No one likes the serious person.
Pavan knows this because she’s always been that person and today, for Peter’s sake, she wants to lighten up and make a good impression. She leans into the backseat and grabs the gift bag and balloons. The helium stork bashes her in the head, ribbons tangling around her as she gets out of the car. She shortens the string and uncoils herself from the balloon bouquet, which now that she looks at it again makes her wish she didn’t buy it. It’s so clownish and infantile, but then these baby showers with their pastel hues and silly themes make no sense to her. According to her invitation (which was full of pink and blue confetti) the shower would have a gender reveal announcement. She didn’t want to say it to Peter, but she couldn’t help but think what a nuisance it was to make guests buy gender-neutral gifts only to have the gender revealed at the party. It didn’t seem practical and she was a practical sort of person. She had always been that way; as a child she was textbook smart and always in after-school study groups, and as a young adult she was a wife and then a single mother and then a wife and mother. Her time was never her own; it was always an investment in some future possibility that has yet to pay a dividend.
As she walks up to the house, she reminds herself to smile, to embody a doe-like innocence, to fake her interest in all things baby. She takes a breath and rings the bell. No one answers so she rings it again. From inside, someone yells, “It’s open,” and she shakes her head wondering what happened to manners and good hosting.
She lets herself in but no one takes notice, and for a moment she just stands in the open doorway, balloons in tow. She scans the room of chattering women. They’re all the young moms you’d expect to see at school pickup and drop-off, all the moms who have time to volunteer on boards and class trips, all the moms who worked until they had children, all the moms — so white. She’s thinking about leaving, just backing away slowly but then: “Pavan dear, shut the door. Such a draft.” Her mother-in-law mispronounces her name even though she’s corrected her for years. Pavan rhymes with oven, how hard can that be to remember? Diane is wearing her signature cashmere twin set and although her style is old-fashioned, she doesn’t look her age and she knows it. She tells anyone who asks that her secret to staying young is a few drops of lemon juice and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper in water before breakfast.
“Jane will be so glad you made it,” Diane says and air-kisses Pavan’s cheek.
“Where should I put these?” Pavan asks, holding up the gift and balloons.
“Just over there is fine.” She points to the mountain of presents piled in the corner of the living room. “You haven’t been here since they renovated, have you? Wait until you see the nursery. Jane had the sweetest Peter Rabbit mural painted on the wall. You know I used to call Peter ‘Peter Rabbit.’ I told you that, didn’t I?”
Pavan smiles. “Yes, a few times actually.”
“Jane, look who’s here!” Diane says.
Jane looks up from her friend group and mouths, “Hi.” It’s just enough to make Pavan smile and reciprocate the faux friendly. Though she’s Peter’s younger sister, half sister actually, they’ve never been close and only see each other for obligatory holiday dinners. Pavan stands at the edge of Jane’s circle, waiting to say a proper hello. Jane is talking pregnancy details and baby shopping, and her friends all look like cult-member variations of her, the same highlighted beach-wave hair, the same cute petite frames, the same Pinterest perfection. Pavan had met women like this at book club — so entitled that they showed up not having read the book, using the occasion to drink cheap wine and complain ever so lightly about their life but never in a way that couldn’t be brushed off as a joke. They were inauthentic bobbleheads just like these women who tilt their heads and seem to “aww” on cue.
“Only two weeks left,” Jane says.
“Aww.”
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to go through the summer pregnant,” one of the friends says. “I was miserable. My ankles swelled so bad I couldn’t even walk!”
Collective “ohs.”
“I’m definitely ready for this baby to come. At this point, I just want it out!” Jane says, palming her belly.
“Careful what you wish for. Once it’s out, it’s out,” Pavan says.
Everyone stares.
“I just mean once it’s out, life changes.”
“Of course it does, silly. Has everyone met my sister-in-law, Pavan?”
“Oh, yes. I remember you from Jane’s wedding,” one of the identical friends says. “And what a wedding it was, so beautiful, and now this! A baby. Jane, can you believe it, you are having a baby.” Her friend reaches over and touches Jane’s belly and then all of them do as if they are making a secret pact, swearing on the life of her unborn baby.
“Pavan, do you want to feel?” Jane grabs her hand, placing it on her stomach. “Did you feel that kick?”
“Oh my.” Pavan pretends that she did so she can pull her hand away without offending.
“Amazing, right?” Jane’s wide-eyed and hopped-up on her own hormones. “But you’ve been through this already, so you know all about it. You’re way ahead of me on this. How are Peter and the boys?”
“They’re good.” Pavan’s glad that the canned response is enough for Jane, who quickly moves the conversation back to baby talk. She can’t imagine what Jane and her clone friends would think of her, the ignorant mothering judgments they would cast if they knew that Anik was on a spiritual walk to the ocean and Ash was suspended. All they can imagine at this point is all that she could imagine at that point — raising the perfect child swathed in goodness and light, a child whose existence would make theirs worthwhile.
“So, how are my grandchildren?” This time it’s Diane asking.
Pavan stuffs her face with an artichoke-dipped chip. “Good.”
“Details, dear.” She hands Pavan a glass of punch. “How’s Anik?”
“He’s doing really well with school. He’s got less than a year left in his degree.”
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. Last time I talked to Peter he said that Anik had been depressed. And then I heard about that boy in Ash’s school who killed himself,” she says, lowering her voice. “Of course, I don’t like to talk about such things, but I can tell you I was worried when I heard Anik might be depressed.”
“I appreciate your concern, but he’s fine. It was just the usual young adult ‘finding myself’ ups and downs of life.” She doesn’t want to get into it with Diane. She doesn’t want to hear about all the things she should have done differently, all the things she already knows. “You must remember that phase? Peter said he was a handful at that age.”
“Oh, don’t I know it though.” She places a hand on Pavan’s arm. “But honestly, maybe it was easier then, none of this social media pressure kids have now. You know my niece — Peter’s cousin Jessica — her daughter had a heck of a time. She had a full breakdown at university, ended up in the hospital psychiatric ward. They say she may be a schizophrenic. I feel for Jessica — all of her hopes for her daughter gone . . . but then I wonder if they missed the signs. I mean, surely there must have been clues that something was wrong?”
“You’d think.”
“It’s hard to parent these days. So much to worry about and you, as a working mom! I’m not sure how you do it all. Something has to give.” She’s smiling in her casserole-charming, string-of-pearls-superior way that annoys Pavan but today she won’t let it get to her. She’s trying.
“It definitely has its challenges, but you needn’t worry yourself, Anik is really coming through. In fact, he’s thinking of doing his master’s at Berklee College of Music.” Pavan hears the lie come out of her mouth and knows she shouldn’t have, but she can’t bear the idea of Anik becoming a gossipy tidbit like Jay or Jessica’s daughter.
“Boston, how amazing.”
“Oh, I know. I’d miss him, but what an opportunity,” she says, doubling down on the lie. “And Ash, he made the honor roll this year.” Another lie. “A four-point-oh GPA, can you believe it?”
“Oh!” Diane shakes her head with staunch affirmation. “Of course I can, he’s so bright. You know Peter was an excellent student, so I’m not surprised. Speaking of surprise, I think we better move this party along. Everyone,” she announces, “please take your seats for the reveal.” She picks up a tray of cake pops and asks Pavan to pass them around.
Jane stands at the front of the room and makes a speech: she feels so lucky . . . all she wants is a happy healthy baby . . . she’s so blessed . . . she’s full of gratitude and love. She goes on and on. The sweetness of it, the overflowing entitlement of it, sits in Pavan’s throat like indigestion, so much so that when she’s instructed to take a bite of the cake pop to reveal the gendered batter, she spits it out into her napkin.
“It’s a boy!” Jane yells, holding her cake pop like a chalice.
While everyone toasts to the newborn to be, Pavan slips away and wanders into the nursery. She sits down in the rocking chair and picks up the black-and-white pregnancy photo that’s on the dresser. Jane is practically naked, sitting cross-legged with her hands cradling her abdomen. Her husband is sitting behind her. He too appears naked and his arms are wrapped around her. He’s nuzzling her neck and somehow the image conjures up Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore in the Ghost pottery scene. Pavan wonders why anyone would attempt a sexy prenatal photo and wants to warn them that their child will be mortified when, as a teenager, he finds this image.
Knowing them, they’ve probably posted it online for the world to see. So proud of themselves for having a baby, for doing what others have already done, so intent on their belief that they’re special and that this is the beginning of their happily ever after. They don’t know what she knows, they don’t know that ever after isn’t a place or a point in time. They don’t know that everyone was them once, even Lisa. Everyone starts out with the same dream. She puts the frame facedown and takes one long breath before gathering the courage to head back to the party.
All of the guests are now sitting in a circle, watching Jane unwrap her gifts. Diane motions for Pavan to join the group, and she finds a seat next to a woman who is openly nursing. She tries not to stare, but this woman’s veiny boob is right by her arm. When Pavan nursed she always did it in another room, or put a blanket over her shoulder, but times have changed. The group oohs and aahs at the gifts and passes them around the circle so everyone can comment and say, “How cute.” Pavan didn’t buy anything that was on the registry; everything Jane had chosen was ridiculously expensive and completely impractical. Designer diaper bags, monogrammed linens, a Gucci onesie — no, Pavan could not do it and instead bought a medical kit, which included a digital ear thermometer, nail clipper, eye dropper and a book about baby’s first year. She knows it doesn’t look like much compared to some of the other gifts, but it’s useful and when something goes wrong at least Jane will be prepared. She feels good about that, even when her gift doesn’t get as many aahs.
The woman next to her has unlatched and is holding the baby over her shoulder in burping position. She locks in on the baby and watches him drift in contentment. The woman sees her staring.
“How old?” Pavan asks.
“Ten months,” the woman says. “His name is Jacob.”
Pavan’s eyes widen. “Jacob, what a beautiful name. I knew a boy named Jacob once, but we called him Jay.” She’s thinking of him now, viewfinder images of him as a boy with Ash.
“We’re trying to stick with Jacob, but my mother-in-law is already calling him Jake, so that’s tough.”
“I bet.”
“Do you have children?”
“Two. Both boys. They’re older now, practically men.” She sighs. “Time goes by fast.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Oh I know, people told me that too and I didn’t believe them, and now — poof, they’re grown,” she says, exploding her hands in the air. Pavan reaches over and strokes Jacob’s cheek. “Adorable.”
“Do you want to hold him?”
“Yes, if it’s alright.” Pavan makes her arms into a cradle. “It’s been so long since I’ve held a baby.”
The woman smiles and straightens her blouse. “I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.”
Pavan rocks and bounces the baby. She’s talking to the woman but still looking at Jacob, her voice flitting in and out of baby talk. “You know, I read this article in one of those parenting magazines the other day that said that raising boys was like a terrible breakup. They need you. You give them everything. You’re their world and then one day, without warning, they don’t need you anymore and they’re gone.”
“I can’t imagine that. Boys always need their mother, don’t they?”
“Of course they do. It was a silly article.” Pavan’s still smiling at the baby, her own memories of motherhood coming through, a life of perfect little moments, gone. She thinks it’s how Lisa must feel too and is filled with guilt for how she left things with her. She tried to make it right. She called, left messages and even went to the apartment but by then they had moved. She managed to get Lisa’s new address from the building manager but hasn’t reached out again. What was there to say but sorry. She tickles baby Jake’s feet and belly. “Oh this little one is going to break your heart, aren’t you? You’re going to break Mom’s heart. Yes, yes, you are. You’re going to break her heart in two. Yes, yes, you are.”
“Pardon me?” The woman’s voice is filled with concern. “Come here, Jacob. Come to Mommy,” she says and scoops the baby up.
“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right, I meant that he’ll be a heartbreaker.”
The woman doesn’t say anything more and moves to another seat where she whispers to another woman, who then stares at Pavan. For the next thirty minutes Pavan tries not to notice them; she tries to look interested in the gift-opening and then the baby name games; she tries to fill her voice with airy enthusiasm but can’t keep it up and eventually she slips away.
She’s glad that Peter’s not home when she gets back. She doesn’t feel like talking and fabricating stories about how great the shower was, how good it was to see his mother, his sister, and all of the other little lies that she tells to get through the day. Ever since she held that baby, she can’t stop thinking of her own, how soft and tender they were, how loved they were and how they loved her. And now, though they’re grown, they’ll always be layers of who they were, incarnations of their former perfect selves, their spoken names, an incantation of her deepest desires. She thinks of Lisa and how terrible it is to be denied this, to never know your child this way. Pavan takes the journal from her purse, tears out her failed attempts and finishes writing what she started. She tells Lisa only what she needs to hear, writing only what Jay should have said.
Before mailing it, she reads it one more time to be sure that it’s enough.
April 2
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry and I love you.
Always.
Jay