Six

After a quick trip to the bakery and Trader Joe’s, I found myself on Edie’s door step. She had always had the most domestic nature of the three of us, and her house reflected that. Somehow she had managed to find a perfect little bungalow close to downtown, but far enough away that the noise and traffic were not overwhelming. Marigolds lined the walk to her house, and the welcome mat on the stoop was always in perfect alignment. Sabrina and I had managed to talk her out of the mailbox with the kitty-cats painted on it, thank goodness.

I maneuvered the bags in my hand so that I could press the doorbell. I heard the strains of “You Are My Sunshine” ringing in the entryway and Sabrina quickly opened the door.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you’d never get here. She won’t stop talking about those freaking cookies! Please tell me you brought them.” Though Sabrina was obviously relieved to see me, I could tell she was still a little put out from my abandonment earlier that morning.

“Right here! Betsy saves the day, yet again. You’re not still mad at me, are you? Please say you’re not mad!” I tried out my puppy dog look on her. “Tell me all about Eddy.” Or was it Frasier? I hoped my guess had been correct.

The stern look left Sabrina’s face and her eyes glazed over as a dreamy look filled them. “Eddy is fantastic.”

“Uh-oh. I’ve seen that look before! Good things never follow. Here take this box before I drop it”

“Oh, I don’t mind if they’ve fallen on the floor, just give them to me!” Edie had appeared in the doorway, her rounded belly a commanding presence on our diminutive friend. Edie stood five feet tall when she was in heels. There are actually some amusement park rides that she cannot ride. Which usually didn’t matter, since practical Edie liked to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground.

Edie ripped the bakery box from my hands and made a bee line for the kitchen. I knew that I would not see a single one of those cookies. Which was why I had an O’Connor box of cookies safely tucked away in my car for later.

Sabrina and I moved into the warmly decorated living room. Fred and Jack were sitting on the overstuffed couch gazing adoringly at little pieces of paper. Fred jumped up when I walked in and gave me a hug.

“Miss Betsy, you’re looking better than ever, as always. Thanks for rescuing the day with the cookies and the pickles. I was worried that little Miss Edie was going to waste away without them. Have you seen the latest ultrasounds? Isn’t the baby gorgeous?” He turned to Jack, still sitting on the couch, “Looks like all the girls are here, Jack. Time for the queens to leave!”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that term. You know how much I dislike it.”

“Oh, come on, deep down under that stern actuarian exterior you know that you’re a Dorothy loving, musical quoting wannabe diva.”

“That’s simply you reflecting your personality onto me, Fred. I declined membership to the Gay Musical Appreciation society. But you are right, we should clear out of here and let the girls get on with their bitching.”

Edie galumphed into the room when she heard Fred and Jack talking about leaving. “Oh! Thank you guys so much for coming over! You know how much I love having company!”

“You can hardly call us company any more, dear heart,” said Fred, “you are bearing a child for us. We are family now.”

“That’s right!” Edie walked with Fred and Jack to the door.

“Who would have thought that of all of us, Fred would be the first to have a baby.” Sabrina remarked as she took Jack’s place on the couch and grabbed the ultrasound pictures up off of the coffee table.

We’d all been surprised when Jack and Fred invited us over to their apartment for dinner about seven months ago to announce that they were pregnant. Edie had not been surprised, of course, but Sabrina and I were. Jack’s sister donated the egg, Fred donated the sperm, and Edie was providing the womb. A sure recipe for disaster, it may seem, but I knew that Fred and Jack would pull it off. For all of their arguing, they were the strongest couple I knew, gay or straight.

Edie later told us that it had been a hard decision for her to make; to decide whether she could carry a baby for nine months and then give it up. She and Fred had been inseparable during college. They’d even petitioned, unsuccessfully, to be allowed to be roommates senior year. Our conservative college was willing to turn a blind eye to homosexuality, but they would not condone coed living situations. At that time, Fred was lucky enough to have Edie’s understanding boyfriend, Mitchell, to room with.

Unfortunately, Mitchell was not such an understanding fiancé, and when he heard that Edie was doing Fred this favor, he left her, complete with 200 embossed wedding invitations and a non-refundable deposit for the reception site on the beach.

I looked at the bracelet on my wrist and wondered how Edie’s life would be different had she chosen to not bear this child. She should have been getting married this coming weekend, something that we all knew, but were not speaking of. Edie put on a brave face, but we all knew what it was covering. Fred and Jack had taken her to the zoo yesterday during my sister’s wedding to try to save her that bit of grief.

“Alright girls, let the bitching begin!” Edie pronounced as she carried herself back into the room.

Sabrina and I had known each other since first grade, when we were in Brownies together. We each sold the least cookies in the troop that year, and received only the commemorative button, while all the other girls were getting their stuffed animals and boom boxes for having better door-to-door selling skills. We bonded over cookie envy.

No one had ever been able to crack our little twosome until we met Edie our freshman year of college. She literally fell at our feet on our first day of orientation. A box she was attempting to carry up the stairs had thrown her off balance and she came tumbling down. She wasn’t able to get up at first, not because she was hurt, but because she was laughing too hard at herself. When she stood up and introduced herself, we knew we’d found a third soul to share in our adventures.

The Bitch Bash had not started until our senior year. Sabrina was fed up with art school applications, Edie had been fighting with Mitch, and I just felt totally lost as graduation was approaching. One day, Fred pointed out that the three of us had gotten really grumpy and mostly sat around complaining. Motivated to change that habit, we instated a rule that we could only complain on one day a week, and thus the Bitch Bash was born.

“Who is starting today?” Sabrina asked.

“Yegads! I’m pregnant! Obviously I start,” said Edie as she carefully lowered herself into a wooden rocking chair. She’d lost the ability to rise from her overstuffed furniture about a month ago, and was relegated to wooden chairs until she gave birth.

“Did you just say ‘yegads?’” laughed Sabrina.

“I did. I’m trying out new curse words. I don’t want to expose the baby to anything so crude, you know?”

“With Fred and Jack as parents! Good luck with that!” I pointed out.

“I know. I’ve already started talking to them about that. I will not have this child raised with a potty mouth.”

“Good luck with that. I think Fred’s first word out of the womb was ‘fuck.’”

Edie attempted to shield her belly with her hands. “Betsy! You too. Please watch what you say around the fetus!”

“Yes mother! Now, girl, start the bitch- oops… uh, start the complaining.”

“’Bitch’ doesn’t count. They say it on TV now, so there is no avoiding it.” Edie said with a sigh. “But, yes, let’s get the bitching started.”

Sabrina started the ritual. “So, Edie, what’s the matter with you?”

“My problems are numerous. Let me tell you a few.”

“Please do.” Sabrina and I said in unison. The ritual was a bit silly, but what can you expect from an artist, an elementary school teacher and a self-proclaimed gypsy?

“Well first of all, I can’t decide which is worse – my enormous ankles or my enormous breasts”

“Enormous breasts,” scoffed Sabrina, “I should have such a problem!”

“Brina! Don’t interrupt the uterus. You know how dangerous that is.”

“Thank you Betsy. Continuing: I am getting sick of trying to explain to my students’ parents that, one: the wedding is off, and two: I’m not actually keeping this baby. You’d think they were the seven year olds, not the students. If I get one more mother clucking at me, acting like she understands, I think I shall be forced to rip the pearls from around her neck and trample them into the mud. And this will really be quite an accomplishment since the grounds crew at the Academy doesn’t let such a thing as mud invade the campus, which is really quite a shame, because if the little hellions had a chance to actually do something fun during their recess time, they may actually sit still for a few seconds during class.”

Edie was certainly on a roll tonight. She rarely complained about Percy Academy. As the youngest teacher on the staff, she felt obligated to treat the school as if it was some form of royal court. I had always suspected that she felt frustrated and stifled there, but this was the first evidence I’d had.

“And Mitch called.” Edie burst into tears.

“What?!” this caught both mine and Sabrina’s attention. “What did he want?”

After a deep breath, Edie went on, “He wanted to know if I had any plans for the Sands this weekend. He wants to bring some relatives to the beach for a picnic, and figured that would be a good place to take them. Seeing as we had it reserved for our reception and all.”

“And what did you tell him?” Sabrina demanded.

“I told him to go fuck himself.” Edie said, and burst into tears again. “He made me swear in front of the fetus!”

“Well, the fetus will have to forgive you for that one,” I told her, “because he deserved it. Creep. I’m so proud of you for standing up to him, Edie.”

“Me too, me too!” Sabrina piped in. “You know this calls for sundaes.” Sundaes were our drug of choice, and we whipped out the makings for everything – celebration, despair, managing to get a car payment in on time. We kept a stockpile of sundae supplies on hand at all times. We even had some stashed at Jack and Fred’s.

“How about some pickles, instead?” sniffed Edie.

“Pickles it is!” declared Sabrina. “For you, anyway. Betsy and I get sundaes.”

“Just as long as mine is small-ish.” I’d experienced relative mortification the previous day when I’d had to stand at the altar next to my size four sister and her gymnastics friends at the altar.

“Sure. A small one.” Sabrina agreed.

A few minutes later, we were all curled back up in the living room with large sundaes balancing on our laps, Edie with a side of sweet pickles.

“So, darling, now that we have our sugar requirements met for the next millennium, please tell us what else is amiss in the world of Edie?” Sabrina asked.

Edie had already perked back up to her normal self. Actually seeing Edie cry had been one of the most shocking parts of her pregnancy, but we’d grown accustomed to it by this time. “Absolutely nothing. I really don’t have much to complain about. I love my job, most of the time, I love my house, I love my friends. And in a mere six weeks, I’ll have my body back to myself.”

“Well, thanks for the update, Pollyanna. My turn!”

“Okay, Sabrina,” I started, “what is the matter with you?”

“My problems are numerous. Let me tell you a few.”

“Please do.”

“Well, first of all, my best friend cannot keep promises to save her life.”

“Hey!” I said, incensed, “I thought you weren’t going to hold that against me!”

“You know the routine, Betsy. I’m waiting for my chocolate. Preferably in the –covered cherry form this time. And not those crappy ones from the supermarket, either. I’m talking Godiva here.”

“Why does Betsy owe you chocolate again?”

“She made me face my Mission: Dog Park alone!”

“Oh, Betsy,” Edie said, shaking her head, “that is pretty bad.”

“She made Evil Drunk Betsy promise! You know I can’t be held accountable for that evil girl’s actions!”

“That is true, Sabrina.” Edie said, through a bite of sweet pickle.

“Regardless, I expect my Godiva no later than Tuesday. I’ll need the fortification of chocolate coated cherry courage.”

“What happens on Tuesday?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

“I’m going on a date with Eddy!” Sabrina squealed.

Edie squealed in response, and both of them jumped up and started doing a jig around the coffee table. I can’t say that Edie was very graceful, especially next to Sabrina’s five foot eleven, former ballerina frame, but she made up for it with enthusiasm.

“Betsy!” Edie panted, sitting down, “Why aren’t you dancing? Dance for Sabrina! Dance!”

I got up, did a little twirl in front of the chair, and sat down. “I don’t see why I need to bring you chocolate if your mission succeeded.” I sulked, “I probably helped you by not being there. You know, you looked like a helpless maiden in need of rescuing, and big, strong Eddy was just the man to fit the bill.”

“Success or failure is not the point.” Sabrina chided. “The point is that you didn’t keep your promise. Besides, if you bring me chocolate, I won’t name your third baby Queen Yolanda Cream Puff.”

“Okay, that sounds fair. Now, Sabrina, get on with the bitching.”

“Yes. I almost forgot in all the excitement. Let’s see… I have yet to find a gallery that I like. I still can’t believe that Gerry sold his to move to Tulsa, Oklahoma. I’d never realized what a good thing I’d had until he left.” Sabrina was an artist, and not a starving one, either. It had been very frustrating while we were growing up to see Sabrina’s craft projects turn into beautiful works of art while mine inevitably turned into big lumps that my mother would display for a while, and then accidentally trash. Sabrina’s parents’ house was still filled with the projects she’d made in elementary school. And they looked good. Her main medium now, since sophomore year of college, has been lithography. Unfortunately, she had yet to find a good space for her work since her favorite gallery owner had decided to become a farmer.

“Where is your stuff right now? I forget.” She’d been changing galleries so often lately, that I didn’t blame Edie for forgetting; neither did Sabrina.

“It’s at that gallery on eleventh and Alder. I like the lighting and the colors and all, but the main featured artist there is going through a mixed media phase, and is taking particular delight in using human hair and nail clippings. I hate nail clippings.”

“Yeah, that is kind of gross.”

“So, I am forced, again, to find another location. I may just quit and open my own gallery.” Her shoulders slumped in dismay.

“I’m sure you can find someplace,” I said, trying to encourage her. “Opening your own gallery would be cool and all, but how would you have the time to work on your own stuff if you were managing all that business junk?”

“That’s what bothers me,” Sabrina agreed. “Beyond the never-ending gallery frustration, there is the issue of Ralph. Ralph is still calling me. This week, he was trying to tell me that he found a perfect place for my work. He knows exactly the right strings to pull to make me want to call him, but I know that if I do, it will end in disaster. As always. Oh, I just wish he would disappear.”

“Maybe we should get Mitchell and Ralph together and hold a little seminar on how ex-boyfriends should behave.” I suggested.

“Yes!” Sabrina agreed, almost too emphatically, “We could hold sessions on How Often to Call, and What to Do if You Run Into Each Other at Trader Joe’s. Hey, if it worked, we could expand the operation. Can’t you just see girls handing their about-to-be ex a ticket and itinerary as she gives him the old heave ho?”

Five

Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

I awoke from a dream of me standing onstage at Carnegie Hall with people throwing roses at my feet.

“Weird.” One habit I’ve fallen into since I moved into my own condo about a year ago is talking to myself. When I’m in a good mood, I sing. At this moment, I was still trying to shake off the remnants of the hangover.

“That was the weirdest dream I’ve ever had.” I muttered, thinking of the strange lady who’d magically appeared in my kitchen. Something about choices and alternate universes. And the flute.

I rolled over and looked at the clock. “Three o’clock. Time to get up.” I had to meet the girls at four for our weekly Sunday session of Bitch Bash, a tradition we’d started during our senior year of college.

“Up and at ‘em, Betsy girl. Nothing can keep you down!” I’d found that giving myself little pep talks sometimes helped me get out of bed. Not always, but seeing as it was late afternoon already, it actually worked.

It wasn’t until I was in the shower that I noticed the charm bracelet on my hand. I stood there, staring at my wrist in disbelief. “It couldn’t be true. No way. That so did not happen.” I was completely flabbergasted, and probably would have stood there forever had I not promptly gotten shampoo in my eye.

I quickly finished showering, put on my robe and walked into my kitchen. There it was: all the evidence that Fatima and the whole situation had not been a dream. I headed towards the table, where a large book, bound in purple, sat looking very important.

“Ouch! Shoot.” I’d managed to step on a broken bowl that I’d knocked to the floor earlier when I’d been reaching for the Advil. The bottom of my foot was bleeding profusely. I grabbed some paper towels, wrapped them around my foot and half hopped, half hobbled back to the bathroom. I’d just had new carpet installed, and I was not about to get blood all over it!

After bandaging my foot, I went back to the kitchen and picked up the glass from the Pergo floor. Finally, I made it to the guidebook. The cover was a deep, royal purple, and embossed in gold was a human form surrounded by many intertwined ovals. I looked at my bracelet again – each charm had the same emblem stamped into it. There were no words anywhere on the outside of the book, nor was there any publishers information or date of publication anywhere on the first few heavy cream-colored pages.

I’d just reached the “Table of Contents” when my phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Betsy! Bring cookies! I need cookies. Chocolate chip and walnut. Get them from that bakery on 9th street, O’Connor’s, they make the best ones. Oh, and could you stop by Trader Joe’s and grab some pickles, too? Sweet, not dill. Fred got the wrong kind. And if it isn’t too much trouble, could you get some guava juice, too?”

“Edie, if I didn’t know that you were pregnant, I’d think you were crazy.”

“Thank you so much Betsy! I know that Fred would go out and get these things for me – he’s been so great to me. But I feel bad taking advantage of him like that, you know?”

“You are carrying his child, after all.”

“Oh, I know, but you know how busy he gets. Plus, he and Jack are having some troubles right now, and I don’t want to make it any worse.”

“Fred and Jack are always having problems! The function best that way.”

“I know, I know. Just get the stuff for me, will you? And hurry up! It’s already 3:40!”

“Alright, Edie, darling. Anything for you! I’ll be there soon.”

I put the guidebook down. I guess it would have to wait until later.