Page 4 of The New Couple in 5B

After hanging my coat and tote on the hooks in the hallway, I carry my little box right into the bathroom.

I’m two weeks late.

This is it.

The absolute worst time to have a baby—when we’re both broke, our futures uncertain. But I don’t care. This is the thing I want more than I want any other thing—a baby, a family. My whole body, my heart, aches for it. I stalk playgrounds and offer to babysit the children of our friends. I browse baby names online and gaze longingly at images of stylish nurseries on Pinterest. It’s not just me; Chad wants this, too. We so badly hope to create the family neither one of us have. I’m estranged from mine; Chad’s parents both died too young in a car accident. Now that Ivan’s gone, we’re alone.

We’ll make this work. This baby. This life. We will. He’ll get this commercial. I’ll rework my proposal and Max will love it.

In the dim yellow light coming in from the thin frosted bathroom window, I lay out the kit on the porcelain sink. I read the instructions carefully, just to be sure I’m doing everything right—even though I’ve done this plenty of times, the enterprise always resulting in another disappointment. In the end, though, it just comes down to peeing on the stick. I do that, place the little lid over it and lay it down.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror, which has a little chip out of the corner. My face, framed by wild dark hair, frowns in concentration, squinting a little from staring at the tiny type. My resting worried face. When left to its own devices, my brow wrinkles; the corners of my mouth turn down. I force a smile at my reflection.

“You’ve got this,” I tell the girl in the mirror. I am not sure she believes me.

Fifteen minutes. Not more. Not less.

In the living room, I sink onto the couch we bought with my first big advance payment. It seems a silly expense now, more than some people might pay for a used car. But it is as plush and ensconcing as a hug; it embraces me. I grab the cashmere throw, another aspirational purchase, and wrap it around my shoulders.

Breathe.

I check my phone. No word from Chad. I wonder how the audition went. I envision him waiting in a room with other similarly handsome, charming actor types. But he’s the best. He has real talent, and it’s just a matter of time before someone sees that. From there he was going to the reading of Ivan’s will. His location is unavailable. I refresh. Refresh. Nothing.

A text from Max:You home?

Sorry, I shoot back.I’m home. I’m fine. You?

That was horrible. I keep thinking about that poor guy. His leg. You think he’s okay?

No, definitely not. Instead, I type:I’m sure he is. The ambulance got there so fast.

I flash on the twisted form of the biker, the swath of blood on the window, push it away. No, I don’t want that image in my head.

Outside the old, mullioned windows there’s a view of other apartments, the fire escape, the alleyway between buildings. Most of the windows across from our apartment are empty, dark, spaces occupied by people with actual jobs that require them to be gone during the day.

But she’s home, the young mother with her toddler. He’s in his high chair; she’s on the phone. Dark hair up, dressed in a yoga tank and tie-dye leggings, she’s graceful and swift. She’s talking to the baby now, though I can’t hear her through the closed window. She taps his nose with the tip of a delicate finger. The baby looks up at her, adoring, laughs. I feel a pang. I watch them more often than is reasonable.

Seven minutes.

I jump when the buzzer rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Urgent. Angry? Probably just some weirdo. I wait. Maybe they won’t ring again.

Again, long and loud.

This time I answer. “Who is it?”

“It’s Dana.”

Dana? Chad’s cousin? Why is she here? She and I have never even met in person.

“Oh, hey,” I say into the intercom box. What does she want?

Eight minutes.

“Can I comeup?” There’s a churlish edge to her tone.

“Uh, sure.” A quick glance around the apartment. It’s neat enough. “But Chad’s not here.”

She doesn’t say anything, so I press the buzzer and open the apartment door. I hear the gate clang and she hoofs it up five flights, footfalls echoing loudly. Finally, a striking redhead, dressed in a sweeping blue coat, tight jeans, thigh-high boots, arrives on the landing. She’s panting after the exertion.

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