Storm in a d cup, p.4
Storm in a D Cup, page 4
‘Sweetheart,’ came a voice from above the ocean, and I flapped my arms as if they were fins, trying to make my way back to the surface. ‘Wake up, sweetie, you’re having a bad dream.’
I opened my eyes, relieved it was only a nightmare. But it wasn’t, because the bed was still empty. I hadn’t dreamed it at all. Julian really was dead.
‘Julian!’ I cried at the top of my lungs, my throat dry and my heart a big black swinging demolition ball in my chest. ‘Julian, come back!’
‘I’m just here, sweetie,’ came his voice, followed by his beautiful head as it poked around the corner of the door to the en suite bathroom. He returned with a glass of water and sat down on the bed next to me as I gulped it down in one snap of my neck and threw myself up into his arms, squashing his midsection, trying to explain.
‘You had died!’ I managed before I broke down into a new fit of tears. ‘In a car crash on the way to your lover’s house!’
Julian put his arms around me and moaned, ‘Again? Serves me right then, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s not funny, you know,’ I argued, trying to shake off the dreadful feeling of tragedy that still clung to me like a pair of soaking pajamas.
But then his face split into a grin, and it was like the sun had come out in the middle of the night. ‘Honey, when are you going to get it that I’m not going anywhere? And that I drive very carefully.’
‘But you cheated on me…’
He sighed. ‘Only in your worst nightmares. But you know I love you and you only. And I wouldn’t cheat on you for all the women in the world. Not ever. OK?’
I nodded fiercely, refusing to let go of him. Boy, if this kept up I’d have to fly my former shrink, Dr. Denholm, over in a jiffy. Maybe even take him up as a permanent resident here at A Taste of Tuscany. Crap, was this what my life was becoming? I had a wonderful husband, a loving family, a business that I actually liked. And I’d never looked and felt happier or healthier.
On the outside. But on the inside, it was pure chaos. My mind was going for a hike every night. But luckily it returned before I woke up in the morning. How did people – OK, I mean me – have such bad dreams and actually manage to keep a hold on their (my) sanity?
The truth was that, after years of marriage to this wonderful, sexy man, I was so happy I was terrified. All I needed was one glitch and my whole world would cave in. All I needed was one of my loved ones to be in an accident or become ill and goodnight Vienna. That was our life down the toilet. Did I really need all that drama, all that tragedy, in my life? What the heck was wrong with me?
Smarten up, a demon-voice inside me would then say. Can’t you see he’s cheating on you – left, right and center? Do you really think that such a good-looking guy is going to stay faithful to you?
Of course I do, I’d answer the mean voice, and then I’d be OK for a while.
Until I got those foreboding feelings, you know, when you are positively certain that some tragedy is going to strike?
Nonsense, I’d try to reassure myself. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just shut up and enjoy your life, you lucky idiot. Julian loves you and that’s that.
And I really believed he did. Until another woman would land like a bomb on our home (only I didn’t know that yet), and my nightmare would come true.
My brain was a one-woman band with multiple personalities. One day I’d be so confident about everything and the next I wasn’t even sure of my rock-solid skills, like cooking, painting and my business sense.
‘Erica…?’ Julian said.
I looked up, my arms still wrapped tight around him. ‘Yeah?’
‘Can you let go, sweetie? I’ve just got in and I’m breaking my neck for a pee.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ I leaned back in bed, pulling the covers all the way up to my chin despite the fact it was May. Crisis averted. I can now relax.
But just as I was getting back to sleep Julian’s cell phone rang. Two a.m. What the hell?
‘Can you get that?’ he called from the bathroom. ‘It’s probably Terry – he’s worse than your sister with time zones.’
I groaned and rolled over to his side of the bed and night table. ‘Hello?’
Silence again.
Now this time I was awake and Julian was here, safe and sound. Unless… Maddy? Warren? Alarm bells started ringing. I expected to hear Angelica’s mom or Stefania saying something had happened, but no one spoke.
‘Hello?’ I said, louder, sitting up.
More silence, and then a click.
‘Who is it?’ Julian asked, padding back into the bedroom to take off his clothes.
I shrugged. ‘They hung up.’
Now if I were a suspicious wife and Julian a sleazeball, we’d have a real problem on our hands. But Julian was not the cheating kind. With him, thankfully, I was on safe ground. For once. Or so I thought.
3
Mission Impossible
The first thing I felt when I woke up the next morning was a wet, sticky sensation, like the guy in The Godfather who finds his dead horse’s head in his bed. Yeah, sorry, that’s sick, but it’s also exactly how I felt.
My period, biblically late, had made its appearance with a vengeance. That was my body lately. I’d have dry spells and then, just like that, woosh – the Nile would flood. I jumped to my feet, not daring to look back at the mess I’d made of our bed.
‘Are you all right?’ Julian asked from behind the bathroom door. I quickly washed and emerged, finding him sitting on the bed, wide awake now.
‘Sorry – had a little accident. I have to change the sheets.’
He looked at me and shook his head before reaching into the linen closet for the burgundy sheets, the ones I always put on the bed during my period. It was kind of a signal that sex was off the agenda during those days. He knew the code. Burgundy meant no sex. So why was he shaking his head like that?
‘Why are you shaking your head like that?’
‘I was kind of hoping you weren’t going to get it this month.’
‘That would be cruel if I were on menopause alert,’ I objected as I billowed the sheets out before me. ‘Heck, I’m only forty-three, Julian.’
‘Erica – do I have to spell it out to you? I was hoping you’d get pregnant,’ he whispered as he caught the sheet and tucked it under the mattress on his side. I giggled at his joke, but he didn’t join in. Was he serious?
‘Are you serious?’
Julian plumped his pillow inside its new pillowcase and looked at me with an expression I’d never seen before, and nodded, his eyes studying me.
I swallowed. ‘Please tell me you’re still asleep and sleep-talking, or rather, that I am and this is just a silly dream?’
‘No dream, Erica. I’d like a child. Wouldn’t you?’
We’d never discussed this in seven years and he wanted a child now? ‘Like I said, I’m already forty-three, Julian,’ I said, backtracking, as if apologizing. Apologizing for what, I wondered – not being an automatic baby dispenser?
I let myself fall onto our now burgundy bed with all my weight, which was still quite noticeable. I had gained ten kilos in seven years, and at eighty-five kilos, I was anything but slender, and I was absolutely fine with that. But how the heck was I going to face another pregnancy? I looked up and wished I hadn’t because Julian was getting down on his knees by the bed, taking my hands and searching my face.
‘Don’t say anything, honey. Just promise me you’ll give it a thought.’
Give it a thought? I was so shocked I couldn’t think of anything else. Did he have any idea of what he was asking me?
‘Do you promise?’ he repeated.
Was he serious? And why after all these years? It just didn’t make sense. He’d been by our side, supported us and – oh. Self-sacrifice and all that. Maybe now he thought it was payback time. Gosh, was that the way it worked in healthy relationships?
‘It’ll be great, you’ll see. Raising her will be a dream.’
I swallowed. ‘Her?’
He grinned. ‘I’ve always wanted a little girl.’
‘A girl…’
‘But I’ll be just as happy with a boy, of course. And you?’
Oh, Dear God, kill me now, please? ‘I’ve… got to go the bathroom again,’ I said, sliding off the bed. And possibly smash my head against the mirror a few times. What planet did my adorable husband live on? I could already picture myself expanding until I resembled the hot air balloon Julian had bought me a ride in upon our arrival in idyllic Tuscany. He’d made all my dreams come true. Was it now time to pay the happiness bill and return the favor?
*
‘How was having Andrea so late in your marriage?’ I blurted out to Renata as we were lunching under my pergola the next day.
She snorted. ‘Why, are you thinking of having another kid?’
When I didn’t answer she almost choked on her fish cacciucco stew. I whacked her on the back.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you and Julian were having problems?’ she wheezed before gulping down a glass of San Pellegrino water.
I stopped in mid-bite. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
Renata cleared her throat and stared back at me, her eyes watering.
‘Here, a baby at this age is usually a fixer-upper. So what’s going on?’
I shrugged, inwardly panicking at the news. Was that why Julian wanted a baby? To fix a problem I wasn’t even aware of? Impossible. I’d know if there was a problem. Right?
‘Nothing’s going on. Just… Julian wants one.’
‘Oyoy,’ Renata sighed. The typical Tuscan, something is wrong sigh. ‘Not good.’
‘Shut up,’ I said, cutting away furiously at my carpaccio and rocket lettuce. ‘Julian and I are fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ she insisted, not taking her eyes off me.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Of course I’m sure.’
‘Hmmm, I don’t know. That’s pretty sudden, isn’t it? Why don’t you ask him?’
‘Ask him why he wants a kid? It’s obvious.’
‘He could’ve had one all this time. Why now?’
My sentiments exactly. ‘Because we’re finally settled? We’ve had a rough start,’ I reminded her. The second year we were here, we had quasi zero guests, and it would have been none at all if it hadn’t been for my Matera Brainstormers, a group of international writers who booked a week with us every summer. And with my panicking and wacky plans, I’d almost lost him. Perhaps he thought that now, everything else being on an even keel, it was time for another baby. He had the right to want one of his own blood, of course. I knew and understood that. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through that entire ordeal all over again.
‘True, you are all nice and settled now. Maybe Julian’s looking at the fact that Warren’s already flown the nest, and that in two years’ time so will Maddy. Maybe it’s his way of keeping things interesting at home.’
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. ‘Thanks for that.’
Renata laughed. ‘I didn’t mean it that way, Erica. All I meant is that when a man wants a baby so late, there’s usually a good reason. But it’s up to you to discover what that reason is.’
‘And there was me thinking that with all my financial problems solved, that it would be smooth sailing from now on.’
‘Ha,’ Renata shot back. ‘There is never smooth sailing when you’re married.’
*
‘Good thing you live far away in that little peaceful bubble of yours,’ Judy said to me the next evening as I sat on the floor next to the bureau, knees drawn up under my chin. One more pound and I wouldn’t be able to sit like that anymore. I know that for a fact because once I’d pigged out at a restaurant and suddenly my stomach was in the way. It had taken me three months of practically fasting before I returned from The Point of No Return. Boy, had that been close. Not that it wasn’t in the way now, but I could still keep it at bay by squishing my thighs up against it and wrapping my arms around my knees real tight. Enough. I’m OK with being big, but not when my body starts to feel different.
‘Are you listening to me?’ Judy asked as she exhaled cigarette smoke, and I could almost see her sprawled on her king-sized bed. ‘It’s pure hell here. Marcy’s drinking like a sponge again and not talking to Dad, nor Sandra to Vince, nor Vince to Marcy. So I have to do messages for the important stuff. I can’t wait to see it all come to the fore when we get there…’
‘Thanks for that.’ I sigh, resigned.
What else was new? That was the Cantelli family for you, in all its dysfunctional Italian glory. Boy, was I glad I was on the other side of the ocean, at least for now. Hopefully by the time they got here it would all blow over.
‘So how is living in paradise?’ my sister Judy asked. ‘You looked really good in those pictures you sent, by the way. I never got a chance to tell you that.’ For trim-slim Judy to tell me I looked good could only mean one of two things – either it was true (which it wasn’t) or she needed a favor.
‘Thanks. I feel great,’ I lied, then thought, what the hell. ‘I’m so happy I’m terrified,’ I whispered.
I heard her exhale. ‘Why?’
I shrugged, as if she could see me. ‘I dunno. I just keep waiting for this bomb to drop.’ There was no way I was telling Judy about Julian’s request for a child, not yet, anyway. And it was true – I was so terrified. Even during the day I’d catch myself dreading losing it all, either through Julian’s abandoning me for another woman, or his death, which would have been, if I’d have any say in it, only minutes apart. Was our life just too perfect? Nothing bad ever happened. We were living what you’d call a life of domestic bliss. Yet this baby thing really was bugging me. Why now?
Judy inhaled deeply and I could almost see the smoke.
‘I thought you’d quit, after all you put Steve through,’ I said, meaning her quasi-divorce over her gym instructor, or The Face Eater, as I’d dubbed him seven years ago.
Judy exhaled. ‘Oh, get real,’ she said. ‘I learned to cook, didn’t I? And that’s still one more thing than Marcy ever did. Anyway, I’m glad for you that everything is perfect, although I don’t believe it ever lasts because really all men care about are looks. So keep fit or you’ll lose him.’
To hell with anybody’s feelings. That was Judy for you – blunt, tactless and inconsistent. Hadn’t she just said I looked good?
‘Actually, Julian and I are trying to get pregnant,’ I blurted out.
Whoa. Where had that come from? I’d told Julian I’d think about it. And now my mouth had suddenly decided – without even consulting me – that I wanted me to become a mother for the third time?
Silence on the other end. I waited, wondering how long it was going to take her to enter her usual routine of lectures about keeping a figure. Because, unlike Renata, Judy never questioned the deeper whys and wherefores. She didn’t disappoint me, of course.
‘Oh, Erica, what the hell for?’ she gasped, and I could almost see her eyebrows shoot into her hairline with what could only be described as disgust at the thought of a levitating me. ‘You already have two – why the hell do you want another one?’ Judy had three herself, but her second was a twin birth so she’d got shafted, in her opinion. But if you look at it figure-wise, she only had to get fat twice for three children. So far I’d gotten fat three times for two. It figured, didn’t it?
‘Erica,’ Judy continued. ‘If you were still, say, in your thirties and didn’t have any, I’d understand, but I just don’t get why you want to put yourself through all that again.’
‘Uh, because Julian wants a child of his own?’ That would have been the perfect moment for any woman to question the reason behind a man’s wishes. As per her character, Judy let the moment pass.
‘So what?’ she said flatly. ‘Tell him to get a surrogate. You don’t want to totally blimp out again, do you?’ Then she gasped. ‘Did you say yes?’
‘Er – not exactly.’
‘Well put him out of his misery and tell him if he wants a baby to look around somewhere else! You already gave. Unless—’
‘Unless what?’
‘Are you guys in a rut?’
Oh my God, was it really true then, that a baby this late in a marriage is usually a fixer-upper situation? Judy was the man expert. If she confirmed Renata’s opinion then it had to be right. We were in a rut and Julian thought that the only way out was having a kid? What ever happened to working on things? And why were things cooling between us? Although we’d been married for five years, we’d been together for seven, so we were still technically subject to the Seven Year Itch.
True, we hadn’t had sex in quite a while because we were always so busy. But it wasn’t the first time it had (or rather, hadn’t) happened. The kids alone had soaked up three-quarters of our marriage when they were younger and – oh. OK. I think I got it now. I needed to focus more on my wonderful, fantastic husband. Do more for him. Get the sex rolling again. Be ever-attractive, sexy, beautiful.
But the mirror told me I was going to have one helluva time doing that, and that months of munching on rice cakes and lettuce was not going to make me look anything like Angelina Jolie.
4
A Family Affair
One week later, we were on day three of my family’s stay and having a lazy lunch under the wisteria-laden pergola. Thinking back now, I could put it all down to the excessive heat, maybe even the scirocco breeze that is known to have driven people to murder in the past. But we all knew the truth. Even in Arctic temperatures, Marcy managed to damage relationships. Per se, she wasn’t really that bad once you got to know her. Once we’d cleared our past of all those cobwebs, we’d become quite close, even if I was in my late thirties at the time. All we had to do was understand that it was the booze talking whenever she hurt your feelings. She had a drinking problem that was getting worse and worse, but she would never admit to it.
After berating her three lovely sisters who, for my sake, chose to ignore her, Marcy came up with one of her outrageous (but not out of the ordinary) comments about my cooking. Dad made the big mistake of snorting and saying something under his breath, something that he never did. I can’t remember all the details but it went something like this:
