It was that in between time in fall where the sun had just set and the moon had not risen high enough to cast light through the sky light in Hendrix’s room. Hendrix sat clicking through internet pages of baby shower ideas, stopping to stare at a photo of a cupcake with a baby figurine set in the icing. It was disturbing. The note beside it said it could also be used as a Christmas party snack, and this only added to her feeling of discomfort. She wondered how many children would be snacking on a baby Jesus this year.
She wasn’t required to throw a shower. No one had asked her, but as a roommate it seemed fitting enough. She had lived in the side room of Babs and Michael’s home for over a year. She liked the room. It felt like an afterthought to the architect’s plan. The roof slanted as though she were in an attic and the warped wood floor looked like it was pulling away from the rest of the house.
Babs had been standing near where Hendrix sat now that morning measuring the line on a star mobile she had made. Hendrix had imagined her falling from the stepstool and out of guilt immediately offered to throw the baby usurper a party. Babs knocked lightly and Hendrix closed her laptop as she entered, dressed for bed, holding her hand over a belly that was just beginning to show. Hendrix had heard of false pregnancies, women so bloated with maternal desire that they gained weight and threw up in the mornings all for nothing, but she wasn’t holding out any hope.
“Michael says you’re thinking of moving out this month.” Babs sat on the edge of Hendrix’s bed. Hendrix had known Babs since elementary school and they‘d both met and dated Michael in high school. Hendrix had dated him first and when feeling insecure reminded herself of this and even imagined her rejection of him as being the cause for his marrying Babs.
Until now their living arrangement had felt taboo with Michael’s attentions easily swayed. Even Babs’ high school brother, Wes, who had the room beside Hendrix added something forbidden as he wandered the house in boxers, unaware of the effect it had on Hendrix. But Wes had left for college and whatever loyalty Michael seemed to lack before was suddenly strengthened. Michael bought sparkling cider to celebrate and insisted on calling Babs “Mom” while touching her hair and waist. It was good in a way, Hendrix knew this. After the announcement of his impending fatherhood Michael had stopped joining her on the couch late at night while she watched TV. He no longer moved her purse in order to sit closer. In fact, Hendrix felt like a forgotten first born, shunned to her room. It felt large and emptier than the rest of the house now.
“I’ve been looking at apartments,” Hendrix lied.
“You don’t have to, you know. The baby isn’t due for awhile and I could use your help. Hell, if you can’t find a place you could take Wes’ room. You could help with the baby. You’re great with kids.” Babs had begun commenting on Hendrix’s gift with children after Hendrix had been let go from her job at a daycare. A child had gone missing, and though he had been found later in the building the same day, someone had needed to take the fall . Bless Their Little Souls closed shortly after, the church it was run from cited various code violations, but Babs blamed it on their firing Hendrix.
“You‘ll need space for all the baby presents,” Hendrix caught the spite she had meant to keep out of her voice and reached a hand toward Babs’ leg in apology. ”No worries. I’ll be fine.”
Babs looked at the floor. Hendrix didn’t know how to handle this new version of her friend. Tears and mood swings were gradually replacing her feistiness. Babs’ brother Wes had left the week before for his first semester of college at the University of Arizona and Hendrix wondered if Babs had empty nest syndrome before her first child had even been born. Babs made a final plea.
“It might be fun, like old times when we babysat Wes.”
Hendrix handed her a paint sample Babs and Michael had left in the room while picking nursery colors.
“I stopped babysitting in college.”
Leaves fell against the skylight above them, the silhouettes barely visible against the moonlight. They tapped against the glass like rain and then slid down with a quiet scraping that sounded like an animal licking a bowl. Sarongs Hendrix had attached to her walls and ceiling were coming loose. Babs picked one up from the floor and draped it over Hendrix. “It’s getting cold,” she said and left.
Hendrix played with the purple frayed threads. She parted her legs slightly and steadied her breathing. She imagined a doctor standing above her. His head was large and round like a cartoon, his face childlike, and he blinked rapidly through his glasses.
“How far apart are the contractions?” he asked, one hand on her stomach. “Close,” Hendrix heard herself mutter. The daycare incident was a month ago. After that her employer, Trenton, had stopped texting her. He had been a close friend and now they rarely spoke. That was followed by, by what? Wes leaving? No, it was Babs’ sudden pregnancy that started the wave of discomfort, the hints of pain, a prelude to a change she couldn’t avoid. Hendrix was retaining past hurts with the expectancy of future ones.
“Keep breathing,” the doctor said, but his face was less innocent and the blonde hair she had given him was gone.
Next, or somewhere in this mix of contractions, came Michael’s renewed love for his wife, and the apparent mutuality. Hendrix thought they were a tripod, all three standing together since high school, and now she had been cut off, and they were a ladder with rungs of children.
“Focus,” the doctor said.
She needed to name the change emerging.
“Mitsy!” the doctor shouted in a shrill woman’s voice.
Hendrix jerked awake. Their neighbor, Mrs. Blanche, was in the alley behind the house calling her cats.
Hendrix struggled through the covers that had caught around her ankles. The walls seemed to contract around her as she moved toward her door. She slipped through the house, brushing each piece of furniture with her finger tips, letting her nails trace patterns in the stiff upholstery.
She could hear Michael and Babs speaking in hushed tones. Babs laughed softly at something Michael said and then they fell silent. Hendrix felt voyeuristic and went to the front door, stepped out barefoot and closed it quietly behind her.
A soft breeze moved through the street stirring the leaves and bringing the smell cumin from the spice factory nearby. Hendrix’s hair strayed from her face charged with static from the fleece covers she had left on the floor. Her body felt filled with the electricity. She began to walk toward the old woman’s voice as it grew louder and more demanding.
“Baby! Mr. Gray! Mitsy! Here kitty, kitty.” The words were slurred together till the woman sounded as though she were speaking in tongues. Small dark shadows ran to the bent woman answering her calls with a cacophony of mews. A few strays stood to the side and watched. Mrs. Blanche returned outside and set a bowl down for the remaining cats. Hendrix wondered what would happen to the children of Bless Their Little Souls daycare. She imagined them as kittens crawling through the streets, sipping milk from bowls that mothers set out. She walked toward the church where the daycare had been run.
A couple sat against the castle in the middle of the playground. Their voices were quiet and interrupted with sounds she couldn‘t make out. As she came closer, Hendrix tried to see where their hands were. She had leaned against that same castle her last day of work.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Trenton had said, absently tracing the initials some teenager had engraved on the castle. Hendrix had thought being the scapegoat for the missing boy would have some benefit. She was free from a job she hated. If Trenton wanted to move further than their casual flirting, he could do so without her coworkers seeing. She moved closer to him in the playground. He picked up a child and held it between them while he spoke.
“I can give you a good reference.”
The couple had noticed her.
“Did you want something?” the woman called out. Hendrix shook her head.
She kept her hand against the low brick wall as she passed, but the pain as it tore her knuckles made her pull it back to herself in surprise. She kept her eyes on the ground and walked quickly.
The street lights flickered as she passed under them, as though winking at something she didn’t know.
“Hendrix?” Michael was walking toward her. She waved as though seeing him in a store, ignoring the unusual setting. He wore only grey pajama pants and a navy blue robe that was too big for him.
“What are you doing?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Hendrix kept herself from asking how he knew she was missing; she didn’t feel in a place to ask questions. Michael waited till she was closer to answer.
“I wasn’t asleep. I went to lock the doors and thought I’d see if you were up.” Michael ran a hand through his hair and looked at her apologetically, seemingly aware that he could be considered intrusive and added, “Your door was open.”
A month before Hendrix might have ignored his attention, but knowing there would soon be no one to check in on her, she felt her eyes warm with tears.
“I needed a walk,” she said and realized how sadly predictable she had become that he had walked toward the daycare. He fell into step beside her.
“Is it the daycare? Or is it Trenton?” Michael asked suddenly.
His question surprised her. She kept his maturity to that of an eighteen year old, ignoring the fact that ten years had passed since then.
“Neither.”
“I think you could still have him,” Michael said in a quiet tone that betrayed that he did not whole heartedly agree with what he was saying. “I’ve seen him with you, and I’ve seen him with his wife.”
Hendrix knew Mary vaguely. Mary was younger and petite with a slightly unbalanced figure. She came into work frequently and handled every child. Trenton disliked it and complained to Hendrix.
Hendrix and Michael continued to walk side by side, his hand occasionally brushing against hers. He had delicate, pristine hands that added to the feminine qualities for which he had once been teased.
“What are you naming the baby?”
“We wanted to name it after you-”
“God no, my parents were cruel,” Hendrix laughed, uncomfortable with the idea of a child running around with her name.
“Well, I also thought Barbara, after Babs, and she likes Elizabeth after my mom.”
“Barbara Hendrix, not much of a ring to it.”
The air was still when they got home. Michael walked her to her room and with a light kiss on the cheek, in his usual, affected way, he said goodnight. He stood by her door a second longer than he should and they both knew it. She felt the house like a ship slowly moving away from her and she grabbed onto Michael’s hand and led him into the room.
She had been young enough to get away with not sleeping with him when they first dated. He never really pushed it. She enjoyed his frustration at the time, enjoyed the power. She wondered if he ever talked about it to Babs or described her as prudish. On her bed, Hendrix leaned forward and kissed him, remembering instantly just how bad their kisses had been. She pulled her mouth away and moved to his neck instead. It was easier.
“Is Babs asleep?” Hendrix whispered.
Hendrix tried to imagine what her friend’s reaction would be if she caught them. To realize her life wasn’t what she thought might be too much for her. Her catalogue-perfect home was actually too incestuous to raise a child in. She let herself think on the word incestuous and played with it in her mind. If Babs was the mother, that made Michael the father. Those roles didn’t seem quite right.
Michael made a soft sound beneath her and she covered his mouth with her hand. She didn’t know if the sound was a protest or appreciation.
Feeling his hands on her did nothing and she tried to imagine they were Trenton’s or even Wes’, but this didn’t help. She clawed his back as though he might escape and pulled him against her. She thought how different things would be if the baby was hers, if this house, these people, were all hers. She heard herself moan.
Afterward they were silent. They didn’t attempt to hold each other. There was nothing to be gained from discussing what should be done or what shouldn’t have happened.
“Which of us is in more trouble?” Hendrix asked quietly. Michael was laying on his back beside her. She saw his throat move with a gulp and hoped he wasn‘t crying.
“God damn it, Hendrix.” He stood and moved toward her door. She started to say his name. She wanted to return to the place of babysitter or friend and stroke his hair saying “there, there, Babs won’t know. Your baby won’t know,” but she said nothing. Even that role was lost now.
Avra Elliott recently graduated from New Mexico State University where she received the Robert Wichert Award for Creative Writing. She was honored to be a finalist in the 2010 Clapboard House Best of the House Fiction Contest. She recently received the Western Regional Honors Council Award for her short story “The Club.” Her work has appeared in Clapboard House, Din, and Scribendi. Avra currently lives in New Mexico with her husband where she is working on a story collection and novella.
