It Started in June Page 5
I can be there in 40—are you feeling better? Can I bring you breakfast?
A bit better, yes. But nothing to eat, thanks
Distracted by what was happening with Grace, Bradley had opted out of an evening at the bar with friends the night before. He had been close to joining then, to telling them about his secret office romance. But Grace’s sudden unavailability had thrown him. Why tell friends about something that ended before it really got started? Bradley was grateful now for his decision to pass on the bar scene, enabling him to wake up early and go for a run. When he received Grace’s text, he was already showered and dressed, in worn khaki shorts and a faded golf shirt, and his second cup of coffee was almost gone. He brushed his teeth again to tamp down his coffee breath, grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter, and was in the fast lane on I-95 North ten minutes later. His brain was already processing Grace’s invitation and the possible reasons she’d issued it. The most obvious reason was that she wanted to see him. This, Bradley thought, could be a good thing or a bad thing. There was nothing neutral, in his opinion, about what and when she wrote. Early on a Saturday morning conveyed a sense of urgency. Meaning she was either in a hurry to be with him, or she couldn’t wait another day to break up with him, to get him out of her life. What if she did break up with him—would one of them have to leave the office, find a new job? Bradley decided, considering Grace’s position, that he would be the one looking for new employment. Was he overreacting?
Just maybe, though, she texted him because she was sorry for the way she had treated him. Maybe she wanted to make up for her unavailability the day before. If this was the case, and it was possible, then Bradley would certainly say nothing about her lack of response to his messages. It was just two texts, after all, that went unanswered. And she was sick. All Bradley wanted to do when he was sick was sleep. Sometimes he even turned his phone off when he wasn’t feeling well. Maybe she had just received his texts that morning. That would explain why she hadn’t gotten back to him. That could be the reason behind her invitation; she wanted to apologize in person.
Bradley pulled into her driveway and parked next to her Cadillac. He looked at the leather backseat where he and Grace had sex just over a month ago. He believed now that their chance encounter that night—drinks at the bar, followed by hungry sex— was fate. He’d had sex with near strangers before, in college, where casual sex was the norm, and in his twenties, when he’d congregated with other young professionals in bars after work and the drinking had sometimes led to random hookups. And then there were the various dating apps Bradley had employed, in his search for companionship, that had more often than not led to sex. For him, it had been just another way to have fun.
His relationship with Grace felt different. For one thing, he was thirty now. A few of his high school and college friends were already married. And his parents had lately been asking about his love life in a different way, with an is-she-the-one slant. Bradley was amused by this line of questioning, but they were less so; they clearly thought it was time for him to think more seriously about his romantic encounters. They had found each other and married when they were both twenty-eight, when they were both busy in med school.
Bradley walked up the steps to the small landing and knocked on the screen door. From within, Grace called, “Come on in.” He found her immediately, sitting on the couch, a cup of hot tea on the end table next to her.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re nice to come so quickly.”
Bradley walked to her, bent down to kiss her cheek, and then sat in the chair across from her. “I wanted to come,” he said. “I’ve been worried about you. Are you okay? Are you feeling any better?”
Grace put a hand on her stomach. “I can’t seem to keep anything down.”
Bradley nodded. “I know how that feels. I got the flu last winter because, like an idiot, I didn’t get a flu shot. I threw up for three days straight. Is that what you think you have, the flu? It seems like an odd time of year for it. Maybe it’s something you ate. Do you think it could be food poisoning?”
“It’s not food poisoning.”
“Well, that’s good news. I’ve had food poisoning, and it’s no fun. It comes and goes pretty quickly, but it’s totally unpleasant while it’s happening. I mean, talk about getting to know your toilet bowl, and the pattern of the tiles on the bathroom floor. . . .” Bradley, in an attempt to move through whatever awkwardness stood between them, was talking too much. He didn’t want to sit in silence, didn’t want to give Grace the opportunity to dismiss him.
“It’s not food poisoning,” she said again. “I’m pregnant, Bradley.”
Bradley blinked, stared at her, blinked again. Here was the very good reason Grace wasn’t feeling well; the reason she’d called in sick to work; the reason she hadn’t responded to his texts; the reason she wanted to see him that morning. And the silence Bradley had been working so hard to avoid fell upon the two of them like the stage curtain at the end of a play. Her announcement caused a physiological chain reaction, moving his eyes from her face to the floor, quickening his breathing, and creating static in his mind, rendering him incapable of independent thought or action, other than the signal he was already sending by his incapacity. He lifted his eyes to her face, searching for something to say other than the word What? She saved him from asking a question that didn’t need to be asked by saying, “I’m having a hard time processing this myself.”
“Grace . . .” he began, before stopping, unable to continue.
“I’ll talk first,” she said, leaning back against the couch cushion, taking a breath. “Obviously, this wasn’t planned. In fact, until this happened, I had another plan, which was to not have children. This is not because I dislike children, and it’s not because I’m not married—because I think women can very ably raise children on their own, if they are committed to doing so.” Grace hesitated, inhaled again: “It’s because I am the product of an unwanted pregnancy. My mother, who also happened to get pregnant from having sex in a car—although she was a teenager at the time—kept me because she was raised in a religious household, and the idea of abortion was abhorrent to her parents. She was so young when this happened. And she lacked confidence in her ability to make such a big decision on her own, so she confessed to her parents. The would-be father never knew, and what my mother called the biggest mistake of her life grew in her belly.”
Again, Bradley said, “Grace . . .”
Grace held up her hand and then told Bradley an abbreviated but emotional account of her unhappy childhood. And because the first eighteen years of her life were so difficult, she had decided she would never have children. But when she was twenty-seven and fell in love with Kenny, she told him she would consider having children. Enough time had passed, she’d told herself. Plus, she knew how important it was to him. Her willingness was enough to prompt a marriage proposal, as Kenny was deeply in love with Grace as well as hopeful about becoming a father. But the longer they were married, the more anxious Grace became about motherhood, about making the same mistakes her mother and grandparents had made with her. She told Kenny she thought she might be too traumatized, too damaged to be a good mother. They had gone back and forth, with Kenny suggesting foster care and/or adoption. But no matter what Kenny said, Grace remained fearful. And in the end, she told him she couldn’t do it. Kenny had, at first, accepted her decision, even though he was profoundly hurt by it. When Kenny’s brother had his first child a year later, Kenny changed his mind—as, he pointed out, Grace had done on him. He wanted to have children. The issue had become such a giant wedge in their relationship that counseling didn’t appear to be an option. They were both resolute. And with great sadness, they filed for divorce.
Consequently, Grace’s first instinct when she knew she was pregnant was to get an abortion. But she surprised herself when her very next thought was to keep the baby. “I’ve softened over the years,” she said. “I’ve worked hard at moving past my childhood. And I now thi
nk that this may be my only chance to have a baby, and to be a better mother than my mother was to me. This may be my only chance,” she repeated, “to prove to myself that I was not and am not a mistake.”
Bradley’s eyes had filled with tears, surprising himself as well as Grace. As a child, he had been cherished by his parents. Every day, he had felt the intensity of their love. Every day, his mother and his father had told him they loved him; they still told him. How could Grace’s mother not want her? How could anyone not love her? “Grace, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “With every passing minute, it’s more okay. I asked you to come here today so I could tell you this. But I also asked you here to tell you that you are under absolutely no obligation to be a part of this. While you are the one who impregnated me, you do not have to be the father. I’m prepared to do this on my own. We barely know each other; it would be foolish, I think, to make promises that have a poor chance of being kept.”
“Don’t dismiss me just yet,” said Bradley. He couldn’t stand even talking about the idea of losing her. “What I mean is, let’s give this some thought.”
Grace nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.” And then, seeming to slide into her business persona, she said, “What kind of timeline are you looking at?”
Bradley thought quickly. “A week,” he said. “Is that too long?”
“A week will give you the time you need?”
“Yes,” said Bradley. “It will give you time, too.”
Grace offered a slight smile. “I don’t need any time, Bradley. This is what I want.”
CHAPTER 11
Bradley talked with his parents most Sunday nights. It was a habit that had started in college and had continued after graduation, with minor interruption, for the last eight years. It wasn’t something he admitted to his friends, mostly because it seemed kind of childish, as if Bradley still needed his parents’ approval on how he was living his life. He did still seek their advice sometimes, but their conversations were mostly about what Bradley or his parents were up to—movies they’d seen, work challenges they were wrestling with, humorous stories, and surprises from their daily lives. It was this surprise element that was typically the most interesting part of the conversation for Bradley. Each of them had to relay a moment during their week that they had been surprised by something. It didn’t have to be a mind-blowing occurrence; it could be as simple as someone pulling a car out of a parking spot at the exact time one of them needed one.
His mother, Dorrie, had that week been surprised by one of her patients, a terrifically shy woman who had brought her a small bouquet of flowers for her birthday. “I still have no idea how she knew it was my birthday, but I was very touched by the gesture.” Dorrie was sitting on the couch in the living room, talking on her cell phone.
“They’re still on the counter—what are they, hon, Gerber daisies?” asked Bradley’s dad, Bruce, who was talking on his phone in the den.
“Gerbera daisies,” said Dorrie. “Gerber is baby food.”
“As if any of today’s mothers use food out of a jar. They’re all feeding their kids organic foods, which they have lovingly pureed in their state-of-the-art food processors,” said Bruce. “There is so much pressure on your generation, Bradley, to do everything the right way, or the perceived right way.”
“Tell me about it,” Bradley said. “One of my coworkers is insisting we use only fair-trade coffee at the office.”
“What’s wrong with that idea?” asked Dorrie. “Why not give your money to the farmers who grow the beans?”
“Sure, it’s a nice idea,” said Bruce. “But shouldn’t people be able to drink whatever kind of coffee they want? Is Bradley going to be accosted by this colleague if he walks into the office carrying a paper cup filled with Dunkin’ Donuts coffee instead of contributing to and drinking from the communal pot?”
“God, I hope not,” said Dorrie. “There should be other, more pressing issues for this woman to focus on.” Dorrie tucked the few gray hairs that had shifted onto her left ear back behind it. Her hair was thick and didn’t need much maintenance, but she nonetheless had fallen into the habit over the years—as do many women with similar short hairstyles—of cupping her fingers around her ears, of coaxing single pieces of hair back into place.
“How did you know it was a woman?” asked Bradley. “Did I say who it was?”
“No,” said Dorrie. “It just sounds like a female cause.”
“You’re not poking fun at your gender, are you?” Bruce asked, biting into one of the organic apples that Dorrie had purchased from the farmers’ market the day before.
“I love my gender,” said Dorrie. “We love minutia.”
“Indeed,” said Bruce, his eyes flickering skyward.
“So, what’s your surprise, Bradley?” Dorrie asked. “Mine was the flowers from a patient, and Dad’s was the love note from four-year-old Tanya.”
“Shall I read it again?” asked Bruce, running his fingers through his hair that many had remarked looked exactly like Dorrie’s.
“No,” said Dorrie. “I have heard it no fewer than a dozen times.”
“You’re not jealous, are you, Doctor?” asked Bruce, teasing his wife.
“My girlfriend is pregnant,” Bradley blurted. “She’s pregnant, and she wants to keep the baby.” The stopwatch clicked on; the quiet timed at ten, and then fifteen seconds. Bradley had heard this kind of bloated silence before—in his most recent conversation with Grace, of course, but also when he totaled his mother’s Mercedes in high school; when he dropped out of pre-med at Yale; when he announced his decision to live on the East Coast after graduation instead of returning to the Midwest—and knew better than to break it. He waited another couple of seconds for their reaction and then added, “And she’s forty-two and divorced.”
* * *
It was Dorrie who spoke first. “What girlfriend?” she asked. Dorrie was standing now, moist with perspiration.
“Grace,” said Bradley, “Grace Trumbull. We work together.”
“Is she the one who wants the fair-trade coffee?” This was Bruce, trying to connect the dots, trying the make sense out of something that seemed impossible. In these Sunday evening discussions, Bruce sometimes drifted in and out. He was interested in what Bradley was up to, but he didn’t feel the need to drill down, as Dorrie called it, into Bradley’s very core in search of an esoteric truth that, once uncovered, would strengthen their familial bond. Bruce understood that the encouragement of freighted conversation was how Dorrie made a living, but he found it exhausting. However, this turn in the conversation pulled in his scattered thoughts.
“Yes, I do remember you telling us you had a date or two with someone from work,” said Dorrie. “In fact, I think it was your surprise statement a couple weeks ago. Tell me, Bradley, how that casual, brand new relationship could have possibly evolved to this level in two weeks. Are you sure it’s yours?”
“Yes,” said Bradley.
“And she’s committed to keeping the baby?”
“Yes. She’s the product of an unwanted pregnancy. She’s determined to do better.”
“That’s not a good reason to have a child,” said Dorrie.
“Do you want her to have this baby?” asked Bruce, leaning forward in the chair.
“Of course he doesn’t,” said Dorrie. “He is nowhere near ready to be a father.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom,” said Bradley.
“Listen to me, Bradley,” said Dorrie. “This is very serious. You are facing a life-altering situation here. Have you tried to talk her out of having this baby?”
“No. She seems pretty set on keeping it.”
“Well, try, Bradley. Having a baby together is not a good way to start a relationship. If you want to be with this woman, that’s fine. And if you end up with this woman, that’s fine, too. And if you then plan to have a baby together, that’s also fine. But there is a logical order to this. Going out of sequence has
its consequences.”
Bruce sat back in the chair. “Do you want to be with this woman, with Grace?” he asked. “And does she want to be with you?”
“I do want to be with her,” said Bradley. “She’s the most interesting woman I’ve met in a long time. She’s attractive, brilliant, and very together. I’ve told you how much I hate the modern dating world. Yes, it’s cool to have access to so many people. But it’s also overwhelming. And meeting people through an app or online doesn’t feel right anymore. I’ve been looking to find someone organically. Grace and I met at the office, like many people who have real-life romances.”
“A romance is one thing,” said Dorrie. “A baby is another. Do you want to have a baby, Bradley?”
“I’ve just learned about this, so I can’t begin to answer that question,” he said. “She told me right away that it was okay if I opted out. She said she would raise the baby on her own.”
“Well, there’s your answer,” said Dorrie. “She’s ready to have a baby, and you happened to provide her with the sperm. You are little more than a donor.”
“Dorrie,” said Bruce, shaking his head.
“That’s not true, Mom. She cares about me. And I care about her. She’s a great person, and I enjoy every second I’m in her company. I resent the fact that you’re dismissing her as someone who would use me to get what she wanted, as someone who has no interest in having a lasting relationship with me.”
“Bradley, all your father and I know is that someone you barely know, someone you have mentioned to us once before, is now pregnant by your sperm,” said Dorrie. “And she has told you that she is keeping the baby, whether or not you are involved. Think about this from our viewpoint. We have raised you to be a responsible human being. But we also know errors occur. What you have to determine is if you want this error to affect the rest of your life, or if you want this error to simply go away, so you can live your life on your own terms.”