It’s when she tells me that she’s signed up for a woodworking class that I start to think she’s lost her lovely little mind.  She’s signing up for everything!  The Lamaze classes are scheduled, and she’s taking a yoga class for pregnant women.  She’s already finished a knitting class and judging by the volume of stuff rolling off the needles, I think she’s making a cozy for her car.  Every time she’s sitting down, she’s got the needles going a hundred miles a minute, but I’m not teasing her about it because she could do some serious damage with those needles if I piss her off.  She’s joined the book club at the library and she gets the books on CD so she doesn’t have to set her knitting needles down to turn the page.  On the upside, that cooking class was totally worthwhile.  For a few weeks, I was eating like a king and we’ve got enough freaking gumbo in the freezer to feed Emeril’s studio audience.  The pottery class, on the other hand, was a bit of a bust, but I do have the world’s most lopsided coffee mug to show for it. It holds about a quart of coffee and has the word HOT painted on the side in bright red paint.  “HOT”, she tells me, refers to me, the coffee, and serves as a warning to the baby, who will apparently be a genius who reads before the age of 1.  But…woodworking?  She tells me she wants to make something for the baby’s room and I think it would be easier if she’d just paint something instead of build something, but I don’t tell her that.

~~

     Just when I think I know her, when I think I’ve seen all her moods and quirks, she changes.  She flits behind a rock like a sunfish; she hides, hovering in the castle, just peering at me, like an angelfish.  I’m trying hard to make conversation, to draw her out, but her guard is up and her mood is down.  I don’t know what’s going on, what she’s hiding.  She doesn’t want to talk about her meeting with her professor, but says that he gave her some good advice and she’s satisfied with her grade now.  I don’t ask anything more.

     Over dinner, we talk a little about an upcoming seminar at work and she laughs a bit when I speculate on Michael’s contribution.  Then… silence.  I ask if she turned her grade card in to Angela for reimbursement on her tuition.  She says yes, she did, and she apologizes because we’ll only get a percentage back, not the 100% we would have received if she’d gotten As rather than Bs.  I say it doesn’t matter, I tell her I don’t care about that.  I compliment her on dinner and she thanks me, tells me it was nothing.  I ask her if she’s feeling okay and she says, yeah, but she’s tired.  More silence.  I say, please tell me what’s wrong, I can see something’s bothering you, but she says she’s fine, just tired.  I tell her that I’ll do the dishes, she should go and lie down and she thanks me.  She gets up from the table and before she leaves the kitchen, she leans over my shoulders and wraps her arms around my neck.  She kisses my cheek and says she loves me; she’ll be okay in the morning.

     As I scrape the plates, I see the spring class schedule in the bottom of the garbage can, still open and folded over to the art classes.  I know this much about her: she’ll talk to me when she’s ready and if I push and prod her, sometimes it makes it worse.  I just need to be available.  I just need to be close. 

     I turn the lights out downstairs and head upstairs with a cup of tea.  She’s lying on her side, facing away from me, just the nightlight from the bathroom glowing.  I set her tea down on the nightstand and I see she’s awake.  Awake, dry-eyed, staring at nothing.  I kneel down on the floor beside the bed and kiss her.  I say, everything’s going to be okay and I comb my fingers through her hair.  She nods and says she knows it will.  I tell her I love her and she says nothing but she reaches for my face with both hands and she kisses me, then holds my face to hers, cheek to cheek, for a long time.

“Lay down with me,” she says.

I’m still in my work clothes, but I don’t hesitate. I curl around her back, slide my arm under her head and she reaches for my hand.  I wrap my other arm around her waist and she shifts back against me.  Closer. 

“You’re always so warm,” she says.

“Do you want covers?” I ask her.

“No.  Just you.”

     I hold her and I wait. I kiss her neck and we breathe together.  She puts her feet between my calves and I reposition my legs to warm them.  And I wait.

“The last thing in the world I ever want to do is disappoint you.”

I say, “oh, Pam” and it comes out with a huge rush of air, like a groan.  “You could never, ever…”

“This is everything I ever wanted.  I have you, we’re having a baby.  Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s enough,” I say.  “It’s more than enough for me.”

“Because I just don’t think I can do it all, Jim.  I’m bound to fail at something and there’s too much at stake for me to be trying to do more than I can handle and screwing it all up.”

“Okay, Pam.  Okay.” 

     Her voice has a tiny note of hysteria in it and her body is tense against mine.   I can feel how she’s holding herself in tight.

“No, it’s not okay!  I thought I could do this!  I thought I could have the family and the job and school and do it all.”

“School’s not going to last forever, Pam.  It’s tough right now, I know.”

“I’m taking a break.  There.  I said it.  I’m not registering for any classes this semester.”

“That’s totally fine!  Is that what you’ve been…?”

“I didn’t want you to think I’m giving up.”

“Oh, Pam.”

“I’m not giving up, Jim.  I just need some time off.  I need a break.”

“Pam, it’s okay!  God, you’ve been pushing yourself like crazy.  Two classes last semester…that was insane with everything else going on.  And now, with the baby…”

“I’m so tired, Jim.  Everything feels like a struggle right now.  I know that’s going to change, but…”

“Pam, look at me.”  I push back on her shoulder and she rolls halfway on her back and looks up at me.  She looks…weary.  And scared.

“Everything’s going to be fine.  You’re fine.  You need a break, I agree.”  I feel her relax in my arms, just a little.  “You could never disappoint me.  Why would you ever think that?”  I squeeze her to me and kiss her forehead. 

“From the very beginning…from before the very beginning, you’ve always encouraged me, supported me.  I’ve always loved that about you.  But right now…it feels like…pressure…and…I just can’t do it.”

“Pam, I want you to do what you want to do…not for me.  For yourself!  One of the first things you ever told me was how much you loved to draw.  You said, ‘I love to do illustrations.’”

     Her head comes down into my chest, hard, and she’s sobbing.

     I can’t handle it.  I can’t stand to see her like this…so…fragile, so torn up.  I turn her so she’s facing me and she feels limp as I put my arms all the way around her and she just collapses against me and I rock her and say her name and tell her it’s okay…I love you… Pam… Pam, Pam, it’s okay. 

     Finally, she stops crying, but she’s still hanging on to my shirt and tie with both hands.

“Do you want to wipe your nose on my tie?” 

     She blurts out a laugh and it feels like the sun just came out.  Thank you, God.

“Go ahead.  I’ve got a million of them.  In fact, I hate this one, so go ahead.  Hell, blow if you want.”

     And she laughs harder and says I’m gross.  She can call me anything she wants, as long as she’s talking to me.

“Pam…what happened with your professor?  When you left work, you seemed fine.”

“Yeah.  I really think Dr. Jennings meant well, but…you can’t just say anything to a pregnant lady.  And I can’t tell if it’s what he said, or how I took it, but…I felt like I got punched in the stomach.”

“What the hell did he say?”

“Well, he started by telling me that I’d done good work in his class, so, positive.  Told me my skills had improved.  Again, positive.  But he said my last project didn’t have any heart; that it looked like I was distracted when I did it.  And he’s right, I was distracted!  I was getting ready for the holidays, I had Michael making me crazy, I had my other class to worry about…I should have never taken two classes…big mistake…I was peeing on sticks and freaking out that it wouldn’t be positive, then freaking out because it was.”

“Pam, you’re okay with…?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Jim, I’m thrilled that we’re having a baby.  But then Jennings asked me where I want to go with my education and how demanding that career path is and how the hell am I going to compete with other artists and designers who are younger and more ambitious and don’t have a family tugging at them.”

“What an asshole!  Pam, you…”

“You know, he’s right.  To a certain extent, he’s right.  But all I could think about on the way home was that he wouldn’t have told me all that if he thought I was really good.”

“Pam, you are really…”

“And then all I could think about was how I’ve wanted this for so long and it turns out that I’m not good enough and I’m too old and I should have started sooner and…you know…that dredges up the whole Roy thing and I kick myself again for staying with him for so long and I remember how I thought that that was all I ever I wanted, but it was the wrong thing.  I was wrong about that, too, and now here I am, chasing after something else that’s wrong and I wonder… how long am I going to chase after things that aren’t even right for me?!”

“Jennings…right?  I am so gonna kick that guy’s ass.”

“Jim, he’s got a point.”

“Yeah?  He sounds like he’s a bitter old fuck, to me, Pam.  And, a chauvinist on top of that!  This isn’t the 1950s!  I don’t think it has anything to do with how good you are.  He wouldn’t have said any of that stuff to you if you were a guy.  Pam, you can do anything you want.  There are a ton of jobs that you could get where you could be creative without being in a pressure cooker.  When’s the last time that guy even explored the job market?  He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I love you, Jim, but sometimes…you’ve got blinders on where I’m concerned.  Listen, most of those jobs require experience.  I’m going to be 31 next year!  Most people my age have six or eight years’ experience already!”

“So what?  So you start out in an entry level position and put your time in…”

“With a baby?  How am I going to do all that, Jim?  See…this is why I didn’t want to tell you about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I can do anything!  Like I’m Superwoman or something!  What if I can’t?  What if I’m not as good as you think I am?”

“Oh, Pam.  Come on!”

“No, you come on!”

“Pam, you’re worrying about the next five, ten years!  Hell, you’re worrying about the whole rest of your life!  You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”

“But that’s just the thing!  That’s how I was before…just blindly going along, day after day, and not thinking about  the future, beyond getting married…to Roy.  And when I finally thought about…when I finally saw that I was going down the wrong road…I had no road at all!  I didn’t even know who I was!  I had to recreate everything, Jim.”

“Yeah.  I know.  I know it was hard.”

“It was!  And…what the hell?  Do I have to do it all over again?”

“No, Pam.  I don’t think so...no.  But, you know what?  Sometimes, you have to take a detour and sometimes, it turns out to be the best thing that could have happened...even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.”

     She sighs a heavy sigh. I’m not saying the right things.  I’m not making it better.  She’s worrying about things that are too far down the road and she’s lost her perspective and her optimism, but I’m not letting this go.  I try again.

“You did it when you left Roy…you took a detour.  I did it when I moved to Stamford.”

“Ugh…yeah, those were good times.”

“Yeah, okay...but we’ve both done it!  And if we have to do it again, we do it together.  We take turns driving and navigating.  You don’t have to do it all by yourself. We’ll figure it out together.”

     And…that’s the right thing.  Finally.  Or maybe she’s just tired of talking, I’m not sure.  But she sighs a good sigh and puts her arm around me, kisses me. 

“I’m just taking a break, okay?”

“Okay.”

     Later, when we’re face to face and I’m wrapped around her and we’re both about to fall asleep, I do the corniest thing I’ve ever done.  I sing to her.  I sing really softly in her ear, my voice cracking and bottoming out and a little off-key.

Before you cross the street…take my hand…life is just what happens to you…while you’re busy making other plans…

     And she doesn’t say anything.  She just lays her hand on my cheek before she drifts off.

~~

“What’s it for?” I ask her.

“It’s a…box!  For stuff.”

“Mm hm.  Mm hm.  Tell me more, Pam.”

“I don’t know!  Stuff!  Like diaper pins and hair clips and…”

“…marijuana and a one-hitter.  You totally made our baby a stash box.”

“I did not!  It’s a box that you keep on top of the dresser to put all your little stuff in so it’s not scattered all over the place.”

“Like your lighter and your Zig Zags?”

“Stop!  Don’t you think it’s pretty?”

     It really is, I have to admit.  It’s a pleasing shape, she sanded and oiled the wood until it looks like glass and the little knob on the top is a tiny carved wooden leaf. 

“It’s really nice, Pam, seriously.  You did a great job with it.”

“I really liked doing it, too.  It felt good to make something solid.”