more hard up for a G.o.dfather than a G.o.dmother. After all, neither Ray nor Annie has a brother.

At this point, Richard moves away from the window to make small talk with a man I don't recognize. I think, Good, I have another minute . Even though I'm not sure what to say next.

And then it comes out. My stellar question: "So you didn't bring Tucker?"

I instantly regret my choice. First of all, he obviously didn't bring her because she's not here. Second, I look nosy and petty and jealous.

"No," Ben says, a half-smile on his face. "I did not."

It occurs to me that the only possible advantage to my question would be if it actually cleared up the status of Ben's affairs, but his answer gives me nothing. So I am merely left with that foot-in-the-mouth feeling.

At this point, I see that Richard has finished up with his new friend. He looks over at me again, brows raised, as if to say, No pressure, but should I join you ? I nod. Any other response would be rude, even to go-with-the-flow Richard. Then, just as Richard is walking across the room to join us, Ben says, "I see that you came alone, too."

One beat later Richard is next to me, handing me my champagne. It is an unmistakable gesture, but Ben looks confused, as if he's trying to place Richard. Which he can't do because they've never met.

I have no real choice but to say, "Ben, this is Richard Margo. Richard, Ben Davenport."

"Hi, Ben. Nice to meet you," Richard says.

I watch a cloud pa.s.s over Ben's face as he processes the name. I know that he does not forget my "Top Five Office List." He knows exactly who Richard is, and he's not happy about it. Sure enough, Ben does not extend his hand. Instead he flinches, his expression becoming very blank. Several seconds pa.s.s before he offers a very chilly, "How do you do." He cuts his eyes back at me. He knows that I know the significance of his how do you do .

It is what Ben's mother, Lucinda, said to her ex-husband's second wife, a woman who had everything to do with the breakup of her marriage. For years, Lucinda had agonized over what she would say to wife number two when she finally had the misfortune of meeting her. She refused to be rude. Yet she refused to tell a lie with a standard salutation like, it's a pleasure to meet you . Ben remembers his mother being downright triumphant when she realized that a curt how do you do fit the bill. Ben told me the story right before I met her. Told me that I should worry if I got a how do you do . But otherwise, I could a.s.sume she liked me.

Of course Richard is oblivious to this tale as he says, "Not too bad. You?"

Ben answers Richard with what my niece Zoe could interpret as sarcasm. "Super," he says, flas.h.i.+ng a fake smile. Then he excuses himself and makes a beeline for his G.o.dson. As he scoops up the baby from Annie's arms, he turns and glares at me. The significance of that is not lost on me, either.

A miserable hour of mingling later, the ceremony, led by a female, Birkenstock-wearing minister named Sky, begins. I am not surprised by the hippie feel to the service, given the fact that we are in a living room rather than a churchand given Annie and Ray's religious background. They both grew up Catholic but each separately denounced the church in their early twenties for a variety of reasons, most of them political. They then went through their agnostic stage, which lasted for some time. Annie says they're becoming more spiritual since having Raymond Jr. and have begun to attend a Unitarian church on Second Avenue.

In any event, the minister spends a good amount of time talking about lofty concepts such as the inherent worth and dignity of every person; justice and compa.s.sion in human relations; the search for truth; and respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part. Along the way, she stops and asks the G.o.dparents if they will fully support and guide Raymond Jr. in the pursuit of these goals. My eyes are fixed on Ben as he nods solemnly and repeats, "I will," in unison with Annie's sister. Watching him, I can't help but think of our exchange of vows in the Caribbean. How seriously Ben took them. And how seriously he's now taking his role of G.o.dfather. Then, when I think I can finally turn and escape to the buffet, Annie announces that the G.o.dparents would each like to read a prepared message for Raymond Jr.

Annie's sister speaks first, reciting a Langston Hughes poem called "Dream." Then it is Ben's turn. He clears his throat and gazes lovingly at the baby. I feel Richard's hand on my back as I look down at my new shoes and listen to Ben say in a loud, clear voice, "Raymond, I am so happy and proud to be your G.o.dfather. My wish and prayer for you is that you will be a person of character and integrity That you will be strong yet gentle That you will be honest yet forgiving That you will be righteous but not self-righteous That you will always follow your heart and do good and beautiful things in the world. Amen."

I feel a wave of devastating sadness as I consider what a wonderful father Ben will be. How lucky his son or daughter will be. How glad and grateful another woman will someday be that I felt the way I did about having children. Don't look at him , I tell myself. But I do anyway. I can't help it. And maybe it's my imagination, but as I study Ben's face, I am pretty sure he is just as sad as I am.

"I should never have brought Richard to that party," I say to Jess after I've returned home and given her the full rundown.

"I'm sorry," Jess says. "But if it helps, I still think you did the right thing."

"How do you figure?" I say, unbuckling the ankle straps of my beautiful Manolos that I'm almost positive Ben failed to notice.

"Because," she says, "you showed him you moved on."

"But he hates me now."

"He doesn't hate you."

"You didn't see the look he gave me. He hates me."

"So he hates you. So what?"

"I don't want him to hate me."

"Yeah, you do. You want him to care enough about you to hate you. If he had sat there at the party yucking it up with Richard, you'd be feeling worse right now."

I grant her the point, but then say, "I feel like such a jerk for doing that to him."

"Claudia, you brought your boyfriend to a party. Big f.u.c.king deal. You know Ben's dating, too."

I twist my opal ring around my finger and sigh. "I don't like hurting his feelings. I feel as if I did it deliberately. I don't think he would have done that to me."

"Look. It's not like you left him for Richard. He left you . He left you hoping that he'll meet another woman so that he can get her pregnant and have a family. Keep that straight in your head."

I nod. She's right.

"So no more feeling guilty," she says. "Okay?"

I nod again, thinking that that is way easier said than done. And I'm beginning to see that I might be feeling guilty for more than bringing a man to a party.

eighteen Jess is three days late getting her period and is vacillating between panic and jubilation. I know all about Jess's pregnancy "scares." She's probably had about a hundred since I've known her. In fact, one of the first conversations we ever had was in the bathroom on our freshman hall. She emerged from a stall, pumping her fist, announcing, "I got my period!" I laughed and told her congratulations, feeling in awe of a girl who would be so open with a virtual stranger.

Jess has mostly been on the pill since that incident at Princeton, but she consistently forgets to take it. She'll look down at her packet of pills and exclaim, "s.h.i.+t! What's today? Wednesday?" and notice that the last white pill to be poked through foil is marked "Sunday." At this point, she typically swallows three down at once. I always tell her the same thing: Take the thing at the same time every day. Put it by your toothbrush. Leave a note on your mirror .

But she doesn't. Or won't. Instead, she carries the pills around in her purse, forgetting to switch them with her choice of handbag. Then there are the times when she fails to fill the prescription altogether. Or the times when she is, in her words, "giving her body a break."

I think subconsciously, or maybe even consciously, Jess enjoys the drama. There is no other explanation for why such an intelligent woman would behave so haphazardly. She must thrive on our conversations about what she (we) will do if, this time, she really is pregnant. Will she have it? Will she get an abortion? Will she have it and put it up for adoption? The answer changes according to the guy, the time in her life, the wind.

Although I must say, this time seems different. This time Jess really wants the baby. Or maybe she just wants Trey. She continues to dance around a full-on confession, but all facts indicate that Jess tried to get pregnant. She apparently "forgot" to tell Trey that she hadn't renewed her pill prescription. And she's "pretty sure" that she had s.e.x with him on day fifteen of her twenty-nine-day cycle.

I can tell that she believes that Trey will be with her if she's pregnant with his baby. I, on the other hand, am absolutely certain that Trey is going nowhere. He will not leave his wife. Nor will he even tell his wife. In fact, knowing Jess's luck (although it's hard to use the word luck when someone is utterly self-destructive), it would turn out that Trey's wife is pregnant also. I can just imagine the two babies being born in the same month. Maybe even on the same day. They will grow up on separate coasts with no knowledge of the other. Or at least Trey's legitimate son will have no knowledge of his father's illegitimate daughter. Jess likely will tell her daughter the truth about everything at a suitable age (an age we will debate for years). Then the two offspring will attend the same college and meet in their freshman composition cla.s.s. He will fall in love with her, at which time she will be forced to tell him the truth about their father.

None of it would surprise me. Nothing ever surprises me when it comes to Jess.

On the third night of Jess's missed period, we go get sus.h.i.+ at Koi, a restaurant on Second Avenue near her apartment, even though it is Friday night, and we both had planned to go to separate parties. I'm too tired, and Jess says she has no interest in partying when she can't drink.

"C'mon, Jess. Do you really think you're pregnant?" I say, as I break apart my chopsticks.

Jess rattles off her symptoms. She says she's been exhausted and bloated. She says her b.o.o.bs feel heavy and sore. She says she can just tell. She knows.

I look at her, thinking I've heard it all before. I say, "First, you know that those are also premenstrual symptoms. Second, you are a hypochondriac who wants to be pregnant. You're going to feel things."

"I'm not a hypochondriac," Jess says indignantly.

"Yeah, you are," I say. "How about the time we went camping and you just knew that you had Lyme disease? You actually joined an online support group for victims!"

"Yeah. I had all the symptoms," she says. "That was so weird."

"You thought you had all the symptoms."

She dabs her napkin to her lips and says, "Well. I think we should get a test after dinner."

I sigh and say, "How many dollars do you think you've spent on those tests?"

"I'm telling you. This time feels different."

"Okay," I say. "So tell me. What will you do if you're pregnant and Trey still won't leave his wife?"

"He will."

"But what if he doesn't?"