“Yeah, I called Sandy and she said she has some costume things she can bring. We probably won’t need those sweatshirts.”
“Oh, ok,” said Jillian.
Everyone in the basement was laughing and taping up streamers and blowing up balloons.
“I think I need you to go on a sandwich run,” said Elena.
“Ok,” said Jillian. “But, I need you to give me some money.”
Elena stared at her. “Can’t I just write you a check?”
“No, because I don’t have a checking account, so, if you wrote me a check I’d have to pay ten percent to get it cashed. I need the cash or a money order.”
“Ok, here’s thirty for lunch, that should be enough for some Subway.”
“Ok, great,” said Jillian.
When she got back with the sandwiches, Elena was mad that the dip hadn’t been put into bowls. The party was almost starting.
As Jillian filled the bowls with the dip (she could wait a second to eat her sandwich) Susie from the kids room came up to her.
“Hey, we have a little problem.”
“What?”
“Well, Adam is in the ladies’ room and he won’t come out.”
“Oh, are you kidding?” asked Jillian.
“Nope,” said Susie.
The party went until 9:00 p.m. At 9:00, Jillian said, “I’m going to run now.”
“What, you’re not staying for take-down?” said Elena.
During the walk home, Adam looked like he was sleepwalking. Maybe he was.
She opened the door. Crispy had strewn the dirty clothes from the hamper all over the floor and was slowly sucking on the crotch of a pair of Jillian’s underwear.
SATURDAY WAS NO BREEZE for Megan, either. She woke up and immediately felt embarrassed. That nasty, awful, hollow, endless embarrassment that was becoming her life. Randy was still asleep. She lay there, wishing she could be unconscious again. If she got up and out of bed, what would there be to do? She could shower and weep and see if that freshened her up. Maybe she could weep while making pancakes and then, with her gelatinous face, walk into the bedroom and say, “I made breakfast, honey, do you want some?” She could make coffee in the French press and imagine every step as the symbolic destruction of her soul. Grind the beans, boil the water (she could open her mouth for a silent scream when the teapot whistled—possibly that would be satisfying) and then wrap her fist around the plunger and push those fucking grounds down there where they belonged.
She decided this was a good enough idea. As soon as she was under the water, she started bawling. She sat in the bottom of the tub, cried, and washed her feet.
When she got out of the shower, Randy was making coffee in the Mr. Coffee. She didn’t want to interact with him until she was dressed, so she walked right past him. Her hair was wet. Her skin felt brittle. Maybe she would be able to go to sleep again.
Randy sighed.
SEVEN
On Monday, the phone rang. “Good afternoon, doctors’ office,” said Megan. “Sure, hold on, one second.” She put the phone down. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?” said Jillian.
Megan shrugged and handed her the cordless.
“Good afternoon, this is Jillian.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Bradley. This is Mike Johnson calling from the county clerk’s office. How are you today?”
“I’m doing good, and yourself?”
“I’m well. Ms. Bradley, I’m calling you to tell you that your court date is a week from this Tuesday, on the 31st, at eleven. Can you confirm that for me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson, but I’m at work right now, and I’m unable to make that confirmation,” said Jillian.
“Ms. Bradley, I’m aware that you are at work, but we have been leaving messages on your personal line and we have not gotten a response. If you had called us back, we would have been able to work with you to choose a date, but since you did not return our calls, your date has been scheduled for you. If you do not appear in court on your court date, a warrant for your arrest will be issued and your fine will be doubled. If you are unwilling to pay your fine, which I see here is three years standing, we will have no other option but to take you into custody, and you will have to serve time. I am required by my offices to get confirmation from you for this date.”
Jillian had been married once. It didn’t work out. She was married when she was 22—seems so young now! It lasted a year and then, after the breakup, Jillian found the lord and everything felt glorious. Really, really glorious like the way you read about. But then there was, you know, she got lonesome. And then there was this co-worker, who was really funny. And the way this co-worker would look at her and put her arm around Jillian, it just felt so good to be close to people. And so then Jillian started going out with this girl to dance clubs, and it was silly, but it felt so good. To go into the dark, where it was loud. You really didn’t have to think of anything to say. Jillian started going out to buy silky tops with cute patterns on them and a little cinch at the waist, and she painted her nails and did up her face. She went with her co-worker to get streaks in her hair—sheesh, it made her feel silly thinking about it. And in the club when it was dark and the music was loud and everyone was having cocktails, you didn’t even have to say anything. She loved that. Everything was in the pre-prep, the preparation. Put on the outfit, have a drink, then (once you were all wound up) let yourself go in the club. And then just look at a guy or see if he was looking at you. And if you felt like it, you could give him a kind of look that you knew he’d be able to read.
And at that time she was taking the pill, so it was ok. She was taking the pill, so if she wanted to have someone real close to her in her bed some night, she could. It was great. But then, you know, it was like how sometimes when you’re on a diet and you slip up once or twice. Like, have a donut or a milkshake once or twice, but you’re still really on the diet. That was how it got after a while with the pill. She’d slip up once or twice, but then she’d take two the next day, or flush the two or three she hadn’t taken, and then it was like, when she looked at the pill pack, she was up to date. A little bit of fudging didn’t hurt.
And then there was that night she met that guy and he was dancing close and he smelled good like some kind of cologne and she gave him that unmistakable glance and they took a cab back to her place.
“Condom?” he said.
“I don’t have anything,” she said. She explained she was on the pill.
I don’t have anything, I don’t have anything, I don’t have anything, for some reason that rang through her head while he put his hand (so big) behind her neck and put his mouth (which tickled) up to her ear.
“Do you have anything?” she asked.
“Nuh-uh,” he said and she relaxed so much she wanted to cry. If it weren’t for being so riled she probably would have cried. Already they had something in common. Don’t have anything, don’t have anything. That’s great. And he was sweet in the morning. He thought it was cool how she didn’t hound him about his number or where he worked, he said. She shrugged. I think we have something in common, she said. And I think we’ll see each other again, she said.
The next day and a couple more times she took her pills, but then, since she wasn’t really going out that much, she stopped taking them.
It was in the parking lot of a Walmart (of all places!) she figured out she was probably pregnant. It was this feeling, it was a creepy feeling, like something from somewhere else was communicating with her. Like a ghost? Kind of like a ghost? Because it was this, like, this thing that was going to happen and that couldn’t be stopped (a force?) and it was just, you know, tapping her on the shoulder for a second to say, “Hi,” and, “I’m going to be here soon.”