Tchaikovsky and Guacamole

Oh him! His name was Alan. Ancient history.

One night the two of us went to Opera in the Park. There was a big family group sitting in front of us. You know how crowded it gets. Alan was getting annoyed because their picnic stuff kept encroaching on our area and they were sort of noisy. But you know, it’s Opera in the Park, not opera at the Opera House!

But this family. They had, I don’t know, charisma! There was a midget-sized little old lady bossing everyone and a teenage girl wearing headphones. They also had a little baby girl crawling around. Dark curly hair and dimples. Irresistible. She was such a cutie. Anyway, about halfway through the night, this little girl was standing up, clutching on to some guy’s sleeve, when she suddenly started this sort of wobbly walk straight across their picnic blanket.

Well, obviously it was her first steps! Her family went wild! Clapping and pointing and grabbing for cameras. One woman started to cry.

The baby was beaming like a little show-off and somebody said, Watch the guacamole, and of course, her foot goes squelch in the dip and she topples sideways into somebody’s lap.

One of them said something like, “Now there’s a girl with style, she takes her first steps to Tchaikovsky.” I said to Alan, “Did you see that?” And he said, “Yeah, do you want to move somewhere else? They’re really ruining the night.”

And I thought, Nah-ah.

I gave have him his marching orders during Beethoven’s Fifth.

CHAPTER 22

Cat went with Gemma for her ultrasound. They sat opposite each other in the quietly murmuring waiting room and engaged in a brief, silent tug-of-war when both of them reached for the most salacious-looking magazine on the coffee table.

Gemma argued, “I need the distraction from my bloated bladder,” which was true because after studying the Preparing for your Ultrasound instructions, Cat had made her drink four glasses of water that morning, instead of the required two. “The fuller the bladder, the better the picture. Drink up!”

Cat benevolently released her grip on the magazine. “Surely they can’t keep us waiting long, when they know you’re suffering.” A woman sitting next to Cat looked up from her magazine with a strained smile. “Just watch them.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Cat twisted around to glare at the staff behind the counter.

“I’m fine,” said Gemma. “Just don’t say anything funny.”

Cat bit the inside of her cheek, and Gemma chortled painfully.

“What? I’m not being funny.”

“I know, but you can tell it goes against all your natural instincts.”

Cat sighed, picked up another magazine, and started flicking the pages a little feverishly. “Oh good, I can drop a dress size by Saturday night. I can’t believe they still run this sort of article. It’s no wonder Kara and her friends are so mixed up. You know what she told me the other day? She said she’s been trying really hard to catch just a little dose of anorexia and felt like a real loser because she couldn’t seem to manage it. She considered bulimia, but even the thought of it made her sick.”

“Stop making me laugh!”

“It’s not funny really. Anyway, now she’s interested in some boy. I’ve been trying to remember all the relationship mistakes I made when I was a teenager. What mistakes did you make?”

Before Gemma had a chance to answer Cat was distracted by a headline. “Ten Ways to Change Your Life by Tomorrow,” she read out loud. “What utter crap.” She was instantly absorbed in the article, looking both scornful and hopeful, her crossed foot kicking rhythmically as she read.

Gemma looked down at her own magazine and wondered what relationship advice she would give Kara.

She saw Kara swirling a new dress for her boyfriend, flushed and silly, saying “I love you” for the first time. She saw the boyfriend suddenly slamming kitchen drawers, his face ugly with rage. She saw herself striding into the kitchen, ignoring the boyfriend (just a boy after all, a gigantic little boy throwing a tantrum, there was nothing complex or mysterious about it), and taking Kara firmly by the elbow and marching her right on out of the kitchen. No, it’s not normal. No, it’s not your fault. Walk away now, young lady.

“But I’m wearing a new dress!” Kara would whine. “I want to drink champagne!”

He’s going to do it again, you silly little girl! He’s going to do it again, again, and again until there’s nothing left of you.

“Are you all right?” Cat waved a hand in front of Gemma’s face. “What’s the matter? You’ve gone all red.” She lowered her voice. “You haven’t wet your pants, have you?”

Gemma gave a yelp of laughter and Cat stood up decisively. “Right. I’m going to see how long this is going to take.”

A few minutes later, thanks to Cat’s stand-over tactics, Gemma was lying on her back, while a cheerful, blue-uniformed girl called Nicki rubbed a gooey cold gel across her stomach.

“It’s my sister’s baby,” she explained to Nicki, so she’d treat Cat like someone important. “She’s adopting it for me.”

Nicki didn’t even blink at that, which was nice of her. “O.K. then, Mum,” she said to Cat. She gestured up at the TV monitor on the wall. “Keep your eye on that screen.”

Cat smiled stiffly and crossed her arms awkwardly across her chest. She’ll be wishing it was her and Dan here, thought Gemma, making their cool little jokes, holding hands while they watched their baby. Perhaps she should try and hold Cat’s hand? Except Cat would be aghast, of course.

Nicki began to rub a little instrument back and forth over Gemma’s stomach as if she were giving it a gentle polish. “In just a minute your baby will make his or her first public appearance!”

“We don’t want to know the sex,” said Cat sharply.

“My lips are sealed,” said Nicki.

Cat dropped her arms by her side as a grainy, alien landscape emerged on the screen. “Oh look!”

“It looks like the moon,” said Gemma, not really believing this picture had anything to do with her body; they probably showed the same picture to everyone. It probably was the moon.

“Let me give you the guided tour,” said Nicki and she began to point out parts of the baby. The spine. The legs. The feet. The heart. Gemma smiled and nodded politely, fraudulently. It was nothing but fuzzy static. Change the channel, she imagined saying. Put something more interesting on. Cat on the other hand, seemed to genuinely believe she was looking at a baby. “Oh yes, I see,” she kept saying, and her voice was all shaky and full of some lovely maternal emotion that Gemma definitely was not feeling.