“You really wanted to be a therapist?” Gwen asked. She immediately regretted the surprise in her voice that made it sound as if Leigh’s career aspirations were absurd.
“I had just finished my clinical hours when I found out I was pregnant with Belle,” Leigh said. “Told myself that was good. I’d done the hard part. I could take a break, have Belle, and then get started with my own practice. We’d moved from Santa Cruz. Seattle is a great market for therapists. So dreary, lots of depressed people. I had it all planned out.”
This would have all sounded perfectly reasonable to Gwen before she became a mother. Now, though, she understood why Leigh spoke with a kind of grief. Embarking on a new career with an infant seemed impossible. Gwen wasn’t even sure she could reembark on her already-established career.
“I just don’t know how it could happen now,” Leigh said with a wistful sigh. “Nathan says to give it time, but the more time I give it, the more my former career ambitions seem completely unrealistic.”
“I get it,” Gwen said.
“I feel like a bad feminist, you know? Giving up on my career or whatever. But it feels like the alternative is being a bad mom.”
Gwen nodded. “I know. I mean, even just breastfeeding. Pretty much everyone agrees that’s best, right? But when I go back to work, I don’t see how I’m going to be able to do that.”
Leigh looked her dead in the eyes. “You won’t be able to. That’s just the truth.”
“I can pump. I know it’s not the same, but—”
“It’s not the same,” Leigh said, interjecting a surprising amount of adamance. “Your baby still gets milk, but not the touch, not the closeness.”
Gwen felt herself get teary eyed again. How was she possibly going to return to work?
“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay,” Leigh said, taking her hand off Belle’s belly and putting it on Gwen’s back. She moved her hand up and down over the bumpy landscape of Gwen’s vertebrae.
“It’s not, though,” Gwen said, her voice catching.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not.”
Then they were both crying and, upon realizing this, both laughing, shyly at first, then hysterically, the maniacal type of laughter that signifies the release of something held within for too long. Leigh lay flat on the floor next to Belle, clutching her stomach as she laughed. Gwen did the same, lying flat next to June, staring at the ceiling, thinking how strange it was to be in this woman’s home, crying and laughing and feeling better than she had in weeks.
There was the sound of the front door opening, and Leigh quickly jumped to her feet. Gwen was slower to get up, pushing herself into a seated position just as a man, presumably Leigh’s husband, walked into the living room.
“Well, hello,” he said.
He had a British accent, which was unexpected. He was excessively tall, six and a half feet probably, and thin, with auburn hair that explained the orangey tint to Belle’s wisps.
Leigh had hurried to greet him.
“Gwen, this is Nathan,” she said. “Nathan, Gwen.”
Was Gwen right to feel an odd tension in the room? Was Leigh nervous around her own husband?
Gwen waved from her seated position on the floor. June flailed her arms, as if also trying to wave.
“Oh, so you’re Gwen?” Nathan said, eyebrows raised in interest.
Gwen couldn’t help but smile at the thought that Leigh had discussed her with Nathan, just as Gwen had discussed Leigh with Jeff.
“I’m Gwen,” she said. “And this is June.” She lifted June from the floor and stood for a proper greeting. He came to Gwen, stuck out his hand.
“Such a pleasure,” he said, shaking her hand. His grip was firm, his eye contact intense. It was like he was trying to ascertain something about her just by staring at her, and she didn’t know what it was.
“You got off work early?” Leigh said.
It was just after three o’clock.
He turned his attention back to his wife as he loosened the tie around his neck.
“I did. Sorry, forgot you were having company. I’ll just jump in the shower and make myself scarce,” he said. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before jogging down the hallway.
