Gia cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Not a task she minded as a rule, but today … scraping leftover scrambled eggs from the bottom of a frying pan roiled her already queasy stomach. The eggs had been for Jack; she’d whipped them up and mixed in crumbled soy bacon strips for a don’t-ask, don’t-tell breakfast. He hadn’t asked if he was eating real bacon and she hadn’t told. Not that he would have minded. Jack ate just about everything. Sometimes, when he was in his Where’s-the-beef? mode, he’d complain about too many vegetables, but he rarely failed to clean his plate. A good boy. She never had to tell him about the starving children in China.
He’d said he had an appointment with a new customer this morning—someone who claimed he couldn’t wait until Monday—and had wandered off to the townhouse’s little library to kill some time before he had to leave.
“How about a shnackie?” he said as he wandered back.
She looked up and smiled at him. “You just ate breakfast an hour ago.”
He rubbed his stomach. “I know, but I need a little shomething.”
“How about a leftover bagel?”
“Shuper.”
“You’ve been reading one of Vicky’s Mutts books, haven’t you?”
“Yesh.”
“Well, get yourself out of Mooch mode and I’ll toast you one.”
He sat down. “After a week of this you’ll never get me
to leave.” He looked at her. “Wouldn’t be so bad if I stayed, would it?”
Oh, no. Their recurrent topic of contention: whether or not to live together.
Jack voted yes, and had been pushing for it—gently, but persistently—since late last year. He wanted to be a bigger part of Vicky’s life, be the kind of father her real father had never been.
“It would be great,” Gia said. “As soon as we’re married.”
Jack sighed. “You know I’d marry you in a heartbeat if I could, but …”
“But you can’t. Because a man with no official existence can’t apply for a marriage license.”
“Is a piece of paper so important?”
“We’ve been over this before, Jack. Marriage wouldn’t matter if I weren’t Vicky’s mother. But I am. And Vicky’s mom does not have a live-in boyfriend, or manfriend, or significant other, or whatever the latest accepted term is.”
An archaic mindset. Gia freely admitted that, and had no problem with it. The values by which she guided her life were not weather vanes, changing direction with every shift of the social climes; they were the bedrock on which she’d grown up, and they still felt solid underfoot. They formed her comfort zone. She didn’t care to impose them on anyone else, and conversely, didn’t want anyone else telling her how to raise her child.
She believed in raising a child by example. Definitely hands-on, setting rules and limits, but being bound by her own rules as well. None of this do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do nonsense. If Gia wanted Vicky to tell the truth, then Gia must never lie; if Gia wanted Vicky to be honest, then Gia must never cheat.
The perfect example had presented itself last week when she and Vicky had gone to the liquor store. Knowing Jack would be around a lot during Vicky’s absence, Gia had picked up a case of beer, plus a couple of bottles of wine. On the way out of the store Vicky whispered that the cashier
hadn’t scanned one of the wines. Gia had checked her receipt and, sure enough, Little Miss Never-Miss-a-Trick was right. She’d turned around, pointed out the error, and paid for the extra bottle. The clerk was astounded, the manager had wanted to give her the bottle for free, and two other customers waiting on line had looked at her as if to say, What planet are you from?
“Why didn’t you just keep the bottle, Mom?” Vicky had asked.
“Because it wasn’t mine.”
“But no one knew.”
“You knew. And once you told me, I knew. And then keeping it would have made me a thief. I don’t want to be a thief.”
Vicky had nodded at the obvious truth of that and then started talking about the dead bird she’d seen yesterday.
But living the life she wanted Vicky to live meant sacrifices. It meant no moving in with Jack, no Jack moving in with her. Because if sixteen-year-old Vicky one day asked if her boyfriend could move into her bedroom, Gia wanted to be able to look her daughter straight in the eye when she said no.
How in the world could Gia ever explain to Vicky her love for Jack? She couldn’t explain it to herself. Jack flouted all the rules, thumbed his nose at society’s most basic conventions, and yet … he was the most decent, most moral, truest man she’d met since leaving Iowa.
But as much as she loved him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to live with him. Or with anyone else, for that matter. She liked her space, and she and Vicky had plenty of that here on Sutton Square. This high-priced, oak-paneled, antique-studded piece of East Side real estate belonged to the Westphalen family, of which Vicky was the last surviving member. Her aunts had left the townhouse and most of their considerable fortunes to her in their wills, but they were listed as missing instead of dead. It would be years before the place and the fortunes were officially Vicky’s,
but until then the executor let them live here to keep up the property.
So … if Gia and Jack ever came to a living arrangement, she and Vicky would not be moving to Jack’s little two-bedroom apartment. He’d come here. After they were married.
“What do we do, then?” he said.
She buttered the bagel and placed it before him. “We go on as we are. I’m happy. Aren’t you?”
“Sure.” He smiled at her. “But I could be happier waking up with you every morning.”
That part she’d love. But the rest … she wasn’t sure she could handle living with Jack. He kept bizarre hours, sometimes out all night if one of his jobs called for it. She became aware of these incidents only after the fact; she’d sleep through the night thinking he was safe in his apartment watching one of his strange old movies. Living with Jack would change all that. She’d be wide awake wondering where he was, if he was in danger, praying he’d come back in one piece, or come back at all.
She’d be a wreck. She didn’t know if she could live like that.
Better this way. At least for now. But what if … ?
Gia suppressed a groan of frustration. If only she knew the results of that pregnancy test. She’d sneaked a call to Dr. Eagleton’s service while Jack was in the library and was told she was off until Monday. The same uncooperative doctor was covering for her, so Gia didn’t bother calling him. She’d have to wait till tomorrow.
She watched Jack wolf down his bagel. If that test comes out positive tomorrow, she thought, what will you say?