Saturday, May 18
SINCE EVERYONE ONthe planet now seems to know I’m pregnant, I figure I might as well tell my mom. I decide to call her around nine Saturday morning—it’s five in the evening in Dubai then—while Lily is upstairs playing with Alicia.
But first, I have to overcome my dread of the conversation, so I put in my EarPods, reach for my phone, and listen to the recording of my baby’s heartbeat. The fastwhoosh whoosh whooshalways makes me smile. According to the baby books, he or she should be the size of a strawberry by the end of the week; by the end of the week after, the size of a fig. The thought buoys me enough to punch my mother’s number.
“Hi, Mom,” I say when she answers. “Can you talk?”
“For just a few minutes. We’re meeting some people for drinks in half an hour.”
I used to think you couldn’t drink in Dubai, but I’ve learned that’s not true. Knowing my mother’s affinity for booze, I’m sure it’s something she checked out before she agreed to move there.
“How’s Larry?”
“Fine. Busy. Busy with business, I mean. Not busy like your father was.” She gives an overly bright little laugh. I hear a tinkling sound that I recognize as ice in a glass. My mother is already drinking. Possibly wine; she used to think that if she put ice in wine, it negated the alcohol content. “Larry adores me.”
“That’s great, Mom.”
“He’s gotten a promotion, did I tell you? He’s a vice president now.”
“Yes, you told me.” Over and over. Mom is all caught up in the pecking order of oil company execs, and she’s thrilled that she caught a big fish who moved higher up the food chain. Larry even looks a big fish; he’s got big fleshy lips and eyes set so far apart he resembles a flounder. “Congratulations to him.”
I hear the ice clink against the glass again. “Oh, I have some news. The expat group here is putting on a play—Barefoot in the Park. And I’m playing Corie!”
“That’s wonderful.” She’s told me this, too, the last three times we talked.
“Rehearsals are going really well.”
“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”
I can practically hear her preen. “You know, a producer I met before I married your father told me I could have had a career in Hollywood.”
I’ve heard this a million times, too. “I’m sure you could have.”
“Larry and I are going to Singapore in a couple of weeks. I just love the shopping there.”
“Terrific. Any plans to come to the States?”
“Not anytime soon. You know we hate that long flight.”
“Yes, well, I have some news that might encourage you to visit a little more often.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m pregnant.”
Nothing. The silence stretches until I wonder if she didn’t hear me.
“I’m going to have a baby,” I say.
“I know what ‘pregnant’ means.” Mom’s voice is curt. “By whom? I didn’t know you were even seeing anybody.”
“I’m not.”
“Quinnlyn Rose, is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, I don’t find it amusing.”
Hoo boy. I brace myself. “I’m going to be a single mother. The father is a donor. In fact, it’s the same donor Brooke used. It’s Lily’s father.”
“Good God! What in the world were youthinking?”
