Page 23 of Unexpecting

“It’s okay,” she assured me. “I’ve had a while to get used to it. And you know who was great to talk to? J.B.”

″The one who lives here?” I asked stupidly.

″The very same,” Emma said with a smile. “When he was married, I guess his wife lost a few babies.” She glanced at Cooper for confirmation.

″She had two miscarriages.”

″That’s why he’s so against having kids,” I breathed.

″Probably,” Emma agreed. “It would be so horrible to go through anything like that and I feel so bad he had to, but he was great with me. And Cooper. I’ve come to terms with it, and there are other ways to have a baby, you know.”

″If I didn’t want my own so much, I’d be a surrogate for you!” I offered, still feeling bad for her.

“Someday we might take you up on that,” Coop said. This must be hard on him as well. Amazingly enough, Cooper has a fifteen-year-old son, whom he never gets to see. There was a lot of bad blood between him and the mother and her family when Dominic was born. I think they live in Montreal now. I’m sure he wanted to rectify things by having a baby with Emma someday.

″Another reason I think you should have a baby,” Emma explained. “If you could get yours out of the way, then you could have one for us.” She said it with a laugh, but there was a note of seriousness to her suggestion.

″You’d really want me to do that?” I was flabbergasted. And very, very touched.

″There’s nobody else we’d even think about asking,” Coop told me in a gruff tone.

″Really? Awww…” I leaned toward them and engulfed Cooper and part of Emma in another hug.

″Well, don’t get too excited,” Coop hastened. “It’s not for a while yet. I think I’d like to be married first. Not that I’m asking yet, so don’t get any idea,” he said quickly to Emma.

″But seriously, Casey, I don’t think you should wait,” Emma told me earnestly. “Five years ago I could have had a baby, but now… things change, and I think you should just go for it. What’s that expression—seize the day?”

“Carpe Diem,” Coop told her. “Haven’t you ever seen Dead Poets’ Society?” At Emma’s head shake, Coop smacked his forehead. “I keep forgetting you’re just a baby.”

″I’m twenty-six. That’s not a baby. It’s only thirteen years difference. It just seems like more because you keep bringing up movies that you know I’ve never seen and making me watch them on that old VCR.”

Thirteen years. I was still with David thirteen years ago. I tuned out Coop and Emma’s mock-fight and thought back to thirteen years ago. I was in my last year at U of T; David had already casually mentioned gettingan apartment together when I finished school. I hadn’t begun to start planning the trip with Brit.

If I could go back thirteen years ago and do it over again, I wonder what my life would belike.

Chapter Eleven

“Expectant mothers should avoid as much stress as possible. Even women attempting to conceive should do their best to keep calm, cool, and collected at all times, and not worry. There will be enough stress and worrying with the arrival of a baby.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

Stressing about things cando nasty stuff to your body. I feel like crap today; I’m tired and my tummy’s upset. I chalk it up to my period arriving any day now.

I had a horrible sleep—filled with nervous tension about seeing David. For some reason, at one-thirty in the morning, it got into my head that David only wanted to see me because he felt the need to tell me off about breaking his heart all those years ago. That thought would not be vanquished, as much as I tried to put it into the do-not-think-about box in my head. It’s how I deal with things—mentally compartmentalize them into boxes in my head—the do-not-think-about, the too-horrible-to-consider, and my favourite, the thoughts-that-will-make–me-drink-too-much-if-I-think-about-them. Then if I have the time or inclination, I bring them out slowly when I’m ready to deal. But I don’t often have the inclination, so there’s a ton of stuff holed up in those boxes in my head.

Then about four-thirty (no, I didn’t get a lot of sleep), when I couldn’t stop thinking about poor unbabied Emma, I had the brilliant idea for David to be the father of my baby. I’m sure you already came to thatconclusion, but sometimes it takes me a little longer. I mean, how perfect? I know him; I know his family; I know his family’s history. I could just ask for a small jar of Jiffy Sperm, and he could go on his way. Or maybe (this thought is what kept me awake for most of the night), he got in touch with me because he’s ready to give me another chance. He wants me back in his life, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about the Jiffy Sperm; we could do it the old-fashioned way. It could be like the last twelve years never happened. It could be that fate led him to walk into the wine store on the day I was working. Thursdays are the only day I work late.

Normally I don’t believe in stuff like fate and destiny, because if I did, then I’d have to consider that it was my fate to be alone and without a baby, and I don’t think it is. I was made to be a mother. For no other reason, just look at the size of my hips!

It was still quiet upstairs when I got up Saturday morning. Because Coop and J.B. both work such late hours, mornings can sometimes blend into late morning-early afternoon, and if I’m not busy, it’s easy to abide by those hours. But today I had things to do, people to see. I could start my new life with David!

So I jumped out of bed, showered, and gave my legs an extra-smooth shave, and then I rubbed scented body lotion onto every skin surface I could reach. Of course, when I was doing this, it was in front of the mirror. Naturally, I couldn’t help comparing the body I see now to the body David last saw. The decade has not been kind. The hips are a little wider, the belly a little less taut. The breasts are still full and luscious-looking (one of my ex-boyfriends once told me that, and I liked the description), and while there are no stretch marks or unsightly veins, I definitely no longer have the body of a twenty-two-year-old. But that’s okay, since neither will David. Not that his body was ever the attraction between us. If I recall correctly, it was okay, kind of long and lean, without any of J.B.’s muscular firmness.

Now, why should I be thinking about J.B.’s muscular firmness?

I shook the image—both images—out of my mind and got dressed. Immediately, I felt better. I know I’m not Playboy material or anything—I look okay naked, but I look a lot better with clothes on. No one has told me that; it’s just my female intuition.

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