Didi Wood was walking to the mall from her car when her pregnant belly began to tighten until it felt like a taut basketball. She winced through her discomfort and slowed down to a near halt; this contraction was particularly strong. She leaned against a minivan, rubbing her belly with one hand as she wiped her forehead with the other. Maybe she shouldn’t go to the mall. But she had promised Amanda new alphabet blocks a few days ago, and she wanted to keep her promise. Also, she needed new face cream.
Didi thought it was a good day for the air-conditioned comfort shopping provided. Dallas was having a brief heat spell. It was called summer. She contemplated driving to Rich’s office and spending the hour before their lunch date relaxing on his small sofa, but decided to stay. She’d be all right. It was only an hour.
She couldn’t wait to get inside the mall. When she had left the house earlier for her doctor’s appointment, the temperature had already been in the high nineties. A radio bulletin had informed her there was a heat advisory on – for old ladies, for small children, and for women in Didi’s delicate condition.
Perspiring and uncomfortable, she waddled into NorthPark.
Estée Lauder had something for her at Dillard’s. The last thing Didi needed was more cosmetics, but who was she to refuse a little gift from a big department store? She was offered moisture-rich black mascara, two lipsticks whose shades she didn’t particularly like, a perfume sampler, a pocket brush, some hand cream, and a makeup bag. It was the makeup bag she wanted.
The gift was free – with a $17.50 purchase.
Didi thought it was uncanny the way Estée Lauder never priced her products at $17.50. Oh, there was plenty for $15, all kinds of lipsticks and eyeliners and mascaras. And there was plenty for $30, $50, and $72. Nothing actually for $17.50.
To get the free gift, Didi spent $108.75 – plus tax. She bought a jar of Fruition face cream, a rose lipstick for spring, even though it was July, and a teal eye pencil for her brown eyes. While she was waiting to pay, Didi felt the Belly tighten again. She grasped the counter.
‘Oh,’ the girl behind the counter said. ‘Not long now?’
Didi managed to nod.
‘When are you due?’
The contraction passed, and Didi looked at her watch. ‘In about two hours,’ she said lightly.
After seeing the frightened expression on the salesgirl’s pretty face, Didi said, ‘Just kidding. I guess you don’t have any kids – two weeks.’
The salesgirl breathed a short sigh of relief and smiled. ‘Whew,’ she said. ‘You’re right, I don’t have any kids. Not yet, anyway.’ Then, with a little nervous laugh, she asked. ‘You’re not in labor, are you?’
‘No, no,’ Didi said, outwardly smiling but inwardly fretting, wishing the girl would hurry with her receipt. She wanted to get to FAO Schwarz. She added, ‘I’m having these little fake contractions. Braxton Hicks, they’re called. They’re a pain, but they’re not the real thing. Believe me, they’re nothing like the real thing.’
The girl giggled. ‘Oh, gosh, I’m never having kids. It’s just all so scary, the labor, the pregnancy.’ The girl handed Didi the receipt.
‘It’s not too bad,’ Didi said, signing her name. ‘It’s really not too bad at all. You forget right away.’
‘Bet you don’t,’ said the girl.
‘No you do,’ said Didi. ‘You have to. Otherwise we’d never have more than one baby.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ said the girl, looking at Didi’s face. ‘Your skin is so nice. Do you use any foundation?’
Didi pushed the signed receipt toward the girl and reached for her makeup, which the girl wasn’t giving her. ‘I’m done here. Thanks anyway. Can I have my stuff, please?’
‘Oh, sure, sure,’ said the girl, handing her the bag. ‘Well, good luck.’
Didi smiled. ‘Have a nice day.’
In FAO Schwarz, the matronly woman behind the counter complimented Didi on her sleeveless yellow sundress. ‘Banana Republic,’ replied Didi.
‘Oh, I didn’t know they did maternity,’ said the saleswoman.
‘They don’t,’ Didi said. ‘It’s an extra large.’ She hated saying ‘extra large,’ but she didn’t like being ashamed of her size either. The woman handed her the bags and said, ‘Are you going to be okay with these? They’re kind of heavy.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Didi. ‘I only have a few more stops to make.’
She was glad NorthPark wasn’t as busy as it was on Saturdays. She didn’t like to push through crowds with her bags and the Belly.
In Coach, Didi bought herself a new leather purse. It was brown, medium-sized, and on sale for $60, down from $120. With the $60 saved, she bought herself a wallet.
‘When are you due?’ asked the lady helping her.
‘Two weeks,’ replied Didi, holding on to the Belly. She needed to sit. Gravity was pulling the baby down. Didi needed him or her to stay inside for a few more weeks. She and Rich were planning an escape to Lake Texoma in Oklahoma the following weekend.
‘Do you know what it’s going to be?’
Didi shook her head. ‘We want to be surprised,’ she said.
‘That’s nice,’ said the lady. ‘I couldn’t do that. I wanted to know with my two kids. I have two boys.’
Didi smiled, signing the American Express receipt. ‘That’s nice. We have two girls. Do you like having two boys?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the lady. Before Didi had a chance to reply, the woman said, ‘They’re a handful. But I wanted to try again for a girl. My husband said no more. What if we continue having boys for ten years? Two’s plenty, he said. Who am I to argue, right? He pays the bills. I only work to make myself a little extra for the holidays, you know?’
Didi smiled and nodded knowingly. ‘We would like a boy,’ she admitted. ‘But it doesn’t matter. Boy or girl, we’re done after this one.’
‘I hear you, sister,’ said the saleslady.
Didi laughed. ‘I’m sure your boys must be wonderful,’ she said.
‘Oh, no, they’re terrors,’ said the lady. ‘Five and seven. Absolute terrors.’
As she walked out of Coach, Didi smelled something sweet and delicious. She looked at her watch. 12.20. Lunch with Richie in forty minutes. She remembered their fight last night and sighed. No. She was meeting Rich in forty minutes, but that didn’t mean she would be eating in forty minutes because there would be more arguing,