Phone or Door?

I passed one of the least pleasant times of my life on Friday waiting for the phone to ring or the door to open. I agonized as the minutes dragged on. I was exhausted, so I tried to nap on the couch, but gave up after my thirty ninth futile attempt at finding a comfortable position.

The phone would ring. Sure enough, any moment that phone would ring.

I turned the tv on. I turned it right back off.

The girls had just gone down for an overdue and well-earned nap, and still I considered getting them up, two perfectly designed distractions. I decided two tired and cranky kids would be worse than no distractions, so set my mind to pacing. Pacing. I've never really been a pacer, but on Friday I did my fair share of laps around the dining room table, on which rested a mostly-checked-off list of things to pack for our weekend in Duluth. I'd already packed. Packing was supposed to take a long time, supposed to keep my mind off the door or the phone, but we were planning a short weekend; I only had to stuff a few items in a bag and I was finished.

A car pulled to a stop outside. My heart exploded. I looked out and saw it was only our neighbor, Carolyn. I watched her corral their dog into the house, watching for as long as I could until her door slammed shut.

I went back to pacing.

I've known Jen for a long time, so I knew very well what she would do. We hadn't discussed it previously, but I knew anyway. She'd never be able to keep me waiting with good news, so she'd call right away. Conversely, she would not dream of calling me with bad news. So that's where the door came in. Phone or door.

Not sure if I'd done everything I could, I rechecked our packing list. I'd done everything I could. I spent a moment trying to picture myself at the Stalker's house, imagine myself standing in freezing cold water on the point. Even better, I imagined myself in that fraction of a second after jumping off their dock, that hanging in midair, in disbelieving suspension as I watched the lake come up to meet me. Finer moments in life are hard to come by. Yet, this thought brought nothing for me.

Back on the couch, I remembered how this had all started. It always starts as nothing before it turns into something.

"I'm spotting," Jen told me. This was on Monday.

Somehow I could sense her unease from outside the bathroom, as if the sound of the flush itself sounded concerned. I responded in some half-assed manner that strained to be either sympathetic or confident but ended up neither.

"It happened with the twins, when we were in Seattle, so I'm sure it's nothing," she said, covering for my inadequacies.

"Yeah," I responded. "It must be just a normal thing for you. I bet it goes away in a bit."

It didn't go away. It didn't lessen; quite the opposite. By Thursday, I would give her a look every time she came out of the bathroom.

"It's the same."

(pause)

"A little worse."

We hugged. The worse it got, the fewer words we shared about it.

The phone still hadn't rung yet, which was strange. All I needed was to hear that damn thing ring, and I would know everything would be okay, I'd know everyone was healthy, I'd know we'd still need a minivan in March and a new nursery and all the insanities of a third kid. If it didn't ring, if Jen came home without calling, that would all be gone.

How does something start to go wrong? I was back on the couch, lying again, and I'd started to actually find my mind letting sleep in around the corners. Good god, this appointment was taking forever. I looked out our window to see a hundred maple leaves fluttering in the breeze. A hundred green maple leaves, perfect shapes in every way.

I slept for a bit. It wasn't long until I woke at the sound of the door opening.

Day one ninety one.