The setback, p.27
The Setback, page 27
Aiden’s right next to his mom.
“You look so pretty, Mom!” He probably shouldn’t shout at a wedding, but you know. It’s cute. The audience agrees. They all laugh. A few even clap.
I’m only three rows away when a little boy with a blue tie turns and leans out into the aisle. “Hey.”
My head snaps toward him, and I stop. I scan him to see if anything is wrong. That’s when he pukes all over me. The side of my dress is now bright orange. What on earth was he eating? And then the smell hits me.
Cheetos.
Oh, gross.
The audience begins to murmur. Steve leaps forward with a handkerchief.
I can’t help laughing. “Oh, Steve. That’s not going to make a dent.”
Moments later, Amanda sprints down the aisle with a wet towel. “Do you want to have me try and wipe it up? Or should we go back and have you change, find a cleaner’s and—”
I take the towel and lean over to wipe off the worst parts. The little boy’s crying, and his mother sounds frantic. It’s a woman I’ve known for thirty years. “Olivia.”
She looks up.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Take him to the bathroom to get him cleaned up. I’m not upset.”
“But your dress. I told Larry not to give him that whole bag of chips.”
After wiping my gown off and making sure Olivia had her son calmed down, I straighten and gesture for the music to resume.
“Are you sure?” Abby asks.
“I am.”
The audience is murmuring now more than ever before, but Will’s smiling at me. His smile never faltered. It never wavered. He’s just happy to be here.
The poor priest at the front looks a little flustered, but after both Will and I nod, he starts his service. When we get to the part about the vows, Will bites his lip.
“How about you go first?” I ask.
“This will be short,” he says. “The first time I ever saw this woman, I knew I wanted to be by her side.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on.”
“You were rolling up your jeans so your socks would show, and you bumped your head when you stood up on the glass trophy case on the wall.”
“Will.” He must be kidding. There’s no way he could possibly remember the first time he saw me. We’ve been at the same school our whole lives.
“I may have seen you before that, but we didn’t have the same teacher in kindergarten or first. I was in the headstart class.” He shrugs. “Anyway, when you bumped your head, you said, ‘razzle frazzit.’” He chuckles. “My mom was always getting after me for swearing, and I started using that phrase right away. When you use it around Aiden now, it still makes me smile.” He looks around at the audience. “From that day until now, I’ve wanted you to look my way. I’ve wanted to be near you, and now I get to be near you forever. I can’t think of anything better.”
My mom’s dead. She couldn’t come today, but she’s the reason I always said that. Hearing this story for the first time almost makes it feel like she’s here.
So of course, I start to bawl.
“Oh, no,” Will says. “What’s wrong?”
“My mom used to say razzle frazzit when she got upset,” I say. “She would have loved to be here. She wanted me to find someone just like you. I’m sorry it took me so long to notice you.”
Will takes my hand and squeezes.
“You know, an hour ago, if my dear friend Abby hadn’t been back there helping me prepare, I might not be standing here. I’d probably have run out and asked to have the dress cleaned.” I look down at the Cheeto-puke stain. “But Abby told me something that has replaced some bad advice that was jammed in the back of my brain. She told me that love is messy.”
I look her way, where she’s sitting on a stool next to Steve. I swipe at my tears and smile. “Thank you for telling me that. Life is messy, and I know that as well as anyone. Families are complicated. You may have noticed that my brother’s not here. He’s currently boycotting the fact that his daughter is having a child. My father and mother’s marriage was a mess, and now they’re both gone. But I’ve found someone who is brave and strong and true about cleaning up messes and trudging forward through them whenever necessary.” I sigh and angle my head toward Will.
He leans toward me too, and we meet in the middle, our foreheads touching. “William Earl, I promise that no matter how messy things get, I will love you. In the good times, and in the Cheeto-puke times. I’ll try my best to stick to your side like glue, even when the razzle frazzit hits the fan.”
Now everyone’s laughing.
And if I’m crying a little bit when the priest says, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” well. That’s love.
After all that chaos during the ceremony, the rest of the wedding is practically boring. Sometimes boring’s nice in its own way.
24
Beth
When I was little, people used to come up to me and touch my hair. It’s curly, and it used to be really blonde, and I guess people feel entitled to do that when you’re a child. I sort of liked the attention. If that had been my strongest memory of my hair, I’d probably have loved having curls.
But when my mom would comb the curls out, it hurt.
That started to color my feelings about my hair, and eventually I hated for people to touch it. Sometimes, if it was someone I didn’t know at all, when they approached with their hand out like I was a dog they wanted to pet, I’d growl. If that didn’t dissuade them, I bit them.
It horrified my mother.
She was always apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea why she did that.” It was a lie, of course. She knew exactly why. I did it a lot. But Mom couldn’t exactly say that her daughter was a feral child who took matters into her own hands and regularly bit people for violating her personal boundaries.
Luckily, as I got older, it stopped being an issue.
I have a bit of a resting scowl face, and that kind of helps keep people away. But mostly, people just don’t feel entitled to walk up and touch adults in the same way they do with children.
Until you’re pregnant, apparently,
I’m at the True Value with Ethan, who’s apparently craving caprese salad. It’s a problem, because Manila, Utah and caprese salad aren’t exactly simpatico.
“I told you they wouldn’t have fresh mozzarella,” I say.
“We do have mozzarella sticks,” the cashier says again.
Ethan sighs in disgust. “It’s fine.”
“Ooh.” The woman who runs the car wash walks in the door. “You must be due soon, Beth. You look ready to pop.” She walks toward me with her hand outstretched.
After I opened my mouth to bite a tourist at Brownings last week, Ethan’s gotten better at running interference.
But it’s not Ethan who stops her.
Dolores Jenkins practically sprints through the door and grabs Karla by the arm. “Did you see the buy one get one sale on peanut butter? It’s limit two, and there are only four left. Better run grab it before it’s gone.”
“Really?” Karla heads for aisle three.
“Is there a sale on peanut butter?” I ask.
Dolores yanks a five-dollar bill out of her pocket and drops it on the counter. “There is now.” She winks at the cashier.
“What’s that for?” he asks. “There’s no peanut butter sale.”
“She’s paying for the second jar,” Ethan says. “Try to keep up.”
“But why—”
Ethan shakes his head as he walks out.
Dolores follows us through the door. “You weren’t buying anything?”
“Ethan thought they’d have fresh mozzarella,” I say.
Dolores frowns. “Fresh mozzarella? Was it moldy?”
“Never mind,” I say.
“How’s the baby doing?” she asks. “Are you feeling alright?”
I feel bad. I haven’t been by to see her much lately.
It wasn’t on purpose, though. I happened to take a photo of a family in front of the crèche right before Christmas, and they used it for their holiday card. Then they asked if I’d do family photos for them. I agreed, of course, and now I have more work than I know what to do with. I actually had to drive into Green River last week for a shoot that someone referred me to handle.
“Baby’s fine,” I say. “She’s right on track. I feel alright too, but my feet do ache when I’m on them all day.”
“Typical pregnancy stuff, then,” she says. “Are you still feeling good about giving her to Donna and Will?”
The entire town knows now, and people were surprisingly normal about it. They do try to rub my belly, but not a single person has said anything disparaging or even side-eyed me. It makes me think maybe the world has progressed more than I expected, even here in provincial Manila.
“They’re really good parents,” I say. “I get to see it every day with Aiden.”
“I’m happy for you,” Dolores says. “And I made a few new blankets last week, if you want to come by and pick one.”
She’s given me eight already, but I don’t mention that. Anything she wants to give away is good for her. “I’d love to.”
Ethan and I sit in her house long enough to have tea before I pick two new blankets for the baby I’m not keeping. “Baby’s due in April, right?”
“On tax day,” Ethan says.
“That’ll be perfect,” Dolores says. “You can come by a week or two later, when you’re feeling better, and help me plant my tulips.”
I’ll be leaving after the baby comes. I’ve been super clear about that and Ethan knows, but it still makes him clench his jaw. Watching the muscles in his face work makes me a little sad.
But it’s for the best.
I still can’t even imagine living near Donna and Will after they’re caring for my baby, and the idea of being there when she starts calling them Mom and Dad? I feel physically ill. Even if no one’s given me a scarlet letter in town, I’m still not about to just stick around here while my aunt raises my baby right in front of me.
“Isn’t your mom about to have her baby?” Dolores asks Ethan. “That’s what I heard.”
Dolores doesn’t have any friends. She barely even talks to anyone other than me, as far as I can tell. “Who told you that?”
“Well, I saw her at the store with her husband.” Dolores’ face flushes a bit. “She looked like she was almost ready.” She swallows. “I thought Ethan might want to take a blanket or two as well. You know, some boy colors.”
I glance sideways at the monstrously large stack of blue, green, and yellow baby blankets, and it makes sense. “I’m sure he’d love some.”
Ethan nods. “Yes, for sure.”
When we finally leave, we’re both carrying several baby blankets. “You’ll have to show me a photo after he’s born,” she says. “You know, of him with the blanket.”
She would never admit it, but poor Dolores is lonely. “How about you come by and visit?” Ethan asks. “Then my mom can thank you herself.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”
“If you made a little matching hat or mittens,” Ethan says, “you could bring that by, right?” Ethan’s so smart. He’s definitely his mother’s son.
“I mean, maybe.”
“Great. I’ll let you know when he’s born.” Maybe, if we can pry her out of her house, she might make another friend.
“Awesome,” Ethan says. “Beth has said so many great things about you that I think Amanda Saddler’s actually a little jealous.”
“I doubt that very much,” Dolores says. “She didn’t even know who I was.”
Ethan pulls a face, meeting my eyes. He’s clearly wondering what I know, but it’s the same as what he knows. I’ll have to ask her about it another time. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by much. I’ve been working, actually.”
I tell her about all the jobs I’ve gotten.
“That’s wonderful,” she says. “Actually.” She looks down at her hands.
“What?”
“It might be nice to get a photo or two of us.”
Us? Does she mean. . .her plants? Or, like, her blankets? Aw, geez, this is going to be so strange. “Sure,” I say. “You just tell me what you want, and I’ll be happy to do it.”
“Well, I might need some notice so I can do my hair.” She pats her head. Her hair’s long, and it’s pulled back into a very thin ponytail. “When I blow dry it, I can pin it up into a twist and it looks better. Less like I’m a skeleton that’s above ground.”
Ethan laughs. “You look nothing like a skeleton.”
Dolores blinks. “Are you saying I’m too fat?”
He coughs.
“Of course he is,” I say.
Dolores has a strange sense of humor. When she starts laughing, Ethan’s eyes finally stop bugging out.
“He’s cute, your young man,” Dolores says. “But listen, you’re the one working a lot. I’m not picky, either. Just any day you feel like you look nice, if you call and let me know, I’ll get ready. Anything your friend here can take will be great.”
What? “You want Ethan to take your photo?”
Dolores frowns. “Unless you have some tripod or something. . .”
It finally hits me. When she said ‘us,’ she meant she and I. My heart swells. She wants a photo of the two of us, probably because I’m her only friend in town. “Ethan can do it for sure.”
“Oh, yeah, I can for sure,” he says. “I’m Gen Z. I got you.”
“Gen. . .what?”
“Never mind.” I’m saying that a lot today. Dolores is sad when we leave, but then she usually is. We wave through the car windows until she disappears.
“Let’s go by my place,” Ethan says. “My mom said the salt got dropped off, and I need to move it all into the barn. I think Steve’s home for another hour or two and I want to do it when he can help me.”
“Sorry that I can’t help.” I drop my hands on my tiny belly.
“You’re not sorry.” Ethan arches one eyebrow.
“I’m not sorry.” I shake my head.
He laughs.
We’re nearly to his house when I decide that we need to address this.
“Ethan, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but when this baby comes, I’m going to move.”
His hands tighten on the wheel.
“I just want to make sure that you’re not being an ostrich. Ignoring it won’t change my mind.”
He pulls down the driveway and parks. “The thing is, I know you’re planning to move. I know you’re not the kind of person who says things like that lightly. I know it’s not a manipulation, but I can’t just break up with you now because you’re leaving later. I know that would be the smart thing to do, but I can’t do it. So I’m just going to love you while I can, and if you don’t stay, then we’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“It’s not that I want to—”
Izzy taps on the window.
Ethan nearly jumps out of his skin, but then he inhales and exhales and opens the door. “What, Pennywise?”
“Who’s Pennywise?” Izzy asks.
Ethan rolls his eyes. “You haven’t seen It?”
“Huh?” Izzy frowns.
“It’s a movie by Stephen King with this freaky clown who keeps showing up in the sewer. Just tell me what you want.”
“Mom’s grabbing her hospital bag. Dr. Peters told her to come in now. Someone else canceled, and he was free today.”
“He’s still more than a month early.”
Izzy shrugs. “Steve’s not worried, so I’m not either.”
That’s Izzy for you. The cutest little yes-man ever. Even so, I can tell she’s a little nervous. That’s when she gets the bossiest.
“Okay, lemme take Beth home and—”
“I’ll come,” I say. “Being there when Abby has her baby might help calm me down about mine.”
Ethan and Izzy stare for a moment, and then Ethan nods. “Alright. Let’s go.”
At first, when we get to the hospital, my heart’s racing. Maybe I’m a little more than a bit nervous. But after the first hour of sitting around while they fill out forms, and then waiting as they hook Abby up to the pitocin drip, and then another hour as they slowly increase the pitocin, my nervousness turns to boredom.
“Why’d you bring Beth?” Abby asks. “Having a baby induced takes forever. You may as well go get some food.”
Thank goodness. I’m starving.
The nice thing about her delivering in Vernal is that there are lots of restaurants to choose from. Since she sent us, we take our time. We eat some of the best Italian food I’ve ever had in this place called Antica Forma that’s in a strip mall, and then we get what everyone else wanted to eat ‘to go.’
I feel way more at ease on our way back down the hospital hallway when I hear the cry of a baby. It’s tiny, but it’s strong, like the wail of a toy ambulance.
Ethan meets my eyes, and we both start to jog, or in my case, it’s more of a waddle. We’ve barely reached the room when Ethan grabs my arm and turns me around. “Nope, nope, nope. Stuff I never wanted to see is all on display.”
I laugh. “Like what?”
He covers my eyes. “It’s too late for me, but save yourself.”
“Ethan.” I bat his hands away.
“Beth, I’m serious. Let’s give them a minute.”
A few moments later, the baby’s being wheeled out of the room in a tiny cart. What’s going on? I heard this hospital kept the baby in the room.
Moments later, Abigail’s walking out the door in a gown, and when I look behind her, there’s blood dripping on the floor.
Abigail’s voice is clear and strong. “Go with them.”
Steve comes shooting out the door and rounds the corner, catching up to the cart.
“Ma’am,” someone in the room is saying, “you cannot be standing. Please lie back down.”
“I feel fine.” She bats at the nurse. “I want to follow him.”
