not a nightmare for me. I love it. It’s like collecting peace of mind, insurance with each test. I only need the result of this one.…” Ines had become an underwriter for an insurance company. She had given up editing independent film forever for something dependable.
“And you like your OB, right?” Veronica asked. “That’s really important too.”
“I do.”
“Are you going to consider the birthing center instead of the hospital? There are so many interventions, so many unnecessary things they do to you in the hospital.”
“ Unnecessary? Veronica, they saved your life. And Clara’s too. Thank God you weren’t stuck at the birthing center.”
“It’s just that at the birthing center they don’t induce.” On Veronica’s due date, nothing had happened. Her cervical dilation was zero. “There’s this chain reaction. The low amniotic fluid led to the induction with Pitocin, which led to the bleeding—” She was blathering to ecstatic Ines about her difficult labor. She had to stop herself.
“I want the epidural,” Ines snapped.
“I want you to have a better experience than I did.” She sipped her wine. “And chances are you will.” Veronica had signed and faxed all the right forms, but the doctor’s office still wouldn’t send her a copy of Clara’s birth record. There was a sequence of events she was trying to understand. She was sliding back into that story.
“It was modern medicine. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
“I keep wondering if the fluid was really that low, if some variable had changed…” She looked into her wineglass and drained it.
“You had nothing to do with what happened, and you have Clara,” Ines assured her. “I want interventions. The more medicated, the better. We’re different,” Ines said, wiping the corners of her mouth. “What’s one thing for you is another for me, and I can handle it.”
Veronica put down her fork. “You can handle it? Do you think I haven’t handled it?”
“No—only that you obsess. And you’re fine .”
“I’m sorry,” she said, choked. “I know I’ve been very preoccupied.” She had been too preoccupied to know early on about Ines’s pregnancy, too selfish to have been a confidante.
“Let’s let it go,” Ines said. They ate silently. Ines paused to check her computer. “He landed.”
“They should’ve had the conference someplace actually hedonic—just for fun. If they’re going to study happiness, they should know what it feels like.”
“They should’ve met in Barbados,” Ines said.
“Yes! I remember seeing this orchid cave there when I was ten—the most amazing natural colors. And the air. The tactile air.” She smiled, remembering John there too, on her annual family trip when they were just twenty-five, sneaking into her room with a red hibiscus, cracking open some aloe stems, and cooling her sunburned shoulders.
“At ten, did you rhapsodize about the air?”
“You know I did.” She poured herself an inch more of wine. What was life about if not pleasure? She picked an errant strand of linguine off her place mat and ate it.
“Look at you,” Ines said, gesturing to Veronica’s empty plate. It was as if they were both reminded of the sensual Veronica of before . Fleetingly, with linguine and the very word Barbados , she’d returned.
“I could murder him,” Ines said. “Look, he leaves his crackberry here on the counter. He hasn’t even been getting my emails. He lives in another century, I swear.”
* * *
In the lobby, Veronica bumped into Art coming home. Lost in thought, he brightened when he saw her.
“Art! How was the conference? Are you happy?”
“Hey!” He hugged her firmly, a liberty he took with his wife’s best friend. “I am happy, even though commuting is the opposite of sex—in terms of reported happiness levels.”
“It’s not like you have to commute to Des Moines and back.”
“Where’s John?”
“In Irvington with the
“And you like your OB, right?” Veronica asked. “That’s really important too.”
“I do.”
“Are you going to consider the birthing center instead of the hospital? There are so many interventions, so many unnecessary things they do to you in the hospital.”
“ Unnecessary? Veronica, they saved your life. And Clara’s too. Thank God you weren’t stuck at the birthing center.”
“It’s just that at the birthing center they don’t induce.” On Veronica’s due date, nothing had happened. Her cervical dilation was zero. “There’s this chain reaction. The low amniotic fluid led to the induction with Pitocin, which led to the bleeding—” She was blathering to ecstatic Ines about her difficult labor. She had to stop herself.
“I want the epidural,” Ines snapped.
“I want you to have a better experience than I did.” She sipped her wine. “And chances are you will.” Veronica had signed and faxed all the right forms, but the doctor’s office still wouldn’t send her a copy of Clara’s birth record. There was a sequence of events she was trying to understand. She was sliding back into that story.
“It was modern medicine. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
“I keep wondering if the fluid was really that low, if some variable had changed…” She looked into her wineglass and drained it.
“You had nothing to do with what happened, and you have Clara,” Ines assured her. “I want interventions. The more medicated, the better. We’re different,” Ines said, wiping the corners of her mouth. “What’s one thing for you is another for me, and I can handle it.”
Veronica put down her fork. “You can handle it? Do you think I haven’t handled it?”
“No—only that you obsess. And you’re fine .”
“I’m sorry,” she said, choked. “I know I’ve been very preoccupied.” She had been too preoccupied to know early on about Ines’s pregnancy, too selfish to have been a confidante.
“Let’s let it go,” Ines said. They ate silently. Ines paused to check her computer. “He landed.”
“They should’ve had the conference someplace actually hedonic—just for fun. If they’re going to study happiness, they should know what it feels like.”
“They should’ve met in Barbados,” Ines said.
“Yes! I remember seeing this orchid cave there when I was ten—the most amazing natural colors. And the air. The tactile air.” She smiled, remembering John there too, on her annual family trip when they were just twenty-five, sneaking into her room with a red hibiscus, cracking open some aloe stems, and cooling her sunburned shoulders.
“At ten, did you rhapsodize about the air?”
“You know I did.” She poured herself an inch more of wine. What was life about if not pleasure? She picked an errant strand of linguine off her place mat and ate it.
“Look at you,” Ines said, gesturing to Veronica’s empty plate. It was as if they were both reminded of the sensual Veronica of before . Fleetingly, with linguine and the very word Barbados , she’d returned.
“I could murder him,” Ines said. “Look, he leaves his crackberry here on the counter. He hasn’t even been getting my emails. He lives in another century, I swear.”
* * *
In the lobby, Veronica bumped into Art coming home. Lost in thought, he brightened when he saw her.
“Art! How was the conference? Are you happy?”
“Hey!” He hugged her firmly, a liberty he took with his wife’s best friend. “I am happy, even though commuting is the opposite of sex—in terms of reported happiness levels.”
“It’s not like you have to commute to Des Moines and back.”
“Where’s John?”
“In Irvington with the
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