“Wow,” I said. “This is serious. When are you starting the process?”
“Not until November. There’s a wait list for this particular specialist. Supposedly, he’s one of the best in the country and it seems like everyone our age, or having problems, wants to see him.” Noting my goofy grin, she asked, “What?”
“I was just thinking that you’ll be a great mom. Liz too.”
“We’re excited.”
“When did all this happen?”
“We’ve been talking about it for a while.”
“And you never told me?”
“It’s not as though we’d made any decisions about it. It was just something that came up every now and then. But that biological clock kept ticking, and lately, it’s been getting pretty loud for both of us. I woke up the other morning to chimes.”
“Have you told Mom and Dad?”
“Not yet. And don’t you tell them either. I would rather we find out whether it’s even possible for either of us to get pregnant first or whether we’ll go the adoption route. I keep envisioning the doctor telling me that my uterus is covered in cobwebs.”
I laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“That’s because I, unlike you, exercise. Of course, my cough isn’t making it easier, but I force myself to go to the gym.”
“You’re still coughing?”
“Too much. Supposedly, even after the cold is better, your lungs can take six weeks to heal.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did I. But the point is, unlike you, I’m still dedicated to my health.”
“I don’t have time to work out.”
“Of course you have time. You can go first thing in the morning. That’s when all the moms do it.”
“I’m not a mom.”
“I hate to break it to you but lately? You kind of are.”
“You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em. And you and I both know a little exercise wouldn’t hurt you. You’re looking a little soft these days.”
“I’m in shape.”
“Of course you are. If round is a shape, I mean.”
“You’re a real peach, you know that?”
On Friday morning, I stood in front of the mirror, thinking that maybe Marge had a point about starting to exercise again. But not, unfortunately, today.
I had things to do, and while I watched London and brought her to art class, I spent the rest of my time putting together a time line for Taglieri’s campaign, with the thought that day care was most likely off the table.
Much of it I could do from home; getting the permits, scouting locations, and getting appropriate releases meant time in and out of the car and lots of driving. As long as I spread it out over a period of days, I didn’t think London would be too bothered by it at all.
When I’d spoken to Vivian, I’d said as much to her. I could hear the relief in her voice and for the first time in years, we spent more than half an hour on the phone simply talking. I’d missed that, and I had the sense that she’d missed it, too, and even though she ended up arriving home a little later than she’d wanted, she laughed and smiled, even flirted with me, and in the bedroom, she was both sexy and passionate, something I’d been craving, something that left me certain that she still cared for me.
In the morning, her good mood persisted. Before she left for yoga, she made breakfast for London and me, and asked if we were planning to visit my parents.
“If you are, can you wait for me? I’d like to come.”
When I assured her we would, she kissed me goodbye and I felt the light flicker of her tongue against my lips. In the ensuing glow – and with my mind flashing back to the night before – I had no doubts as to the reasons I’d married her in the first place.
While we waited for Vivian to return, London and I went to the park, where we followed a nature trail that led to the golf course. Years ago, an Eagle Scout fulfilling his service project had mounted small plaques near various trees listing both their common and scientific names. At each of them, I read the information to London and would point out the bark or the leaves, pretending I knew far more than I did. She would repeat the words – Quercus virginiana or Eucalyptus viminalis – and even though I knew I’d forget pretty much everything by the time I returned to the car, while on the trail I felt a little smarter than usual.
But London stayed smart. Back home, I made sandwiches and while we were eating on the back porch, she pointed to a massive tree in the backyard. “That’s a Carya ovata!” she exclaimed.
“That one?” I asked, not bothering to hide my amazement.
She nodded. “Shagbark hickory.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you showed me,” she said, gazing up at me. “Remember?”
Not even slightly, I thought. To me, it had reverted to being a tree. “I think you’re right.”
“I am right.”
“I trust you.”
She took a drink of milk. “When’s Mommy getting home?”
I checked my watch. “Pretty soon.”
“And then we’re going to Nana and Papa’s?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I want to bake today. Cupcakes again.”
“I’m sure Nana will love that.”
“Will Auntie Marge and Auntie Liz be there?”
“I hope so.”
“Okay. I’d better bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. I’m sure they’ll want to say hi.”