Read Online Babyland by Holly Chamberlin - Free Book Online Page A

it, sort of, for about a minute.
    Whatever the case, Michaela was in my life at the time I met and got engaged to Ross. And at the time I found out I was pregnant. And the reason this is significant is because, for reasons I still can’t fathom, Michaela wanted a child.
    All right. I admit to being judgmental. Just because Michaela doesn’t seem the motherly type doesn’t mean she isn’t potentially the motherly type. The fact is she’s responsible and intelligent, and responsibility and intelligence are two good qualities for a parent to possess. Right?
    There I was passing judgment on my friend’s maternal capabilities when I myself wasn’t at all sure I would make a good parent. At least Michaela wanted a child. At least she was actively pursuing adoption, having given up on the possibility of marriage and having declared quite emphatically that she would never be so insane as to go through a pregnancy without a husband, and at the age of forty-something.
    It’s also true she had stated quite definitely that the very idea of childbirth disgusted her. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to childbirth, either. Why, I wondered, couldn’t it be like it was in the old days? Why couldn’t the doctors just knock you out completely? It seemed a civil way to do things. And when you woke, all bathed and stitched and wearing a pale pink, satin bed jacket tied with a bow, a nurse would hand you your baby, all clean and pretty and already preferring a bottle to a breast, and you hoped, once you were home, you’d have no drug-addled memories of the actual birth.
    Anyway, there I was, engaged to a wonderful man and pregnant with his child. And there was poor Michaela, wading through the bureaucratic red tape of legal adoption, spending large amounts of money to no avail, and going home every night to an empty, albeit luxurious, apartment.
    And I had to tell her that I was going to have a baby.
    â€œShe’ll find out,” Alexandra told me. “You don’t owe her information.”
    Alexandra never liked Michaela. In fact, it was mutual loathing at first sight.
    â€œI don’t loathe her,” Alexandra once protested after a particularly acid exchange between the two women over cocktails at the Four Seasons. “I just distrust her. And I despise her. I don’t know why you’re friends with that woman. I don’t know why you keep asking her to join us.”
    Frankly, I’m not sure why I continued to include Michaela in our social plans. I guess I began to suspect that in spite of—because of?—her beauty and arrogant bearing, Michaela was a lonely person. Maybe I was her only real friend. Maybe she felt it was better to spend an evening sparring with Alexandra than to sit home alone.
    â€œSit home alone?” Alexandra had laughed. “Michaela? She’s out with a different guy every night, you can be sure of it.”
    â€œI’m not so sure you’re right,” I’d protested. “A lot of men are intimidated by gorgeous women.”
    â€œThat’s a myth perpetuated by average-looking women to help them deal with their killing jealousy. Besides, I have my spies. I hear things about Michaela.”
    â€œYou’re so suspicious!”
    â€œAnd you’re such a bleeding heart. But, it doesn’t matter what I think. I tolerate her for your sake, honey.”
    â€œBarely. You barely tolerate her.”
    â€œI’ll try to be good. I’ll try to be better. Okay?”
    â€œOkay,” I said. I knew that for my sake my friend would try to control her strong feelings of dislike for Michaela, but I had absolutely no hope for her success.
    Anyway, Wednesday came around. I got to Leopard a few minutes early and took a small table away from the already crowded bar. I wanted some privacy when I told Michaela my news.
    At precisely six o’clock, Michaela arrived. She looked spectacular, as usual.