El Virus waved him off, her gelled nails thickly red, like a manicured vulture. “Ant’n’y, you’re a man, you don’t know! I fainted all the time, carryin’ you and your brother. She has to eat for her blood sugar!”
“Her blood sugar is fine.” Anthony sat down as Mary’s father and The Tonys settled into their seats and began passing the steaming platter of ravioli, which trailed an aroma of tomatoes, oregano, and fresh basil. Mary’s mother hovered, waiting for Mary to need something before she sat down, dressed in her flowery housedress, with her arthritic fingers forming a gnarled ball at her waist and her gray hair teased to cover her bald spot.
“Maria, drink some water, you gotta drink.”
“I will, Ma.”
“Drink!”
“Look, see?” Mary raised the water glass and took a sip, like a drinking demonstration, and her mother smiled, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek and a little back rub.
“Love you, cara.”
“Love you, too, Ma.”
“So good you come home.”
“I’m happy to.” Mary kept her smile on, feeling guilty that she didn’t mean it completely. Her mother loved her to the marrow, as did her father and The Tonys, and her family meant everything to her. But she’d had such a horrible day at work, with the firm being sued, the press conference that went sideways, and the fighting between John and Anne, that everything suddenly seemed like too much, on top of her pregnancy.
“Mare, you need to take it easy, you work too hard.” El Virus pulled up a chair next to Mary, her Opium perfume as thick as tomato sauce. Mary tried not to breathe in, newly sensitive to smells, but the scent was her mother-in-law’s trademark, along with her jet-black shag, bedazzled skinny jeans, and white tank top that read World’s Best Grandma. It struck Mary that her mother-in-law dressed much younger, while her mother dressed much older, in the stop-time tradition of the DiNunzios.
Mary looked around, seeing the kitchen with new eyes. Everything was from another era; the dented spaghetti pot and coffee percolator had to be fifty years old, and her mother didn’t own a garbage disposal or dishwasher, still doing the dishes by hand and collecting the “slop” in a metal bin in the sink. An old church calendar faded on the walls, with a washed-out Jesus Christ looking heavenward, or maybe rolling his eyes, undoubtedly wondering why her parents had no air conditioner but still used a fan, which whirred away on the kitchen counter, evenly distributing the humidity. The Mass cards tucked behind the switchplate with dried palm were the only thing that ever changed here, growing in number as their relatives and friends passed away. Vita and Matty DiNunzio were getting older, and Mary felt the years closing in, along with everything else.
Tony-From-Down-The-Block tucked his napkin in his T-shirt collar like an adult bib, which Mary happened to know he had on with his adult diapers, so like a one-man Circle of Life. He said, “She should quit work. That’s what I think. She shouldn’t work while she’s pregnant.”
“Si, si, e vero.” Pigeon Tony nodded, his bald head already deeply tanned since he spent so much time outside with his homing pigeons.
Feet pushed up his Mr. Potatohead glasses, clucking. “Mare, you gotta slow down. It’s crazy, it’s too much.”
“SHE LIKES TA WORK. SHE’S GOT A BUSINESS TO RUN.”
Feet frowned, his milky-brown eyes magnified by his bifocals. “But she can’t work right up to the time the baby comes.”
“Sure, I can, I’m fine.” Mary glanced at Anthony, who was looking down at his plate as he ate.
El Virus pointed at Mary’s food. “Mare, eat!”
Her mother, nodded, watching Mary. “Maria, mangia.”
“I got it, Ma,” Mary tried not to sound testy, picking up her fork. It seemed so Olive Garden that her mother actually said mangia, but some stereotypes rang true for a reason. She looked at her full plate, and her stomach rumbled. She knew she should eat, but the tomato sauce and Opium weren’t mixing with the progesterone.
Feet frowned. “Mare, when are you gonna quit work?”
“When the doctor tells me to.” Mary didn’t want to have the discussion right now. She had been ducking this subject because it touched on a sore spot for her and Anthony. The subject made him feel terrible, since he didn’t have a job. She wanted to keep working, and given their finances, she really didn’t have a choice.
Feet persisted, “And then how much time you going to take off? Like a year, two years?”
“I don’t think that long,” Mary answered, keeping it vague, but she noticed her mother eyeing her, chewing slowly, and her father blinking behind his glasses. Both of them had to be wondering what Mary and Anthony had planned, but she didn’t want to make any announcement right now, especially not with The Tonys here.
El Virus brightened. “Mary can go back to work right away. I’ll babysit every day. It’s no problem. I can’t even wait! I already bought a playpen.”
Mary’s mother pursed her lips. “Elvira, I tol’ you, I can take care a the baby. Every day, we’ll come and sit.”
“RIGHT! WE GOT YOU COVERED, MARE. ME AND YOUR MOTHER. I WONDER IF IT WILL BE A GIRL OR A BOY!”
Elvira glanced at Mary’s mother, sideways. “Vita, don’t hog the baby. We’ll have a schedule. I’ll sit on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and you guys sit on Tuesday and Thursday.”
Mary’s mother’s eyes flared in indignation, so Mary stepped in. “Ladies, let’s not worry about it now, we still have two months to go.”
Feet interjected, “Mary, how are you going to swing this at work? You’re going to stay home with the baby, right?”
Mary was about to answer, but Anthony stiffened, cutting her off. “No,” he said coolly, “that’s not what we’re planning. Mary’s going back to work as soon as she feels ready, probably in a few weeks, and I’m going to stay home with the baby.”
Mary’s mouth went dry. She wouldn’t have gone there, but Anthony was on a roll, turning to his mother.
“Mom, I appreciate your offer, but we won’t need a babysitter at all. I’m going to take care of the baby full-time.” Anthony then faced Mary’s mother, with a smile. “Vita, thank you so much for your offer to babysit, but I don’t think we’ll be needing you or Matty on a daily basis, either.”
“What?” El Virus’s mouth dropped open.
“Che?” Mary’s mother asked, frowning.
“DID HE SAY HE’S GONNA BE THE BABYSITTER?”
The Tonys looked uniformly aghast. Feet set down his fork. “Ant, you’re the dad.”
Tony-From-Down-The-Block shook his head. “Ant, you mean you’re going to be, like, the mom?”
Pigeon Tony spoke rapid Italian, and again, Mary got the gist, which was, Women are supposed to stay home with babies and men are supposed to go out and make money, the way God intended. Also they can have mistresses, but this might not be the time to bring that up.
Mary didn’t intend to argue with any of them. There was no point in trying to convince this very traditional group of men of anything remotely modern, like the fact that women should have the vote. Meanwhile, she could see her father getting with the program, his gaze softening. He slumped in his white T-shirt, and his eyebrows sloped down behind his glasses. He’d been a tilesetter his working life, but his blocky build had changed as he aged, his broad shoulders worn by time, like rocks. Even though he was uneducated, he was no dummy, and despite appearances, he was the more intuitive of her parents. Mary was a Daddy’s girl, from way back.
Her father’s soft gaze shifted to the Tonys. “GUYS, YOU’RE TOO OLD-FASHION. MEN CAN BE MOMS, TOO, NOWADAYS. IT’S THE NEW THING. IT’S OKAY. IT HAPPENS.”
Feet nodded. “I know, I’ve heard of that. Hell, I got those guys across the street, they’re gay and the one dad stays home with the baby and the other dad goes to work. If you got two dads, you gotta have a dad staying home. You got no choice.”
Tony-From-Down-The-Block shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”
El Virus turned
to Anthony in bewilderment. “But honey, when do we get the baby?”
Mary’s mother nodded, equally confused. “Si, quando? Maria?”
Mary had to derail this before the moms lost their minds. “Ma, Elvira, listen. Of course you’ll get to see the baby. You’ll come over our house, and we’ll come over your house. You’ll get to see the baby plenty. You just don’t have to babysit every day.”
Anthony added, “Exactly, it goes without saying that you’ll see the baby. We want you to see the baby and we want you in the baby’s life. But my staying home makes the most sense for Mary and me, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“Mmph.” El Virus sucked her teeth. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Allora,” Mary’s mother said under her breath, and Mary knew her mother wasn’t happy. Allora could mean arg, sheesh, or we’ll see about that, and in this case, it meant all of the above.
“MARE, I HATE TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT BUT I GOTTA ASK. I HEARD SOME CRAZY NEWS FROM CAMARR ANNIE. SHE HEARD IT FROM CHICKEN JIMMY WHO HEARD IT FROM HIS SISTER DENISE WHO HEARD IT ON THE TV. FROM DENISE NAKANO, THE ONE YOU SAID IS JAPANESE NOT CHINESE.”
“What?” Mary asked, worrying that dinner was about to go from bad to worse. Nobody in South Philly needed the Internet because they already had the Neighborhood.
“I HEARD THAT YOUR LAW FIRM IS GETTING SUED. IS THAT RIGHT? THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT, CAN IT?”
Mary cringed inwardly. “Yes, that’s true. We got the papers today.”
“HOLY GOD, WHAT THE HELL FOR?”
Mary picked at her ravioli. “We’re being sued for reverse sex discrimination.”
“HUH? WHAT ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT?” Her father’s eyes flew open, cataracts edging his brown eyes like advancing stormclouds. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT, CAN YOU? THAT’S NOT LEGAL!”
“Mare, for real, some guy is suin’ you because you’re all girls?” Tony-From-Down-The-Block wiped his chin.
“Remember, we’re not an all-women firm anymore. We have John Foxman, a male lawyer, and we also have Lou Jacobs, a male investigator.”
Feet recoiled, blinking. “I can’t get over this! That’s not gentlemanly! What kinda man sues women? That’s like hitting a woman! Who does such a thing?”
“Disgrazia!” Pigeon Tony frowned deeply, speaking Italian so quickly that Mary couldn’t translate fast enough, though she got the gist again, which was I will kill anybody who hurts you, Mary.
“WHAT COURT WILL LET YOU GET SUED FOR THAT, MARE? THE JUDGE WILL THROW THE CASE OUT, WON’T HE?”
“Matty, stop askin’ her questions.” El Virus moved Mary’s plate closer to her. “Mare, don’t talk, eat!”
Her mother looked worried behind her glasses. “Maria, whatsa matter? You no like? You wan’ some soup? Some crackers?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine, Ma,” Mary said, stabbing a ravioli. “Pop, it’s a ridiculous lawsuit, but we’ll win. Don’t worry. Nick Machiavelli’s on the other side, so you know the whole thing’s a sham.”
“YOU’LL GET IT THROWN OUT. MACHIAVELLI IS A CAVONE.”
Feet nodded. “Sure she will. Mary’s a great lawyer!”
Tony-From-Down-The-Block nodded, chewing. “You’ll win, Mary. You always do. That phony’s got nothin’ on you.”
“RIGHT.” Her father’s gaze, full of love, found Mary’s across the table. “EVERYTHING’S GONNA BE ALL RIGHT, HONEY.”
“I know, Pop,” Mary said, and for a second, she almost believed it was true.
CHAPTER NINE
After dinner was finally over, Mary and Anthony cruised in their Prius through the warren of streets that was South Philly. Mary began to relax, the fatigue of the day catching up with her. The car interior was dark and cool, she rested her head back on the headrest, content to let herself be driven. She always loved that Anthony knew the neighborhood as well as she did, and he could navigate the crazy matrix of one-way streets. Luckily there was almost no traffic, and the motion of the car lulled her into drowsiness.
“That went well,” Anthony said after a moment, and Mary opened her eyes, realizing that she’d almost fallen asleep.
“What did?”
“You know, breaking the news that I’m going to be staying home with the baby.”
“I was surprised that you did that,” Mary said, realizing that it wasn’t the best thing to say after the words left her lips.
“Somebody had to.” Anthony looked over in the darkness, and Mary couldn’t make out his features, but she knew from his tone of voice he was hurt.
“I didn’t mean it to be critical.”
“It sounded critical.”
“It wasn’t, I’m just tired.” Mary felt it was the truest sentence she had spoken all day, and maybe even for the past seven months.
“Okay, whatever.” Anthony fell silent, watching the light change from green to red. “I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does.”
“What does?”
“You know, that I’m the one staying home.”
Mary sighed inwardly. “Don’t let the Tonys get to you. They’re from a different place and time, you know that.”
“I know, but still.” Anthony hit the gas. “I’m only staying home because it makes the most sense for all of us.”
“I know that, and I appreciate it.”
“As soon as my book is finished, I’m hoping I can find a publisher.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then maybe we can get a nanny, or let our mothers do it, or whatever.”
“Right, we’ll see how it goes.” Mary wished she could make it all right for him, but she couldn’t. And part of the problem was how guilty she felt, because he had turned down a big teaching job at UCLA for her, so she didn’t have to move away from Philadelphia.
“I mean, obviously, I’m excited about the baby and all, and I’ll love being home with him. Or her.”
“Of course you will.”
“But it wasn’t the plan. Obviously, it’s not the plan.”
“No, right.” Mary bit her tongue. She had heard him say this before, but she never knew how to react. Truth to tell, it wasn’t the plan for her either. She would’ve loved to have stayed home with the baby for more than a few weeks. She’d always envisioned herself as an at-home mother, at least for a time. But they got pregnant sooner than they’d expected, so they had to compromise. And like any good settlement, neither side was completely happy.
“I don’t even know if I’ll be good at it.”
“Of course you will,” Mary said, to soothe him. “You’ll be a great dad.”
“But will I be a great mom?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes.” Anthony chuckled.
“Seriously? Don’t buy in. We don’t have their ideas of what women do and men do. Please don’t let it make you crazy, or me.”
“I won’t.”
“We’re better than that. We’re smarter than that.”
“I know.” Anthony paused. “But your parents get to me. I feel bad in front of them, ashamed.”
“Why, honey?” Mary asked, hurt for him.
Anthony shrugged, his dark gaze looking out into the night. “Obviously, I wish I had been able to provide for you, so your father wouldn’t worry or your mother.”
“Aw, honey, don’t be that way. They love you, and that’s all that matters. They know you’re amazing and great, and when you sell your book, things will change.”
“But what if I don’t sell it?”
“You will.”
“But what if I don’t?” Anthony repeated, and Mary knew the anxiety was deep-seated, for them both.
“Then you’ll write another one, or another job offer will come up, and either way, we’ll have each other and a beautiful little baby girl.”
Anthony managed a smile, a welcome shadow in the dark car. “Hold on, I thought you said it was a boy. You said it felt like a boy.”
“I changed my mind.” Mary smiled back. “At this point,
I don’t care if it’s a girl or boy.”
Anthony recoiled. “What? You want a girl.”
“Not anymore. Either way, it’ll get sued.”
Anthony laughed.
“You still want a boy?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Truly, I’ll take either. That’s the kind of mom I am.”
“Please, I’ve had enough gender politics for one day, with this litigation.” Mary let her thoughts cycle back to the Answer, which they had spent the afternoon drafting. “I’ll probably have to go in tomorrow to do some research on the case.”
“But it’s Saturday.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Mary said, not wanting to fight. She and Anthony got along so beautifully, but the only thing they fought over was how much she worked, yet another role reversal.
“So Machiavelli’s really suing the firm?”
“Yes, did you see the press conference?”
“I caught it online, and yours, too.”
“Oh that must’ve been terrific.” Mary shuddered. “Can we not talk about it? It was a debacle. The whole thing is a debacle.”
“On the plus side, you looked pretty. So did Bennie. Less Amazonian than usual.”
Mary smiled. “Anne made us up. Like my new dress?”
“How much did it cost?”
“The firm paid for it.”
“Then I love it.” Anthony sighed. “You really have to go in tomorrow? Can’t you slack? It’s been so long since we’ve had a lazy weekend. There’s not that many more left before the baby comes.”
“I can’t, honey.” Mary put her hand on his leg. “This lawsuit is too important. He named us as individual defendants, did you know that?”
“Wait, what?” Anthony braked at the light, and Mary could see his alarmed frown.
“He’s suing us under a law that enables him to sue the three partners personally.”
“Does that mean what I think it means? If you lose, we pay it? Personally?”
“Yes,” Mary answered, kicking herself. She knew that Anthony worried about money, which she understood, but she was in no mood.
“How would we pay? How much? What damages are they asking?”