OLIVIA LOOKED AT the room full of pregnant women, all clutching their partners’ hands, and was relieved that she and Ruby were not the only pair of women. In fact, of the ten pregnant women, four of them had female partners. She took comfort in this, as if she was part of a club of sorts. She took comfort, too, in the way that Ruby clutched her hand. “This makes it so real,” Ruby said to her.
Ruby was wide-eyed, staring openly at the other bulging stomachs, the odd shapes they took. Olivia noticed, too. When her sister, Amy, was pregnant with Matthew, their mother used to point out pregnant women in stores and restaurants and describe how they were carrying: “all in the front,” she’d say, or “low around the hips.” Olivia had not really paid attention then, but now she saw what her mother meant. Right across from her was a woman shaped like a barrel, then another who appeared to be straining over her high breasts and belly.
Although all of the pregnant women had attempted to look cute, with wide sleeveless blouses or maternity T-shirts, everything in baby colors—mint green or pale pink—and baby designs—rocking horses and bunny rabbits—they still looked hot and uncomfortable and too big for their bodies. Olivia peeked at Ruby, who was still carefully checking out the others, even muttering under her breath. At least in David’s black T-shirt and the stretch pants Winnie had left behind for her, Ruby looked less ridiculous than some of these women, even though her belly sometimes poked out, revealing a band of stretched flesh. Olivia was proud of her, and she gave Ruby’s sweaty hand a little squeeze.
The class that was about to begin, the one they were all waiting for so nervously, was named the Planned-Birth Class, which sounded ridiculous, especially considering that Ruby’s pregnancy, at least, was so unplanned. From the looks of the other young girl who sat in the corner chewing a hunk of hair and gripping her mother’s hand tightly enough to leave marks, there were other people here with equally unplanned pregnancies.
When the instructor arrived, everybody gasped a little. Maybe they, like she and Ruby, had expected an Earth Mother type, someone with long, unruly hair, unshaved legs, a gypsy skirt. Someone who looked like she’d had several babies at home in Oregon or Vermont, who would share a chant or odd birthing position that would make all of this easier. “Her name,” Ruby had said on the ride over, “will be Sarah—with an h. Or something else biblical. Naomi, maybe.”
Instead, the instructor was tall and thin—the word lithe came to mind—with stylishly short blond hair, a deep tan, and bright blue eyes. She had on a hot-pink Lycra minidress and high-heeled sandals.
“Hi,” she said, in such a bubbly voice that everyone eyed one another. They were big and hot and uncomfortable, these women. She sounded more like a flight attendant than a birthing teacher. “I’m Nikki, the instructor. It looks like you’re all in the right place.”
Even though everyone laughed politely, there was hostility in the air.
Nikki took off her sandals and sat down on one of the soft sofas. All of the pregnant women had rejected them. “Too hard to get out of,” Ruby had explained.
Ruby narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Nikki, who seemed to bounce into and out of the sofa with great ease before finally settling in its center.
“Okay,” Nikki said in her perky voice, “So who am I? I’ve taught this class for three years.” Then she added, “I’m an R.N. Studying to be a midwife.”
“Excuse me,” said a woman who looked older than Olivia. She had wiry salt-and-pepper hair, oversized glasses, and a stomach that was so oblong, it looked as if her baby were actually lying sideways. “I would feel more comfortable with someone who’s had real experience.”
Nikki kept grinning. “I’ve taught this very class for three years.”
“No,” the woman insisted, “I mean someone who has gone through this herself. Someone who’s had children.”
“Yes!” said another woman, this one as short and square as a Jeep. “Me, too.” Her husband had grease under his nails and in the lines of his hands, a mechanic’s hands.
Nikki smiled broadly, showing all of her dazzling white teeth. “Believe me,” she said, “I’ve been through this, too. I have three children, all delivered without any pain medication at all.”
As a group, everyone looked at her tiny body and then down at their own, miserably.
“Of course, you can get pain medication if you choose,” Nikki was saying. “But I think we can work on ways that will make that unnecessary. Breathing. Creative visualization. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
No one was really paying attention. The hostility in the air thickened. They all hated Nikki, that was for certain.
“I want my Sarah,” Ruby told Olivia as they filled out information cards. “Not Pamela Lee.”
“In a way, this is good,” Olivia said. “She represents something to look forward to.”
“I never looked like that before I got knocked up,” Ruby blurted, and across the room someone snickered.
Then Ruby added, “I think she’s lying. I don’t think she’s ever had a kid.”
“That would be unethical,” Olivia whispered.