Baby Steps

By Jen

 

 

            “I want to do this, Amy.  I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

 

            Silence followed.

 

            Emma Wakefield sighed.  She looked back at her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror.  Why was she afraid of telling her best friend about her decision?  Because she’ll try to talk you out of it her mind said.  And you’ll listen.  You’ll listen to her once again talk you into a mundane life.

 

            Not this time, she decided.  This was something she needed.  Something that would help her get out of the slump she’d found her life in.  Emma turned from the mirror and walked back into the crowded restaurant.

 

            “Geez, Em, thought I’d have to eat by myself.”  Emma smiled and sat down, staring down at her plate of pasta.  Her eyes shifted toward Amy’s cell phone that nested next to Amy’s plate, as it always did whenever they met for lunch.  Amy was a busy woman, with a date book to prove it.  And she only had an hour penciled in for lunch.

 

            “Amy, I made a decision.”

 

            Amy’s head perked up.  She put down the fork and rested her hand on her cell phone.  “What kind of decision?  Are you going to move to that apartment blocks from mine?  It does have a nicer view and would be so much better to-“

 

            “No, it’s not that.”  She played with her fingers.  “I’m – I’m, well . . .”

 

            “Well, what?”  Amy looked at her expectantly and picked up her water glass.

 

            “I’m going to have a baby.”

 

            Amy did a double take, almost dropping her glass in her lap.  “You’re pregnant?  You aren’t even dating anyone!”

 

            “I didn’t say I was pregnant.  I said I’m going to have a baby.  And I am.  With the help of artificial insemination.”

 

            “As in frozen sperm?  Emma, you can’t do that.”

 

            Here it comes.  You can do this, Emma.  Stand up for your decision.  “Sure, I can.  Lots of women are single mothers.  My mother is a single parent.”

 

            “Your mother is nuts.  Everyone knows that.  She hasn’t changed since the day I met you.”

           

            “We were five.  And my mother isn’t nuts.  She’s just . . . unusual.  Just because she has no set plan – wait, why I am talking about her?  This is my decision.  I got a catalog.”  

 

            “A catalog?”  Amy shoved her plate aside to take the offered book from Emma. 

 

            “See, some of them are Harvard graduates-“

 

            “And some of them probably lied about their background.”  Amy pointed to a page.  “There.  I don’t think there is one straight man in New York that is both a doctor and part-time artist.”

 

            “I didn’t say that he had to be straight, Amy.  He just has to be a man.”  This was going nowhere. 

 

            “Then you might as well go up to a random man on the street.  ‘Hi, I’m Emma.  I’m thirty-five and enjoy walks in Central Park.  Would you father my child?’”

 

            Emma sighed.  “Amy, you make it sound so dirty.”  

 

            “I’m just being practical, Emma.  Besides, you said you wanted to meet a man first.  Fall in love.  Get married. _Then_ have a baby.”  A waiter passed by.  “Check, please.  You are just doing this because of your bad luck with men.  And not to mention your life isn’t exactly the most interesting one in New York . . .”  She trailed off and took a sip from her water glass.  Emily looked down on her lap.          

 

            How could she know what I want to do with my life?  How could she know I want a change?  How could she figure it out?  She found herself unwilling to look at Amy.  I need to say something to her.

 

            “I wish there were more men in the world like Sam, Amy, but there aren’t.  I can’t waste my life waiting.”  There.  Answer that.

 

            The waiter dropped off the check and Amy briefly glanced at.  “You could have married Peter after college.”

 

            And I would have been a housewife with six kids in Indiana.  She grimaced when she thought of the ten-year reunion.  “No thanks.”  She grabbed her purse.

 

            “Forget it, it’s my turn.”  She handed over a credit card to the waiter, then turned to Emma.  “I got it!”

 

            Here it comes.  She is going to want to set you up with someone.  Say no.

 

            “David Anderson.  He works with Sam.  Great guy.  He’s cute, too.  Thirty-three, tall, brown hair.”

 

            Say no, Emma.  “And?”

 

            “You should go out with him.”

 

            Say no, Emma.  “Why?”

 

            “Because.  Emma, you need to see that there are guys out there.”  Emma gave no reaction.  Amy sighed.  “Listen, one date.  You hate him, then go ahead. Get pregnant.  Hell, use him as a one-night stand.  But I bet you won’t want to.”

 

            Say no.  Say no.  Say no.  “Okay, one date.”  Damnit!  Did I just say that?

 

            “Good.  I’ll talk to him.  You can go out tomorrow night.  I’ll give him your address.”  She signed the check and picked up her purse to leave.  Emma looked down at her lap. 

 

            Why can’t I stick to my own decision?

 

---------------

 

            “Damnit!  I need tissue.”

 

            “I don’t see why you can’t just wax, Emma.  I mean it saves so much time . . .”

 

“Ow!”

 

“… and aggravation.”  Amy ripped off some toilet paper and handed it to her friend.  Emma shot her a look and took it.

 

“Waxing equals pain.  Besides, I didn’t plan on getting home this late.” 

 

It was six-thirty.  Thanks to a cranky client, Emma was almost an hour late getting home, and had yet to do her hair.  Why do the writers of children’s books have to be such perfectionists?  She sighed and threw the razor in the sink.  Why am I getting dressed up for this man again?  Oh yeah, because Amy was waiting in my apartment with a dress and brush, ready to primp me like some Barbie doll.  And hell, she even penciled me into her date book for a whole hour.

 

“Good enough.” 

 

“Missed a spot.”  Amy picked up the razor. 

 

“Hey, I don’t try and shave your legs,” Emma shouted and grabbed the razor to do it herself. 

 

“Hurry up.  He’ll be here in half an hour and you still have to get dressed, do your hair, and put on your makeup.”  Amy dashed into the bedroom.

 

“But I have makeup on,” Emma mumbled to herself, but reluctantly followed Amy.    Why do I have to look nice? It’s a blind date.  I hate blind dates.

 

“Emma?”

 

Because you’re a sap.

 

“Emma!”

 

And it’s your own fault.

 

------------------------------

 

Twenty-nine minutes later, she was dressed, made-up and ready at the door with her purse.

 

“Amy, I doubt he’ll be-“  The buzzer interrupted her sentence.  “On time,” she finished as Amy opened the door. 

 

“Emma, David.  David, Emma.”  She looked at the two of them.  “Gotta go.  Promised Sam I’d be back by seven-fifteen.  Have a good time, you two.”

 

Emma looked at the man standing in the doorway.  He was tall, at least six inches taller then her, and had brown hair and eyes.  Attractive, most definitely.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi,” he echoed back.  They were silent for a minute.

           

“Okay, first uncomfortable silence over.  Next, dinner reservations at seven-fifteen.  I have a cab waiting downstairs.”  Before she knew it, Emma found herself being led down the hall to the elevator, then out the door, and into a cab.

 

---------------------

 

            The restaurant was beautiful.  The tablecloths, lit candles, and violin music gave it just the perfect atmosphere.  Couples gazed into each other’s eyes with expressions of deep and profound love.  No words were spoken, only feelings felt. 

 

            Except at table thirteen.

 

            The evening started out okay.  Sure, David had pestered the taxi driver when he hit a pocket of traffic, but she could understand.  After all, he had made dinner reservations.  The fact that he took her coat and moved out her chair was romantic and touching.  She looked at his eyes at that second and wondered if Amy was right.  For a moment the catalog she had sitting on nightstand took one step closer to the garbage can.

 

            For just a moment.

 

            The waiter approached them and Emma opened her mouth to order, when David spoke first. 

 

            “We’ll both have the filet mignon and a bottle of Merlot.”  Emma immediately shut her menu. 

 

            When do I tell him I don’t eat red meat?  She could see Amy shaking her head in her mind.  I guess I’ll survive.  David smiled at her and took her menu to hand to the waiter.  She smiled back, unsure.

 

            “So, Amy tells me you work for a publishing company,” David started. 

 

            “I do.  We publish children’s books.  So, how long have you known Amy?”

 

            “Three years.  I met her when Sam brought her to the office Christmas party.  So, tell me a little about yourself.”

 

            “Well, I was born in New York.  Here in Manhattan, actually.”  Emma paused for second when she saw David fidget.   “Moved to Jersey when I was five. I met Amy there.”  She saw him look down at his lap.  What was he doing?  Before she could get a chance to ask him, the wine arrived and she swore she heard David sigh with relief.  Nothing, it’s nothing.  You are not going out with a fidgetor.  Hell, there is no such word as fidgetor!  Of course, he couldn’t be just “fidgeting” down there . . . Ew! Emma, go your mind out of the gutter!  Amy has more taste then that!

 

            “So where did you grow up?”  She needed a drink, and scooped up her glass as soon as it was poured. 

 

            “Connecticut.  Stamford.  My father’s a lawyer there.  My mother, too.”

 

            “They work in the same firm?”

 

            “Yes.  Ever since I was five.”  He looked down again.  Emma panicked.  Say you have to go to the bathroom, or that your beeper just went off … wait, you’re a publisher, what do you need a beeper for??  Suddenly David put his wrist on the table and pointed to his watch.  “The service here is terrible.  Every time I come here it takes them at least twelve minutes to bring out wine.”

 

            His watch! He was looking at his watch! “You timed it?”  Wait a minute, he was looking at his watch?

 

            “I find it something worth mentioning when the bill comes.  After all, who wants to spend their life waiting in a restaurant?”

 

            That’s a good point.  He’s not a wacko.  “I could agree with that.”  See, this might not be that bad.

 

--------------

 

            They spent the next thirty minutes talking pleasantly, sharing tidbits about each other’s lives.  Still, Emma shuddered at the thought of telling Amy she had a semi good time.  The catalog had moved, at least in her mind, from the nightstand to the drawer.  Maybe letting Amy talk her into this was a good idea.  After all, Amy had a good life, and good taste, and made good decisions. 

 

            Maybe I don’t need a baby.  Maybe I need a man.

 

            Or at least a good ole fashioned one-night stand.     

 

            Emma opened her mouth to start a story about college, when David looked at his watch and waved down a waiter.

 

            “Yes, sir?”      

 

            “We’ve been waiting thirty minutes.  I could handle twelve minutes with the wine, but we’ve only been served salads since.  It’s a Tuesday night in half full restaurant; you’re wasting our time.  Most of us have a schedule to keep to.”  Emma couldn’t believe David.  The nice charming man she’d just been talking to was now berating a waiter.  She was about to tell him that time didn’t matter when he told it out.

 

            Filled with papers and messy cursive, it landed on the dinner table with a thud that was deafening to Emma’s ears.  She knew that thud.

 

            No, please, no.  Don’t open it, please, don’t open --

 

            “See, I only have so much time.”  David was pointing with a pen and Emma wanted to crawl under the table.  She turned away, as far as her head could go, far from the date book, far from David’s conversation, far from the idea of a planned evening.  A cry erupted from somewhere, and for a moment, Emma would have thought it was coming from her own mind when her attention wandered to the table next to her. 

 

            “I told you this would never work,” the man said to the woman beside him.  She turned to him, a baby wailing in her arms.

 

            “We couldn’t get a babysitter.  It’s our anniversary.  What do you want to do?  Go home and deal with midnight feedings and watch Nightline?”

 

            “We’re going to end up doing that anyway, so it doesn’t matter.  We might as well head home.”  The baby wailed even louder, causing several restaurant customers to turn their attention from David’s scene to the child’s.  The couple blushed and the woman fished through a diaper bag, finally finding a bottle and shoving it in the baby’s mouth.  The cries silenced and both parents breathed a sigh of relief.  Emma turned back to the table.  Ideas filled her head.

 

            “What about dinner tonight, Em?”

 

            “I can’t.  No babysitter.”  A high-pitched wail interrupts them  “Baby.  I gotta go.”

 

            “ . . . and so if you don’t always understand, I have plans.  I have little time.”  David shut the book.   He turned to Emma.  “Dinner will be here in a second.  So what were you saying about college?”

 

            “I . . . I don’t remember,” Emma admitted.  Dinner came and small talk resumed, but Emma found herself far removed from the conversation.  After dinner came coffee, then back to her apartment.   The skies had been threatening rain, but as soon as they got out of the cab, they opened up their gates. 

 

            “Here.” David opened an umbrella and pulled her along side him.  “I read the weather reports.  Never hurts to be prepared.”

 

            “No, I guess not.”  She stared straight ahead.  What do I want?  What do I think I want?  She heard only the sound of rain pounding against the pavement as they ascended the steps to the door of her apartment building.  “Well, here I am.” 

 

            “Yep.”  He looked at her.  Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me. I need to get out here.  I need to get out of this fast.  Like now.  David leaned forward, his grip still steady on the umbrella, and Emma stepped back, nearly tripping down the stairs.  She caught herself before she tumbled to the ground.  Still, she found herself in the rain.

 

She stood there for a second.  The rain immediately penetrated everything she wore.  Her coat was wet, and the edges of her dress clung to her legs.  The hair Amy had perfected drooped under the weight of water. She felt the water in her high heels.

 

She plopped down on the sidewalk, sitting in the rain.  Reaching into her purse, she took out the ad she still held for the sperm bank and the business card with David’s phone number and let both float in the puddle of water at her feet.

           

“What are you doing?” David questioned, a look of sheer confusion on his face.

           

“Sitting.” 

           

“But it’s pouring.  There are puddles.”

           

She watched the papers float down the street, toward the sewers below.  She looked back at him.

           

“I know.”

           

And she smiled. 

           

She made her decision.