The Nine Month Plan

  Yeah, and it’s not as if Joe’s not the marrying kind. How often has he admitted to Nina that he wants to get married? That he’s just looking for the right woman?

  Obviously, Nina doesn’t fit the bill.

  Which shouldn’t be surprising. She never expected to. She never wanted to.

  She still doesn’t.

  The thought of settling into the sameness, the predictability of marriage—­of spending the rest of her life in the Queens neighborhood—­fills her with desperation. How could she imagine, even for one moment, that she could survive that?

  It’s because of Joe. Because he’s a great guy. And because I’m ridiculously attracted to him lately, thanks to these darned pregnancy hormones, she tells herself, as they near the top of the escalator.

  How simple it is to blame everything—­every errant emotion, every lustful urge—­on hormones.

  “Careful,” Joe says, reaching out to steady her as she poises herself to step off the escalator.

  “I’m fine.” She brushes his hand away.

  She is fine. She doesn’t need Joe’s help walking, for pete’s sake.

  Nor does she need Joe.

  She pauses to shift her shopping bag to the other hand and wishes again that she could take off this hot, confining coat. But then she’d have to carry it, too.

  If only it were July.

  If only she were free.

  If only she were flying away from here, alone.

  For some reason, that blessed moment seems farther away, more elusive, than ever before.

  So many obstacles lie between now and then. There are so many things she has to get through. So many—­

  Nina stops short.

  Joe walks into her from behind.

  She clutches her stomach.

  “What is it?” Joe asks, alarmed.

  “I don’t know. I just—­” She gasps. There it is again!

  “Nina!”

  “Joey, I felt . . .” She closes her eyes, standing absolutely still, trying to tune out the throng of shoppers around them.

  Seconds pass, and then . . .

  “It’s the baby!” she exclaims, shaking her head in wonder as she feels an oddly distinct thump, thump deep inside. “It’s kicking, Joey! Here . . . feel it.”

  She opens her coat and pulls up her sweater, then grabs his hand and presses it against her bare stomach.

  “I don’t feel—­oh my God!” he exclaims as it happens again. “Oh my God! It’s kicking!”

  “I know!” She’s getting all teary, darn it. Right here, in the middle of Bloomingdale’s.

  She’s a little girl again, sitting beside her mother on the couch, and Mommy is pressing Nina’s hand to her stomach.

  “Do you feel that, Nina? That’s your little brother or sister. The baby wants to tell you, ‘Hello! I’m in here! Pay attention to me!’ ”

  “This is unbelievable,” Joe is saying.

  “It is,” she murmurs, reaching up to hurriedly wipe away her tears with the sleeve of her coat.

  Joe doesn’t see. He’s not looking at her face. He’s gazing at her belly with reverence.

  Why did you choose now to kick for the first time? Nina silently asks the tiny being that has suddenly stirred to life inside of her. Are you trying to tell me something?

  She smiles.

  Of course the baby is trying to tell her something.

  Hello! I’m in here! Pay attention to me!

  And maybe . . .

  I know you’re thinking about leaving. I wish you wouldn’t go. I wish you’d stay and get to know me. Maybe be a part of my life . . . even if my daddy doesn’t want to marry you. . .

  “Are you okay?”

  Nina finds Joey looking worriedly at her.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It just feels a little strange, you know? I guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

  “You just suddenly looked like you were in pain.”

  She shrugs away the melancholy thoughts, saying lightly, “I am in pain. My feet are killing me. Let’s go get that hot chocolate.”

  WITH A GRUNT, Nina deposits another paper shopping bag filled with wrapped presents on the dusty attic floor. This is one of the few places she can hide them where Ralphie won’t look.

  It was far more challenging when he was younger and believed in Santa Claus. Back then, she used to stash the presents for him and Dominic next door at the Materis’. Naturally, it’s been years since Santa paid a Christmas morning visit to the Chickalini household, forcing Nina out of bed at dawn to watch her brothers rip through the piles of gifts left under the tree.

  These days, with the exception of the box mailed overseas to Pete and Debbi, all presents are exchanged on Christmas Eve before midnight mass. Nina’s lucky if she can rouse the boys in time for a noon brunch on Christmas Day.

  As she turns to make her way back across the old wooden floorboards to the shaft of light spilling up from the hall, Nina’s gaze falls on the familiar shallow trunk tucked back under the eaves.

  Smiling faintly, she realizes that it’s been awhile since she opened it. She crosses to it, kneels on the floor, releases the metal clasp and lifts the lid.

  There it is. Predictably, her eyes fill with tears at the sight of Mommy’s wedding dress. It’s all Nina can do not to bury her face in the soft folds of yellow peau de soie, but she doesn’t dare. She’s still wearing makeup from going to mass this morning with Joe and his parents, and the last thing she wants to do is smear mascara all over it.

  After all, somebody might want to wear it again someday.

  Not Rosalee.

  And not Nina.

  But maybe the baby she’s carrying will be a little girl, and she’ll grow up longing to wear her grandmother’s wedding dress one day . . .

  “How about it?” Nina says softly, wishing the baby would kick again. She hasn’t felt a thing since yesterday’s thump-­fest in Bloomingdale’s. “Do you want to wear this dress someday? Do you want to grow up to be a beautiful bride?”

  Nothing.

  No thump.

  No sense that the little being deep in her womb is there at all, other than a protruding belly straining the buttons of her chambray shirt, and the realization that she has to pee again.

  “Are you a little girl?” she whispers to the baby, as she absently strokes the silken fabric of her mother’s wedding dress. “Or a little boy?”

  Maybe Joe’s right. Maybe they should find out, when they go for the sonogram in January.

  Somewhere in the house below, a door slams, snapping her out of her reverie.

  There’s dinner to be made, laundry to be done, more presents to wrap.

  With a sigh, Nina puts the dress back into the trunk. As she adjusts the nest of tissue layering the bottom of the trunk, she notices a bit of lace peeking out.

  She always assumed the trunk held nothing more than the wedding gown and veil.

  Now, pushing the tissue aside, she finds a diminutive white gown . . . a Christening gown, with a matching bonnet. The once-­white cotton fabric and lace edging have mellowed to a soft ivory.

  “Nina?”

  It’s Ralphie, calling her from downstairs.

  This was mine, Nina realizes. There are pictures of her wearing it, the old-­fashioned train draped over her mother’s arm, the bonnet’s white satin ribbons looped beneath her little chin.

  “Nina!”

  “Be right there, Ralphie!”

  She always wondered what happened to this. Pop wouldn’t let Mommy put the boys in a gown when they were christened. And she distinctly remembers Grandma Chickalini saying it was a shame that Rosalee was too chubby to fit into it.

  “Nina? Where are you?”

  “I’m coming!”

  Nina hurriedly nestles the small gown beneath her mother’
s wedding dress and closes the trunk. She makes her way to the opening in the floor, sits, and dangles her legs over the edge. Leaning her weight on her hands, she prepares to lower herself to the chair in the hallway below, then hesitates.

  Hmm. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea when you’re four months pregnant.

  “Ralphie!” she calls. “Come up and give me a hand!”

  Footsteps pound up the stairs, and then her brother appears below, with Yank following close behind. He’s wearing his usual baggy layers of denim and fleece, and a backward Yankees cap.

  “What are you doing up there, Nina? Hiding Christmas presents?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I saw the empty wrapping paper tubes and the tape and scissors on the dining room table.”

  “Well, stay out of here until Christmas,” Nina says, exasperated. “And can you help me down? I don’t want to fall.”

  “Sure.” Ralphie holds out his arms. Yank barks excitedly as Ralphie says, “Go ahead. Jump.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. If I land on you, Ralphie, you’ll be flattened, and so will the dog.”

  “Yeah, you have gained some weight, Nin. Maybe you should—­”

  “Just . . . Ralphie, help me get my legs onto the chair.”

  He grunts and hoists her down, then asks, “You got a second?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because I need to know what you think I should get Grace for Christmas?”

  “Who’s Grace?”

  “She’s this girl I’ve been seeing.”

  “Oh.” Nina rubs her lower back. “Come into my room. I’ll be able to think better if I’m lying on my bed. What happened to Camille?”

  “We broke up last week.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugs.

  “I can’t keep up with you, Ralphie.” Nina moves a pile of clean laundry aside and sinks gratefully back onto her bed. “So who’s Grace?”

  “Grace Granata. My lab partner in chemistry.”

  “Is she related to that girl Dom used to date? Jessica Granata?”

  “It’s her cousin.” Ralphie plops down on Rosalee’s bed, and Yank leaps up after him. “Anyway, what do you think I should get her?”

  “I don’t know . . . a sweater? Perfume?”

  “How about jewelry?”

  “Ralphie, you haven’t been dating her for more than a week. Jewelry is—­”

  “Yeah, but I really like her.”

  “—­expensive.”

  “Well, I’ve got two hundred bucks saved from working in the restaurant.”

  “Maybe you should put half of that into your savings account for college.”

  “Nah. Dad takes some out of my paycheck for that every week.”

  “Really? He used to do that for me, too,” Nina tells her brother.

  “Really? How come you just went to community college, then?”

  “Because that was all we could afford.” She rarely thinks about it now, but there was a time when she had a burning desire to go away to college somewhere . . . anywhere.

  “Couldn’t you have taken out a loan or something?” Ralphie wants to know. “You know, so you could have gone away to school if you wanted to.”

  “I did take loans, and I still barely had enough to pay tuition for community college. That’s why Pete did ROTC—­because the military paid for most of his education. And luckily for Pop, Rosalee never wanted to go to college in the first place.”

  “Yeah, instead, she’s making him pay for this big fancy wedding,” Ralphie says, rolling his eyes. “Do you think I’ll have to go to a state school, like Dom did?”

  “Not if you get a basketball scholarship, Ralphie. And keep your grades up, like Pop and I keep telling you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Ralphie stands, looking restless. “Anyway, do you think Grace would like sapphire earrings? Her eyes are blue, so I thought—­”

  “Sapphire earrings are a nice gift, Ralphie, but I think it’s sort of extravagant at your age.”

  “Her old boyfriend gave her pearl earrings for her birthday. So Nina, can you help me pick out some sapphire earrings for Grace?”

  She sighs, exhausted, glancing at the window beside the bed. An icy rain is falling outside, along with early winter dusk. “Now, Ralphie? I was just going to put on my pajamas and go find those buttons that need to be sewn back on your shirt. And I have to make dinner.”

  “Not now. I, uh, thought you could do it tomorrow.”

  “After school?”

  “Nah, I have practice after school.”

  “Well, I’m working from four-­thirty till closing, Ralphie, so I don’t see how—­”

  “Maybe . . . I know! How about if you just go pick them out on your own, Nina?” he says, as though he just thought of it. “I’ll give you the money.”

  She stares at him in disbelief. “You want me to do your Christmas shopping for you?”

  “Not all of it. Just that. Oh, and I need an exchange gift for school. Something under ten dollars.”

  “Ralphie, what are you going to do next year when I’m a thousand miles away?”

  “I thought you were going to be right next door, with Joey. And the baby. Duh, Nina. Did you forget?”

  Oh.

  That’s right.

  “I meant, when you’re a thousand miles away,” she says hastily.

  “A thousand miles? Nina, even if I get into Saint Bonaventure—­” which would be his number one college choice—­“that can’t be more than a few hundred miles from here. And you and Joey can drive up on weekends with the baby, to watch me play basketball.”

  “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Sure. That’ll be great.”

  In all of his high school sports career, she’s never missed being in the stands for one of Ralphie’s home games. Next year, she’s not going to be around to cheer him on for a single game. Nor will she be around to give him girlfriend advice, or to sew on his buttons . . .

  Yeah, but he’ll be living away at college, she reminds herself. He won’t be here, either.

  No, but he’ll come home on vacations . . .

  And when he does, Pop will be here, and Dom, and Rosalee and Timmy will be living nearby. He’ll be fine without her. They’ll all be fine without her.

  And so will Joe and the baby.

  Especially now that his parents are talking about moving back up north again, now that they’re going to be grandparents. This morning after church, they informed Joe and Nina that they’re going to look around for an apartment nearby.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can just move back into the house, with me,” he said.

  “No newlywed bride deserves to share a roof with her in-­laws,” Mrs. Materi said, winking at Nina. “Nina’s going to be the lady of the house. We’ll make sure we’re close by to babysit so that the two of you can get away together whenever you want. But you’re going to need your privacy.”

  It was all Nina could do to keep from blurting out that Joe isn’t going to need privacy; he’s going to need help. She has no doubt that he’ll be a terrific father, but there’s so much to learn about caring for a newborn . . .

  At least Nina had Grandma Valerio and Aunt Carm, Mommy’s mother and sister, with her when Ralphie came home from the hospital seventeen years ago. And Pop, of course, was there. But he was so grief-­stricken by Mommy’s death that he barely looked at the baby for the first year of Ralphie’s life.

  Now, looking back, Nina has no idea how any of them got through those numbing, sorrowful days and sleepless nights.

  Joe won’t have to deal with overwhelming loss. He’ll just have the baby to contend with, and his parents can help.

  I can help, too, Nina reminds herself. In the beginning, at least.

  If all goes accor
ding to plan and the baby cooperates with the due date, she’ll be around for the first seven weeks of its life.

  Yes, but it won’t really be my place. It’s Joe’s baby. Not mine.

  “What’s wrong, Nina?”

  She looks up to see Ralphie watching her with a concerned expression that looks incongruous with his boyish features.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Ralphie. I’m just tired.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind picking up the earrings and that exchange gift for me tomorrow, Nina?”

  Actually, she does mind. It’s time Ralphie learned to do things for himself. It’s time he learned how to get by on his own.

  About to tell him just that, Nina looks over at her brother.

  She notices a razor nick on his baby-­smooth cheek. He must have been trying to shave again, desperately trying to convince himself—­and the rest of the world—­that it’s necessary. He’s so ready to shed his childhood . . . just as ready as Nina is to shed her responsibility for him.

  Or is she?

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll go shopping for you, Ralphie,” she says quietly.

  He’ll learn soon enough how to take care of himself. Until he does, it’s Nina’s job, a job she’s suddenly reluctant to relinquish.

  But she will.

  Of course, she will.

  Just . . .

  Not until the time comes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  NINA HASN’T BEEN awake at midnight in weeks. But on Christmas Eve, as the church bells chime twelve times, she finds herself in a pew at Most Precious Mother, with Joe on one side and Dominic on the other.

  His parents are with them, and all of the Chickalinis, including Timmy and Grandma. Midnight Mass is a family tradition, one Mommy insisted on keeping even when Nina was a young child. She can remember being carried home on Pop’s shoulder, and deposited in her bed while the grown-­ups feasted on sausage and eggs.

  “Are you okay?” Joe whispers to Nina, as the organ begins playing the opening strains of “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “It’s warm in here. You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” she says again, opening her hymnal.