Frosting on the Cake Read online

  about how long it’ll be before you want to.”

  It was the quaver at the end of Shay’s comment that made

  Anthea turn around. She looked into Shay’s kind, usually

  humor-filled eyes and saw uncertainty there. Time for some

  honesty, before tonight. “I’m scared,” she said simply. “Me too.” Shay put her arms around Anthea’s waist. “I’m

  afraid I’ll feel like a baby machine.”

  “I’ve been afraid you’d feel violated somehow. Very

  selfish—that you wouldn’t want me to touch you for a while.” Anthea took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I might like it.” Shay stiffened. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Shay rocked Anthea slightly. “You probably will. It’s okay if

  you do. I’d rather you did, frankly.”

  “You do?”

  “I don’t want you to feel forced. That’s what I’m scared

  most of.”

  “I don’t feel that at all. Truly. I want to have a baby. I’m

  perfectly willing to do this. It’s just a natural sex act, after all.” “Sex for procreation purposes only—the religious right

  ought to approve.”

  Anthea smiled into Shay’s hair. “Okay, I’m less scared.” “I know what you like, sweetie,” Shay said into her

  shoulder. “Charting your cycle has been an eye-opener for

  me. I’m thinking of doing mine just so we can learn all these

  interesting things about my body. I mean, you didn’t realize

  you get heartburn frequently after you ovulate and hardly at

  all after you get your period.”

  “That’s true. I find it harder to wake up between the end of my period and ovulation, too. But I’m not sure knowing that was worth the fear that I’d fall asleep with the basal

  thermometer in my mouth every morning.”

  Shay’s fingertips massaged Anthea’s ribs through her

  T-shirt. “Well, I’ve realized that when you’re ovulating you

  like some things more than others. And I don’t think you’re

  going to have any problems. . . accommodating Harold. But I

  think they’re exaggerating just to tease you.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. And you still owe me.” Shay arched

  her pelvis against Anthea’s hip. “Please?”

  Anthea glanced at the clock. “Let me just wash my hands,

  madam.”

  “Please do—though I’m sure orange juice wouldn’t have

  the same effect as the chili pepper oil.”

  Lights off. Anthea sat on the toilet wearing only the T-shirt and waited.

  Harold said it was performance anxiety, plain and simple. It had nothing to do with his commitment to the process. She had turned on the radio in the shower just to make sure she didn’t overhear anything from the bedroom where Adrian and Harold were doing something about the situation.

  She felt cold in the pit of her stomach. She was no longer afraid of the act itself. It had helped to talk to Shay about it and helped to make love to Shay for those breathless minutes earlier in the evening. The difference between that and what she was going to do with Harold was crystalline in her mind. The former was to celebrate love and their bodies, to revel in curves of hips and pleasures of breasts. To taste and touch, to know it was Shay.

  It simply bore no resemblance to the mechanics of making a baby with Harold.

  There was a knock on the bathroom door. “I think we can go ahead now,” Harold said.

  Anthea opened the door, glad of the darkness. “Did Adrian—”

  “He went back to the living room with Shay.”

  As if to confirm this, the television blared suddenly. “Okay, then,” Anthea said, trying to sound good-humored and hopeful. She stepped past him into the bedroom, carefully looking nowhere south of his shoulders. “This is all up to you. Just tell me where.”

  “Well, I guess on the bed.”

  Anthea sat down, not knowing if he could see her encouraging smile in the dark. “Let’s make a baby, okay?”

  “Okay,” he murmured shyly.

  She had to reach out for his hand and pull him on top of her. He was so much heavier than Shay. For a moment she felt smothered, then he seemed to come to life a little bit. She felt something hard and very warm on her thigh—good lord, she thought, this is it. She stifled a giggle. This was a ludicrous situation. What had they been thinking?

  “Please tell me if I hurt you and it’s not right,” Harold said suddenly. “I’ve been scared that I’ll do it wrong.

  “We’ll figure it out as we go,” Anthea said. The angle was off. She didn’t want to touch it. Okay, that was better, Harold was taking charge of it.

  “I have to move my legs,” Anthea suddenly gasped. They were spread far wider than she was used to. She squirmed. He lost contact. “Maybe if I—”

  “Let me get off you—”

  “Damn, I’m getting a cramp in my thigh. I’m sorry!” The last because she burst out laughing and rolled over.

  “Damn,” Harold echoed. He sat down on the bed next to her.

  Anthea got the laughter out of her system, then said again, “I’m sorry. I see now why you were all hysterical. It is pretty funny that neither of us has a clue.”

  “Could you go back in the bathroom for a minute or two?”

  “Sure.” She leaned against the vanity and waited, still stifling a giggle. Well, one thing was for sure. It wasn’t passion that was motivating either of them to do this.

  “You can come back now,” Harold said.

  Anthea peeked out the door. “Maybe we should try something different.”

  Harold seemed more focused. “Well, we don’t know diddly about the missionary position. So maybe you could…on the bed—”

  “Hands and knees, would that help?”

  “I think so.”

  It would be less personal in some ways. Anthea didn’t mind. Anything that helped Harold’s aim was an improvement. She wouldn’t have to touch anything, either.

  His hand on her hip startled her and she took a deep breath. After a minute, she heard him mutter, “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re up too high. The bed’s too high.”

  “Oh, it must be the pillowtop thingies.” Shay usually had to half jump to get in at night. “Okay, what about both of us on the bed? Let me scoot over.”

  “I—that’s not going to work for me. I won’t…Adrian—”

  “Enough said. Really, you don’t have to tell me more.” Anthea slid off the bed. “Is the floor okay?”

  “Yes,” he said with obvious relief. “That will work for me.

  Again, his hand on her hip startled her, but she no longer felt giddy or frightened. Noise from the movie Shay and Adrian had put on covered the sound of her uneven breathing and any low noise that Harold might have made.

  Anthea suddenly yelped and jerked away. “Harold, honey!”

  “What did I do?”

  Anthea hoped that Shay hadn’t heard her. “That’s not the right place to get me pregnant.”

  There was a stunned silence, then Harold guffawed loud enough to rattle the pictures on the wall. “Force of habit,” he managed to splutter.

  Anthea laughed into the carpet. Suddenly there was knocking at the bedroom door. “We’re fine,” she called. “Go away!”

  “Okay,” came Shay’s uncertain reply.

  Harold was still laughing when he put his hand on her hip again. “Let’s make a baby,” he said gently.

  “Okay.” Anthea took a deep breath.

  The boys had been exaggerating, but not a lot. Shay had been right that it wouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t. It was different. Anthea thought suddenly of the way Shay felt inside her and was awash with wanting her, but this would have to do for now. She could now understand that most women liked t
his, but they didn’t have Shay to touch the right places, to use her mouth and fingertips so knowingly.

  “Is this okay?” Anthea arched her back to help the angle. That was definitely better. “Is it okay?”

  “Andy, just shut up for a minute.”

  She shut up. One Mississippi, two Mississippi…There was no reason this wouldn’t work. Her eggs were young enough.

  Twenty-four Mississippi, twenty-five Mississippi …Mother Nature had done everything she could to make this pleasant and needed. Having babies perpetuated the species. Harold had wonderful genes. Shay wanted the babies to have Anthea’s red-gold hair. They would all make such good parents. Fortysix Mississippi, forty-seven Mississippi.

  Harold suddenly put both hands on her waist and caught his breath. Anthea stilled. She could feel what was happening but was detached from that. Far stronger was a rush of tenderness for Harold and his willingness to do this. The moment—all the ingredients in the right place, all the mechanics worked out for this moment.

  He helped her onto the bed as if she was made of porcelain, then he collapsed next to her. His head was against her shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It was fine. I mean that.”

  “You have no idea how relieved I am.”

  Anthea let the affection she had always felt for him show in her voice. “I understand. When it comes down to it, the man only has to be present for a minute—”

  “But that minute can be intense. I have never had that problem before.”

  “You’ve never been thinking about creating a life before.”

  He raised up on one elbow. “It did make a difference. Almost as much as you not being Adrian. I kept thinking I could be making a son or a daughter and you could have a horrible pregnancy and it would be my fault—”

  She kissed him on the tip of his nose. “You’re going to make a good father.”

  “Adrian didn’t want to tell you guys, but he’s been buying books for the kids, all the books he had when he was growing up. He can’t wait to read them to the kids.”

  “Shay has been reading about Japanese culture. She feels like she doesn’t know enough about that part of her heritage.”

  “You realize we’re going to have awesome KwanzaaChanukah-Solstice-Christmas celebrations.”

  “It will be wonderful.” She twisted on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I almost forgot to do this.”

  “I’ll go get them.” He scrambled into his boxer shorts before going in search of Shay and Adrian.

  Anthea pulled the covers over herself, glad of the T-shirt as well. She no longer cared much about what Harold saw, but Adrian was still like a big brother.

  Shay looked a little hesitant. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Anthea answered. She crooked her finger and Shay scrambled up onto the bed for a kiss. She whispered into Shay’s ear, “He’s got a lot going for him, but he’s not you.”

  Shay laughed, her cheeks going pink. “You feel fine, then?”

  “Just fine.”

  Adrian and Harold sat down on the chest at the foot of the bed. “So what did you think of my stud?”

  Anthea rolled her eyes.“He’s just fine.” She added wickedly, “You keep your hands off of him, though. We have to do a repeat the night after next.”

  Harold laughed. “I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

  “It’s just the first sacrifice in a long, long line,” Shay added. “As obnoxious as this entire process is, it’s just a training ground for being a parent.”

  Shay handed Anthea a bagel slathered with cream cheese and topped with lox. “Made especially for you.”

  Anthea took one look and ran for the bathroom.

  When she had wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet she realized Shay had followed her. “It’s probably the flu,” she muttered. “It’s only been ten days since we inseminated.”

  “Pee on one of the sticks anyway.”

  “It’ll just waste it.”

  Shay went right ahead getting one of the pregnancy tests out of the box.

  “It’s the flu, I’m telling you.” Anthea dropped her toothbrush and felt suddenly as if she was going to cry.

  Shay picked up the toothbrush and handed it over with one of the test sticks. “Can you pee right now?”

  “I suppose,” Anthea said grumpily.

  Shay looked everywhere but at Anthea while Anthea took care of the business at hand. Anthea recapped the stick and set it down so the little minus-or-plus window was visible. “How long?”

  “Two minutes. One Mississippi, two Mississippi…”

  Anthea finished brushing her teeth and peered at the stick. “See, it’s a minus sign. It’s too soon for the pregnancy hormone to have developed—that is, if I am pregnant, which I’m probably not. It’s just the flu.” Yeah, but how come you feel just fine now?

  “Seventy-seven Mississippi, seventy-eight Mississippi…”

  “It says right here on the box that day ten is too soon to tell. Right there.” Anthea pointed out the relevant text on the box, but Shay kept counting. She peered at the stick again. Still a minus sign.

  “One-hundred-nineteen Mississippi, one-hundredtwenty.” Shay picked up the stick and held it up to the light. “Go get your reading glasses.”

  “It’s a minus.”

  “Just go get the glasses.”

  Anthea got them off the bedside table. Shay held out the stick.

  A big red minus sign. “So?”

  “Look closer.” Shay was beaming.

  “Those are there just because it’s been more than two minutes.” The pale pink lines that made the minus into a plus were very, very faint.

  “The box says it can take as long as five minutes for the plus sign to show up.”

  Anthea read the text and looked back to the stick. The pink lines were no darker. She would not let herself hope. Not yet. “Maybe…maybe I’m just a little bit pregnant.”

  “Honey, pregnancy is a binary proposition. On or off. One or zero. You are or you aren’t.”

  “I can be a little pregnant. Tomorrow I’ll be more pregnant.”

  “Okay,” Shay said indulgently. She murmured as if to herself, “Yes, honey, you look beautiful to me, honey, of course you’re not fat, honey.”

  Anthea pulled Shay against her, loving the way they fit. “Hold me close while you can.”

  “Whatever you want, honey.”

  She kissed Shay’s eyes and felt overwhelmed with love. “I suppose we should tell the boys. They said they wanted to go through all the uncertainty and the questions and the heartbreak if—if it doesn’t last. I could still get my period in a couple of days.”

  “If you do, we’ll try again. You and Harold didn’t seem to have much trouble the second time around.”

  “None at all. We figured out the mechanics of it and compared to what’s coming, it was simple. The hard part comes next.”

  What had been so scary? Anthea wondered. It had seemed such a monumental thing. Now she was facing squeezing a bowling ball out through a quarter-sized portal in her body. Getting pregnant was definitely the easy part. She tipped Shay’s face up so she could kiss her, but was struck by the change she saw there. Shay was all she had ever been, but now there was something more. Anthea knew it must show in her own eyes, too. They had both abruptly taken on new dimensions as mothers. She had not expected it to happen so quickly.

  She tenderly kissed Shay’s mouth and wondered how to put into words the changes she felt coursing through both of them.

  “It’s strange,” Shay whispered. “I know how close we are and how strong our relationship is, but I just had the most striking thought.”

  “What?”

  “That we’re a family now.”

  Of course, Anthea thought, that was it exactly. “We’ve got nine months to get used to it.”

  “We have to finish fighting with the boys about names.”

  Anthea stifled a laugh. “Let the name games begin.” E
veryone had had very decided opinions, but they had tabled the discussion until there was a need. Now, Anthea prayed, there could be a need. She felt a twinge low in her abdomen. Baby? Indigestion? Compared to waiting for the next few days, few weeks, for nine whole months, picking names should be easy.

  Shay squeezed her. “Relax, honey. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”

  “Are you going to start that already?”

  “It’s my job, remember? Take your vitamins, they’re good for the baby.”

  “Shut up,” Anthea said fondly. “You can nag me when the doctor says it’s official. Think about names, instead.”

  Shay laughed and let go of her. “Come and eat something. It’s good for the baby.”

  “Shay!” Anthea watched her lover turned mother-to-be walk toward the kitchen and the tup-tuppity of tiny feet was loud in her ears. She had to ask Shay to repeat what she had just said.

  Shay paused in the kitchen door. Her smile melted Anthea’s fears. “I said that you can tell Adrian that Barbra and Judy are not options, but Bette is open to negotiation.”

  Published: Characters:

  Setting:

  Painted Moon

  1993

  Jackie Frakes, architect

  Leah Beck, artist

  Mammoth Lakes area of Sierra Nevada Mountains and Bay Area, California

  The Fifth is for vision

  Smudges

  (8 years) Ocher smeared in alabaster. Broad strokes across her stomach radiate upward and outward. A new brush, smaller, to blend azure with phosphine for her ribs.

  “That tickles,” Jackie says. I already know this. Her skin has changed texture, showing more apricot with the goosebumps that prickle after my brush has passed. I outline the swell of her fourth rib with goldenrod and let the line trail over her hip to the small of her back. Goldenrod with ocher here, where the cool of her side yields to the heat I so often feel against my belly when we settle to sleep.

  She is the canvas today, and must stay still, so I crouch, huddle and stretch around her as she lounges on her side across a sheet-covered chaise. Colors on her skin are glorious. Malachite swirled with amethyst on her legs, torso, arms. My application of the base coat had settled her nerves as she took on the unfamiliar task of posing, but my ardor to paint her only grows. A different brush for smoke at her ankles. I discover new colors as her skin adds to the bodypaint pigments I have chosen. The ocher of Jackie, the smoke of her, the blue and silver of her neck, all new to me.