California Girls

“Absolutely.”

Dr. McQueen nodded. “All right, so now let’s discuss exercise. Zennie, I know you’re a runner and you surf. What else do you do?”

“Yoga every now and then. I lift weights, of course. Go rock climbing. I hike with my friends in Griffith Park. I snowboard, but we’re coming up on summer so that won’t be an issue.”

“That’s impressive,” the doctor told her. “You already know about avoiding saunas and Jacuzzis. I want you to stay away from hot yoga, as well. For now I’d like you to limit your runs to three miles. You’ll have to back off completely but not for a while. Surfing is also a risk. There are just too many ways you could damage your midsection and holding your breath because you’re underwater is also a problem. The hiking is all right for now. Once you get bigger, you’ll have balance issues. Look at walking more or using the elliptical. Also, let’s stay away from the rock climbing wall. You wouldn’t want to fall.”

Zennie remembered what had happened on the hike and how scared she’d been. “I can certainly put off rock climbing until after the baby’s born.” As for the rest of it, she did her best to look happy and not as if the doctor was taking away all her fun.

“You need to start wearing support hose at work,” the doctor continued. “They will make your legs feel less tired and avoid problems with varicose veins later. Get plenty of rest. When you get the chance, get off your feet. You don’t need it now, but you will, so let’s develop the habit.”

The conversation continued with more restrictions and admonitions. Zennie reminded herself it was natural to feel overwhelmed and the restrictions were temporary. In a few short months, or eight, she would get her life back.

Eight months! She blinked as she took that in. She was going to be pregnant for another eight months.

When the appointment was over, she and Bernie walked out together.

“That was so exciting,” her friend said. “There’s so much to learn.” She linked arms with Zennie. “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to the meal service. I’ll send you the link so you can put in your preferences. They’ll deliver the food right to your door. Oh, and let me know when you want to go shopping for support stockings. Hayes and I will be paying for those, too.”

“You don’t have to,” Zennie protested, wondering when, exactly, she’d agreed to the meal service.

“They’re expensive,” Bernie told her. “You’ll need a few pairs because they have to be washed by hand and they need time to hang dry.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

Bernie smiled. “I’ve been reading up on your pregnancy. You can ask me anything.”

Zennie ignored the image of her small bathroom filled with old-lady stockings and told herself this, too, would pass. She was having a baby. Compromises had to be made. Eight months wasn’t all that long and in the end, when she handed over their happy, healthy baby, she would know she’d done a good thing. Until then, she was going to suck it up and eat her greens. And, apparently, wear support hose.





Chapter Twenty-One


Finola found it more and more painful to check on the house. Every time she drove the familiar streets, she had to admit that she was alone, she’d been chased out of her home and was now living with her mother. Hardly the description of someone at the pinnacle of her success. She lived in fear of being recognized, of having someone point and laugh. Showing up to work had become increasingly difficult and she no longer slept at night.

She’d done enough shows on mental health topics to guess she was dealing with a bout of depression. She’d read about it but wasn’t prepared for the sense of heaviness that pervaded every part of her day—as if there was suddenly more gravity. She felt sluggish and ugly and sad nearly all the time. And hopeless, she thought as she pulled into the garage and carefully closed the door behind her.

She walked into the house and stood in the silence. Everything looked as it had the last time she’d been here and the time before that. Mail was neatly piled on the entry table. The housecleaning service kept things clean, and she’d canceled the meal service. The gardener and pool guy kept the outside of the house looking tidy. The only thing missing from this life was her and Nigel, and without him, what was the point?

She flipped through the mail. Most of the bills came electronically, so she didn’t have to worry about that. Nigel hadn’t emptied their bank account and she had her own checking account, so money wouldn’t be an issue. Not in the short term. Even her mother wanted her to talk to a lawyer, but Finola couldn’t imagine it. What would she say? The lawyer would ask her what she wanted and she honest to God had no idea.

She walked through the kitchen, the family room, then down the hall. The pictures still hung where they always had. The cracks from the last 5.0 earthquake looked exactly the same. She touched the textured walls and wished the house could touch her back, that it would tell her all would be well. Only it couldn’t and even if it could, she doubted it would lie.

She took the stairs to the second floor. After bypassing the master, she walked into what they had always said would be the baby’s room. The walls were a pale yellow and the wood trim was painted white. There was a window seat and a nice-sized closet.

How many times had they talked about having a baby? How many times had Nigel said he was ready, that he didn’t want to be seventy when his kid graduated from high school, and how many times had she put him off? Soon, she’d promised. Next year for sure. But one year had bled into another until Nigel had stopped asking.