The setback, p.22
The Setback, page 22
“Sisters might even be better,” Gabe says.
“Why?” Aiden looks confused.
“They don’t steal your Legos as often.” Gabe sighs. “Just don’t leave them out on the floor, cuz babies will eat them.”
“Maybe we should write some of this down,” Will whispers.
“Boys are better than girls. Everyone’s pregnant. Puppies coming too. Babies swallow Legos.” Mandy’s shaking her head. “I need to sit down. I’m not sure I can take any more news.” She glares at Amanda. “How about you? You pregnant, too?”
Amanda shakes her head, her face stricken. “No way.”
“I think you’ve now heard all of it,” I say.
Of course, that’s when Helen shows up, dragging nurses behind her like she’s just wrestled them for the right to enter.
She looks downright angry. “What in heaven’s name is going on, and why are these idiots telling me I can’t come back when you’re all here?”
19
Helen
When we were growing up, if Abby had a torn cuticle, she came to me. When she had a school project that was confusing, when she started her period, when she liked a boy. All her problems.
She always came to me about them.
I mean, I can’t blame her. My mom wasn’t exactly very warm or welcoming. But I think she also knew that whatever it took, I would do it for her. If I had to crack heads, they’d be cracked. If she needed me to threaten a teacher, I had done it before. If she was worried Mom or Dad would be upset, she knew I would keep her secret safe.
After she went off to school, she called me a handful of times. Once it was about a boy, once she needed money, and another time, she was stuck and I called her a cab.
But after that, she quit calling.
I mistakenly assumed it was because she didn’t have any emergencies. It wasn’t until years later that I realized why she really stopped. She had found someone she trusted more, someone who was there for her, someone better than me.
But then that guy died.
I thought, when that happened, that she’d call me again. When I heard about Nate, I wrapped up my main project, just so I’d be ready when she called.
Only, she didn’t.
She had moved on, and that kind of hurt.
By the time I stopped waiting for her call and decided to just show up, she’d already met a new person. And that idiot got her pregnant. Now that stupid baby’s putting her at risk again. Worst of all, I’m apparently the last person in Manila to find out about it.
“You’re saying that she has something called intrahepatic choleostasis of pregnancy?”
Abby doesn’t look very worried. “Say that five times fast, I dare you.”
It’s nice that she’s making jokes, but they’re totally inappropriate right now. I need answers.
“That’s right. It’s a condition that presents from itchiness, and after we diagnosed that—”
“Wait, when did you diagnose that?” I glare at Abby. “This is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“A few weeks ago,” the doctor says, glancing at Abby.
My sister shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. They gave me medicine for it.”
“It actually is a big deal,” the doctor says. “It causes spontaneous miscarriage in the last few weeks, which is why we told you that we planned to induce at thirty-seven weeks.”
“Steve knew,” Abby says. “He wasn’t too nervous.”
He grunts.
This doctor looks miffed. I suppose I did call her in here to explain something again that everyone else has heard. “Look, the point is, her condition can cause calcification of the placenta, which we think may have begun, and that causes low birth weight and failure to thrive in utero.”
Abby brings her hands up around her stomach. “They were doing an ultrasound today to check the placenta, and that’s when they discovered my amniotic fluid’s low.”
“Which means?” I ask.
“It means I’m being monitored,” she says. “It means that my baby still needs more time, but to be cautious, we’re doing steroid injections and monitoring him.”
“We strongly recommend that you deliver him in two days,” the doctor says.
“Helen,” Abby says.
My phone starts ringing. It’s David. I press the red button. He’ll have to wait.
“You can take it,” Steve says. “It’s fine.”
“No.” That’s how he squeezed me out in the first place. He always acts like I have things that are more important, and if I take the bait, it implies that I’m not putting her first. “It’s fine.”
“Look,” Abby says. “I’ve been seeing a doctor when he’s here once a week. He’s a neonatal specialist, and I called him. I’d like to wait to hear from him before we decide anything. My amniotic fluid level is the only new scary thing, and it’s right on the wobble line.”
“Respectfully, it’s not on the wobble line,” the doctor says. “It’s a two—”
“Or a three,” Abby says.
“And anything under a five is concerning.”
“See?” Abby says. “Concerning. Not terrifying. It could be an error by the ultrasound tech. It could be a misread. I’ve been on the monitor for two hours, and the baby has been fine this whole time.”
“Okay,” I say, “but—”
David calls. Again.
I glare at my phone.
“Who is it?” Abby stretches as tall as she can get and peers over my lap. “Is that the handsome Mr. Park?”
I turn my phone over. “Maybe.” My cheeks heat up.
“Ooh, answer, or I’ll call him.”
“You can’t,” Steve whispers. “The battery died, remember?”
“Then you’ll give me yours.” She holds out her hand.
“Come on.” I groan, but I flip my phone over and answer, just before it would have gone to voicemail.
“Where are you?” David asks.
“Huh?”
“I said I’d come by around seven.”
It’s eight-oh-four. I groan again, but this time, I actually feel really bad. “I’m so sorry. Listen, Abby’s in the hospital, and I completely forgot about—”
“Is she alright?”
“That’s debatable,” I say. “She insists she’s fine, but some of the doctors disagree.”
“That’s not true,” Abby yells. “I’m fine.”
“She sounds like her normal self,” David says. “Which hospital?”
“Vernal,” I say. “Ashley whatever.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“No, no, don’t bother coming,” I say. “The nurses are already flipping out because of how many people are here.”
“Nurses love me,” he says.
I’ll just bet they do.
“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”
Why am I smiling? How stupid. I kill the smile and hang up.
“You like him.” Abby has never looked more self-satisfied in her life.
“He’s going to get yelled at by that scary nurse at the front desk,” I say.
“She’s not a nurse,” Steve says. “She’s the clerk, and they’re paid to yell at people.”
“Well, anyway, I bet he can’t even get through. That’s why I was smiling.”
“Sure,” Abby says. “Whatever you say.”
An hour and three minutes later, David Park breezes through the door, hands Steve a big black box, and then grabs a chair.
“What’s this?” Steve asks.
“Open them,” David says.
“Chocolate covered cherries!” Steve slaps his leg. “Brilliant.”
“Those are booze-free.” David crosses his heart, like he’s a twelve-year-old girl.
I kick the box, spilling cherries all over the floor.
“Hey,” Steve says. “Those weren’t yours.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” David says. “I’m prepared for sour behavior from her. I have a dozen more boxes outside. I’ve already given everyone next door a box of their own, too. And the staff. I’m actually thinking of investing in that little chocolate company, I’ve been giving them so much business.”
“You’re the worst,” I say.
But for some reason, I don’t really mean it.
“As fun as it is for you all to be here,” Abby says, “they’re not letting me go tonight, and that doesn’t mean you all need to stay. Why don’t you guys head home, and maybe in the morning I can talk some sense into Dr. Peters?”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” A doctor in his early fifties is leaning against the door, his blocky glasses low on his nose. “Because I’m not supposed to be here for another two days, you know.”
“I was going to talk to you on the phone tomorrow,” Abby says. “What are you doing here now?”
“When the board of directors for your hospital calls and asks for a favor, you drive straight through. You’re lucky I was in Heber City for my son’s birthday.”
“You—the—who called you?” Abby turns toward Steve. “I told you we could wait. No one was suggesting we deliver him today.”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t me.”
I raise my hand. “I put my assistant on it.”
“I should’ve known,” Abby says. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Peters.”
“You know, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a high roller,” Dr. Peters says, “but I’m glad they called, honestly. Monitoring you is good, but I think we can wait and see for a bit. The baby’s not in any distress, and I’m not sure we’re in a ‘better out than in’ scenario. At least, not yet.”
“They already gave me steroids,” Abby says.
“That’s good, actually. I’ll probably have them give you another round in a day or two. I’d like to repeat the ultrasound tomorrow, and maybe again the next day. But I’m not in a huge rush to deliver this little baby unless something changes. Eight weeks early isn’t horrifying, but it’s also not ideal.”
“No, it’s not,” Abby says. “Thank you for saying that.”
“What are those?” Dr. Peters is staring at the floor.
More specifically, he’s staring at the chocolate-covered cherries we haven’t had time to clean up yet.
“They’re cherries,” Steve says. “My sister-in-law startled me, and I dropped them.”
“Thank goodness,” Dr. Peters says. “They look like little poops. At least I don’t need to send out the alert that we have huge rats.”
Both guys laugh with him at that one. Why do men always think anything to do with poop is funny?
“I’m so sorry,” David whispers, as the doctor leaves. He’s looking right at Steve.
“For what?” I ask. “Why should you be sorry?”
“Now that Abby was right, and now that Helen dragged that poor doc in to confirm it, they’re going to be even worse than usual.”
Steve laughs. For some reason, Abby does, too.
I’m not smiling—someone has to play the straight man—but it feels good, being a part of the team that helps fix a problem in Abby’s life. I may not be the first person she calls, but I can still show up a bit late and throw my weight around.
I still have a place.
I know we ought to let Abby rest. I should head home now, but instead, we stick around for a while longer. We talk, we eat stupid cherries, and I order milkshakes for everyone. And for the first time in a very long time, I’m a part of a group of people. . .that may not be right.
It feels like family.
But eventually, it’s nearly midnight. The kids have school, and they’re exhausted. Steve rounds everyone up.
“I’ll take them home,” I say. “You can stay.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod.
“Thank you.” He sounds like he means it.
“Should we call Mom?” I ask on my way out the door. “Or I could text Dad.”
Abby shakes her head. “Nah, they’d just worry. There’s nothing for them to do. Besides, I think everything will be fine.”
A year ago, that would have been me.
I’d be the one she’s not calling or texting, because there’s nothing I could do to help. I’m only here right now because I’ve been living here. Because I know her friends and family, and because I’m close.
Maybe that nonsense Abby’s always saying about not hiring a nanny and changing diapers yourself so that the kids will know to turn to you for help is actually true for adults, too. Could doing grunt work really be the key to effectively caring for someone?
It seems insane.
Crazy enough to be right.
20
Donna
When I was in elementary school, we always performed the actual nativity. It’s appalling that the school was basically pushing Christianity, I know, but Manila’s not exactly a culturally diverse place, so I didn’t even know enough to realize it was insular. Now that I do know that not everyone celebrates Christmas, I’m still not interested in rocking the boat.
If other parents passed around a petition for a less Christian Christmas play, sure, I’d sign it. But I’m not about to break out the picket signs and Sharpies myself. Especially since my son is so delighted to have landed the lead. Or, splitting the lead.
No explanation of Aiden’s could have prepared me for Gabe, in full old-man makeup, as Ebenezer. He is the perfect crochety old man. He’s holding a cane, he’s hunched over, his hair is grey, and he’s using a shaky voice. It’s absolutely brilliant.
When Aiden appears, it becomes glaringly obvious that my son’s riding his bestie’s coattails. Aiden’s playing the young man, at least. So if his diction’s bad, and if he giggles too much, well, he’s a little kid. He sure does look cute, though, in his little top hat and breeches.
“I can’t believe Abby’s missing this,” I whisper.
“Shh.” Amanda points at her phone, set up on top of the back of a chair, clearly streaming.
I shrug. “It’s not the same,” I whisper.
Amanda nods. “Gabe is so stinking cute, right?”
“Oh my word, he’s amazing.”
Right then, he says the line we all know.
“If they would rather die,” he wheezes, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”
Somehow, that little nerd memorized all his parts. Meanwhile, Aiden keeps reading his off of slips he tucks into and pulls out of his sleeve.
“Aiden, too,” Amanda says. “He’s also just darling.”
“Isn’t he?” Will asks.
“Oh, hush,” I say. “Anyone with eyes can see that Gabe’s better.”
“It’s an elementary school play,” Will says. “Who cares? They’re both nailing it.”
I realize that he’s right. My competitive nature sometimes causes me to worry about things I should let go. “They are.” I think about all the things I fret about that don’t bring me joy. I actually spent a bit of time being jealous of Abby, who’s in the hospital right now, because she can have another kid and I can’t.
From that moment forward, I focus on how adorable Aiden looks and stop comparing my life to anyone else’s. It’s a little easier to keep that resolve when the ghosts are performing. The teachers apparently insisted that they keep the words for the play the same, but they didn’t argue with the little kids who wanted to wear angel costumes instead of ghost ones.
Instead of chains, the ghost of the future’s shaking a lute, which makes no noise, but the laughter from the audience is plenty loud.
When the play ends, Amanda sighs. “That was a nice little break.” She slides her phone into her purse. “Back to the grind.”
“You mean the resort? I thought you were temporarily on hold again thanks to the weather?”
Another snowstorm’s on the way, and it feels like we’ve already had two winters’ worth.
“Are you worried about the weather wrecking the wedding, now that it’s only a week away?”
“I’m just glad that Mandy has a generator,” she says. “Eddy has one too, so if you guys need somewhere to go. . .”
“Will has one, and so do his parents,” I say. “So don’t worry about us.”
“It’ll really stink if Abby can’t leave the hospital.” Amanda looks genuinely worried about her, and not just because it might throw off her wedding.
“For Christmas and for the wedding,” I say. “I bet her kids are missing her, too.”
Amanda’s face falls. “This whole wedding feels like a mistake, to be honest.”
“A mistake?”
Amanda shrugs. “I mean, there are still a lot of things to do, and I’m running out of time, and Abby’s in the hospital, and I just feel like.” She throws her hands into the air. “I don’t feel like a bride, and I don’t feel Christmassy.” She bursts into tears.
“Oh, no,” I say. “Whoa.”
Aiden chooses that moment to show up, and I notice that Gabe just reached Ethan, Beth, Steve, Izzy, and Whitney on Amanda’s other side. Even Eddy, Mandy, Maren, and Emery are gushing, telling him how great he did. Poor Amanda swipes at her eyes and forces a smile.
But after we’ve gushed over Aiden and gotten photos of Aiden and Gabe, I tell Will that I need to go to Mandy’s house.
“To Amanda Saddler’s?” He looks skeptical. “Today’s Aiden’s last day of school, and his dad’s coming to get him.”
Shoot. “Not until the morning. I’ll get back as soon as I can, but I need to lend a hand.”
“Your friends are stupid,” Will says. But he’s smiling, and I know he’s not upset.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Amanda’s surprised when I pull up right behind her car. She waves the others in and approaches my car as I’m climbing out. “Everything okay?”
“I just thought I’d offer my help. Surely there are party favors to fold or tie ribbons to, or who knows what. I have hands, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
Amanda grins. “That’s so nice, but it’s Christmas. I can’t possibly—”
“I insist. Just an hour or two.”
Moments later, Amanda’s running through all the details with me. “I’m just worried I’ve forgotten something.” She’s shown me the floral arrangements she chose, which are perfect, the selections for the reception food, also amazing, and the adorable little Christmas ornaments they’re giving each guest. “I just need to slide a photo of us into each one,” she says. “And then stuff them back in the boxes.”
