French Fry (The French Twist Series Book 3) Read online

  “At least we can console each other.”

  I exhaled deeply. “I’m so relieved. Charlie made it sound like you went to Kate’s school of Stepford Pregnant Women. I thought I was alone in this.”

  Zoe exhaled slowly. “You know your brother. He does what he can to protect my privacy.”

  Privacy was quite important to Zoe. That battle had been long and hard with my father, who is the nosiest person on the planet. (Well, he’s second only to my mother-in-law.) I was so grateful to her for sharing her imperfections with me. It made me feel substantially more normal.

  “Zoe?”

  “Yes, Syd?”

  “Do you feel ready to be a mother?”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Sometimes. I’ve made my lists, timelines and plans. Then other times, I feel like I’ve made all the wrong decisions and I want to scrap everything.”

  “What does Charlie think?”

  “You know your brother. He’s amenable to most things I want. His biggest concern is that our baby be safe, loved and happy. The details aren’t a big deal to him.”

  I grinned, thinking of my accommodating older brother. He has always been this way—in part because he hates making decisions—but mostly because he likes to make people happy. “So Charlie leaves the decisions up to you?”

  “For the most part. What about Louis?”

  I felt my heart sink. “He’s not too happy with me right now.”

  “Are you pushing yourself too hard again?” Concern colored her tone.

  A very different kind of tears were threating now. “No. I, um, don’t agree with something he wants.”

  “OK. What does he want?”

  I cleared my throat. “He wants his mom to stay with us when the baby is born. Well, he wants to buy a house first, move in and then have his mom stay with us.” I hiccupped. “But I can’t deal with moving right now and I want MY mom here when the baby is born.” I paused, guilt quickly creeping in to my consciousness. “I’m sorry, Zoe! I don’t want to steal her from you, but I…I really need her. Only for a little while, OK?”

  “Oh, sweetie! Calm down. I’ll be fine! I have my mom and sister-in-law close by. I know you have Kate, but there’s something comforting about having your mom with you, isn’t there?”

  I nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see me.

  “Syd? Are you alright? This isn’t just about your fight with Louis, is it?” Sometimes it was creepy how easily Zoe figured me out. Seeing right through people was one of her superpowers. Handling my dad was another, but we can discuss that later.

  I launched into a detailed account of why I felt inadequate at the current point in time. I covered everything from my idiocy in not selecting a daycare center to my poor excuse for exercise. I filled her in on my experience with Kate in Baby World and my continued struggle with morning sickness. I topped off the insanity with the belief my husband was going to leave me if I didn’t agree to his request.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Syd, step down from the ledge.”

  I slumped my shoulders and leaned back into the couch. “Maybe I should give up and let Louis commit me to the insane asylum.”

  “Stop with the self-pity. You’re doing fine! Take a breath.”

  I did as I was told.

  “Feel a little better?”

  “A little.” I wiped my eyes with my shirt. Stylin’, Sydney.

  “So, you’re a little late on the daycare choice? You’re on it now and Louis will help you. Your child won’t be left alone in the house all day. You’re doing the best you can with your diet by eating things which will stay down and provide adequate nutrition for you AND the baby. And the walks you take every day at lunch qualify as exercise. All is not lost.”

  I had forgotten about my walks! My friend Cory from the IT Department joined me on most of my “mid-day constitutionals.” His wife’s due date for their second child was two months before mine and he was full of tips and funny stories. I was so grateful for his support. I bet he would know about local daycare facilities! I’m sure his wife could help expand on what he knows and this would save me so much time with the long list I had brought home.

  This realization made me feel like I had a little breathing room. Zoe was right. All is NOT lost.

  I felt my shoulders relax. “Thanks, Zoe.”

  “Of course! I have to run, Syd, but call me if you need anything.”

  I thought about asking her for a modicum of sanity, but realized no one could help me with such an impossible task. She had gone above and beyond for her senseless sister-in-law; she didn’t need to be rewarded with sarcasm.

  “You too, Zoe. I’m here if you need me.” I exhaled the last of my tension. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Syd.”

  I hung up the phone and stretched out my legs. Then I closed my eyes and practiced a few relaxation techniques Kate had taught me. Tensing and releasing targeted muscle groups worked wonders. If only I could do that with my brain.

  Once again, I reminded myself to get a grip. I knew I had valid reasons for feeling stressed, but I had to do my best to keep a handle on it. My baby deserved better. I deserved better.

  OK. New plan. One day at a time, Sydney. Stop thinking so far in the future. Start making lists of activities to be accomplished and execute them within a defined time frame—one day at a time.

  One Day at a Time! Once again this delightful tune comes to my rescue. Humming the theme song to this iconic seventies television show would be an easy way to remember my new plan. (Think about the booty shaking it would inspire! How can you NOT be in a good mood when you’re shaking your booty?) Ba, ba, ba, ba!

  As I slowly regained control of my wayward mind, all the while bopping my head and singing, Louis came bustling in with his gym bag.

  “Have you seen my Gi?” It took me a while to get used to the name for his martial arts ensemble, which was pronounced “gee”—not to be confused with the pronunciation of the letter “g.”

  I raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t like Louis to dispense with pleasantries. “Didn’t you wash it last night?”

  Louis’ solution to his irritation with me has been to go to the martial arts studio every night and “roll” with his buddies. All in the name of Jiu-Jitsu.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought I did, but it is not in my bag.” He quickly dropped the bag and ran to the closet which housed our economy sized washer and dryer, mumbling about being late. Yikes! Today must have been a rough one if he were so eager to get to the latest session.

  “Shit!”

  That can’t be good.

  I heard the lid to the washer slam down. Hmmm. Perhaps he had forgotten to turn on the washer? He has been extremely distracted lately. I put my head in my hands as I thought about my part in his uncharacteristically bad mood.

  Louis returned to the living room and sat down next to me on the couch. “Looks like I’m not going.” He sighed heavily.

  I peered up at him and snapped my fingers. “What about your spare?” Louis is nothing if not prepared.

  He shook his head. “Bastiaan tore it last night. I took it to the cleaners this morning to get it fixed and it won’t be ready until the end of the week.”

  I would have been alarmed by this statement except I knew the jacket of a Gi can be used as leverage in several moves. Given the number of times my active husband has both worn and washed his Gis, it wasn’t surprising they were starting to disintegrate.

  Suddenly overcome with tenderness for my dejected husband, I threw my arms around his neck and whispered, “I love you.”

  He nuzzled my neck. “I love you too, mon coeur. I am sorry if I have not been showing it much lately. I have been…so stubborn.”

  With this revelation, my heart melted. I held his face in my hands and kissed him softly on the lips.

  “I’m sorry too, Bluey. I’m trying to be more flexible, but—”

  The giant smirk he gave me stopped me in my tracks.

  I swatted
him playfully in the back of the head. “I am! But, is it alright if we agree to think about our options for a little while? I have a more pressing matter to discuss with you.”

  He cocked his head to the side and gave me his most skeptical look.

  My lip began to quiver. “I…I didn’t think we had to find a daycare center so soon, which I know is ridiculous given what I do for a living, but I was so distracted by the unexpected pregnancy and now…”

  Louis took my hands and squeezed them gently. “It is going to be fine. I brought home a list with me today.”

  I smiled genuinely for the first time that day. “Thank you.”

  He grinned back at me and deftly pulled me into his lap—which was quite impressive considering my additional ten pounds. I was currently living in skirts with elastic waists and my ancient collection of “fat pants.” (Every girl has one!) It was time to give up the charade and shop for maternity clothes.

  As I made a mental note to add this to my ever-growing my task list, my cell phone blared out Cruella DeVil.

  Louis threw back his head and laughed. “You changed Maya’s ringtone? I was finally used to Lady Marmalade. Even if it was her attitude and not her, ah, practices. Do you want me to get that for you?”

  I clung to him for dear life. “No! I just solved a disastrous veil issue. I do NOT need a new crisis to take on. All I need is my husband. I think we have a little belated anniversary celebrating to do.” I reached up and kissed him softly on the neck.

  Louis’ eyes darkened. “As you wish, mon couer.” I inhaled sharply as my very own farm boy delivered the most unforgettable line from A Princess Bride, his hands lingering in all the right places.

  I pulled the blanket over us and settled in for a long make-up session. With the two of us working together, the monumental task list I had put together seemed far less daunting. We would do everything in our power to prepare for our child’s arrival. We would finish the nursery nook, buy baby supplies and find our little one the best care possible while we were out earning the money to pay for it. And somehow, we would figure out how to be strong, caring, wonderful parents. One day at a time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It only took one week, twenty-five phone calls and eight site visits to secure a daycare center for Baby Durand. Once I swallowed the disbelief of each and every childcare institution that I hadn’t begun touring facilities as soon as the stick turned blue, we were able to get down to brass tacks. The majority of the options on our combined list didn’t have openings until six months after our baby would be born. Since I didn’t have the luxury of extending my maternity leave for such a length of time, our list shortened very quickly.

  We moved on to our remaining options, visiting each one in order to make a proper assessment. During our first tour, the director mentioned it would have behooved us to start searching for such a vital service earlier. After I had gotten over the use of the word “behooved,” I told her it would behoove her to change her attitude before I changed it for her.

  Needless to say, we found this particular place wasn’t the right choice for us. I’m happy to report no assault charges were filed, so I will still have a clean record. (A rather important attribute for a Human Resources professional.) Given the clear indication that my hormones had taken on a life of their own, I let Louis do the talking from this point forward.

  The next daycare center we viewed was reasonably priced and had immediate availability. It also closely resembled a prison. Louis was so traumatized, we fled the very moment the tour had finished. (I think we actually bolted during the last couple points of our guide’s speech, but there was no point in wasting anyone’s time.) We toured the next six, determined to find a conveniently located facility with an excellent educational program and skilled caretakers, which wouldn’t cost us a fortune. We may as well have been searching for a unicorn.

  And then we arrived at the last place on our list. We walked in to find a pristine facility with cheery murals on the walls, a friendly staff (with not so much as a mention of our neglected timeline), a great program for infants, toddlers and preschoolers AND a monthly fee which would hurt, but not kill us. The only catch was the start date. We had to wait a month longer than we had planned.

  Louis and I elected to throw caution to the wind and commit to the date. The state of California gave the option to mothers to take additional paid maternity leave (at a fraction of disability pay), so if we were unable to work out temporary telecommuting agreements with either of our companies, we had something to fall back on.

  Two days after our momentous decision, we were finally on our way to THE ultrasound appointment. Despite my brutal morning sickness, I was so excited I was bouncing in my seat.

  Louis laughed. “Syd, are you sure bouncing is a good idea?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Stop being such a killjoy! Not only do we get to hear the baby’s heartbeat again, but we have a shot at finding out if we’re having a Louis Jr. or a Sydney Jr.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Please tell me you are joking.”

  I was about to reply with something along the lines of “duh!” when I realized we hadn’t discussed names yet. I guess we were so mired down in the shock of becoming parents and the material necessities of preparing for the baby’s arrival, we forgot a rather vital detail. Come to think of it, my family must be in shock as well, since none of them have asked about baby names. Or perhaps they’re afraid of raising Crazy Pregnant Sydney. She can be rather unforgiving.

  I took a breath. Instead of succumbing to my usual freak out (beginning with ranting about how I can’t possibly be a good mother if I had forgotten such an important task and ending with the usual histrionics of how I should simply give up), I put my hands in my lap and calmly turned to my husband. Every journey starts with a single step, and today, I would start on my journey to rational brain functioning by having a peaceful conversation with my husband.

  Here goes nothing! “Of course I’m joking. Listen, I know this is going to sound strange coming from me, Bluey, but I don’t want to worry about this right now. Is it alright if we wait until after the appointment to start discussing names?”

  The smallest flicker of shock flashed across his face before he was able to correct it. “If that is what you want.”

  I felt a small sense of satisfaction in surprising my husband with my budding maturity. Especially since I knew my immaturity would raise its stubborn head at some point soon. However, my satisfaction was quickly replaced by dread as I felt a stab of sickness in the pit of my stomach. I rolled down the window, prepared to hurl my breakfast onto the side of the road when the wave of nausea abruptly passed. Though I had been dealing with it for nearly three months now, the unruly nature of morning sickness still surprised me.

  Louis put his hand on my thigh and rubbed it gently. “Should I pull over, mon coeur?”

  With my hand still clamped over my mouth, I slowly leaned back against the seat. “False alarm.” I took a tissue from my purse and dabbed the beads of sweat from my forehead. “I think I’m OK.”

  Louis surveyed me with concern. “We will be there in five minutes.”

  “Don’t worry, Bluey. I’ll be fine.” Even in my delicate state I enjoyed being the one to make such a statement for once.

  I closed my eyes for the remainder of the car ride. I wasn’t sure why, but seeing nothing but darkness and feeling the wind on my face worked wonders in reducing my stress levels. I’ve learned not to question anything when it comes to pregnancy. If something works, you go with it. The tricky part is remembering that it may not work as well the next time. Yet another reason why pregnancy, and the women who experience this lovely rite of passage, can be a real bitch.

  True to his promise, five minutes later Louis helped me into a chair in the waiting room of the Ultrasound Department of Stanford Hospital. I would have preferred to have this procedure done at my doctor’s office, but the detailed nature of the twenty week ultrasound required a much more po
werful machine and a highly skilled Ultrasound Technician. Dr. Bauer told me at yesterday’s appointment that she would receive the results later in the day and promised to call first thing tomorrow to go over them. I knew the technician would be examining our baby in great detail, including measuring all vital organs and limbs to ensure proper growth and the absence of abnormalities, but all I could think about was the exact nature of one organ in particular.

  Upon our summoning to the reception desk, my phone started to blow up with text messages. Crap! I had forgotten to put it on vibrate. Louis glared at me for my thoughtless faux pas. I quickly set the phone to airplane mode, but not before seeing a long series of photos of linens, china and crystal from Maya. God help me. We have moved on to table settings for the reception!

  I was in need of a major break following the bridesmaid shoe debacle. After further isolating the dress color from red to crimson, she scoured the planet for the perfect shoes. Drama the likes of which you have never seen ensued.

  Are you able to see a clear distinction between crimson and scarlet? The only thing I know about each of those hue descriptions is they are both in the red family. According to Maya, a crimson dress paired with scarlet shoes is a valid reason for major distress. I may be pregnant and somewhat intolerant of such mundane things, but, honestly, who the hell spends that much time focusing on a person’s feet aside from a person with a foot fetish? The woman needs to calm down.

  But it gets worse! Over the course of the past month, Maya has become the worst imaginable Bridezilla. She would seriously put the wimps from WE TV to shame. After the last anxiety attack I had whilst in her clutches, Louis has only allowed her supervised visits and text messages—threatening to remove her texting rights if she couldn’t keep her temper under control. Her messages were always ripe with profanity and threatening emoticons. I had developed a Pavlovian response to her text notification, which I had aptly designated as an ominous sounding “bong.” It was almost like the start of a funeral dirge.

  As I pondered the psychotic questions regarding table settings in my future, Louis touched my shoulder and motioned toward the waiting technician. I jumped up and grabbed his hand, feeling my heartbeat quicken in anticipation while we followed a petite blond woman down a short corridor and into an exam room. After introductions, the customary gown adornment (behind my very own curtain), blood pressure check and questions about my general health, we were ready to get this show on the road.