"You have no reason to worry, Amber."
Did Amber get the point? Oh yes, Annie thought she did. Just as Annie had gotten the point: whatever might have happened between you, which of course could not be much, because here I am carrying his baby, as they say on the soaps, whatever happened, it didn't really happen at all.
"God! Total relief!"
"It must be pretty tough, walking around with that kind of secret."
Amber gave a little laugh of agreement.
"Especially since it can't really stay a secret," Annie added, enjoying the touch of cruelty in the remark. "I'm sorry the family part is so awful," she said, to compensate. "His kids are pretty proprietary. But, you know, Amber, even if they weren't, it's always hard--a new member of an established family." Not to mention two new members, she thought. Poor Amber. Fireworks ahead. "Oh well, I guess you won't be the first stepmother in the world."
"Stepmother?" Amber looked confused. "Oh, them." A bitter laugh. "Right. He's so devoted to them."
She said the word "devoted" as if it were a disease Frederick had caught from his children.
"I mean, he's always having to go into New York to see them, to stay with them. God, he can't be away from them for more than a few days. I sure as hell don't spend that much time with my father. And I wouldn't want to, either. Couldn't pay me to. We fight like cats and dogs, me and him. Wait till he hears about this. That should be fun on a bun. But what the fuck."
"What the fuck," Annie repeated.
"Freddie is so scared Gwen will hijack his grandchildren once he tells her. Like he'll have time for grandchildren, with his own baby? I don't think so. But tell him that. Well, he'll just have to get used to the situation, I can understand that. God bless. He hasn't been in this position in a long time, right? That's what my trainer says."
"You told your trainer?"
"Well, not in so many words, but they feel things, they can just tell. And I had to let her know I was pregnant." She lowered her voice when she said "pregnant," the way people sometimes do when they say "gay" or "black" or "cancer."
"So I know it will take a while, and if I didn't know how he really felt, I guess I would be really insecure and defensive. But since I'm so sure, I can totally wait." She paused: assessing, Annie thought. Then, seemingly satisfied with Annie's studied neutrality, she continued: "And if I really thought he wanted me to, I would get an abortion, you know." She straightened her spine and let her chin jut out prettily. "I would do anything to make him happy."
"But he didn't want you to?"
"Oh my God, no. He asked what I wanted, isn't that so totally Mr. Frederick Barrow? And did I want him to get in touch with a doctor he knew, and of course he would pay and everything, but when I said that he had no obligation at all to even recognize his own child as his own, because after all we're all children of the planet in a way, you understand what I mean, I know you do, well, he wouldn't hear of that. He's an honorable human being. And of course, he was just looking out for me, because I'm so young and everything."
Poor Frederick had gotten himself caught in a web spun of his own thread, part manly sexual adventure, part manly honor. Annie could see that there was no way out. She tried to conjure up the anger of the day before. He was old enough to know better, he was irresponsible, there was a completely innocent life at stake, hadn't he thought about that, hadn't he ever heard of contraceptives, was he so out of control? But really all she could feel now was pity. He had made a mistake and he would pay for it for the rest of his life.
"There you are!" Mr. Shpuntov yelled out, spotting Rosalyn. "Highway robbery. I should have been a plumber, I tell you."
"You were a plumber," Rosalyn said drily. "For fifty years."
Miranda watched Cousin Lou lead Mr. Shpuntov into the dining room. She sat as far from everyone as she could. She ate her goose and her duck and her apple pie. She drank eggnog. She offered Annie the occasional sheepish smile, which Annie returned in kind. She participated in the lighting of the Hanukkah candles. Poor Hanukkah, she thought as she did every year, as if it were a bird with a bent wing she'd found on the sidewalk. It was the third night of the holiday. They had completely forgotten the first two.
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