Night Watch, Part 15

David tore into the breakfast Olivia had prepared for him. She came to the table with her own plate and sat down. David noticed that her hair was streaked with some new tints; it was always changing color. David wondered about her current situation; it was always changing, too. Boyfriends, jobs, apartments, cars: a parade of possessions acquired and discarded. Her mood followed accordingly: upbeat when things were going her way, quiet when things were not.

"What do you think of the doula?" whispered Olivia.

David answered carefully. Olivia was the type to bait you with a harmless question, and then present you to others as a like-minded ally on some issue. "She seems very professional," he answered, also in a soft voice since the bedroom was not far from the dining room in their little wood-frame house.

"Do you think Angela's doing the right thing?" asked Olivia.

"She had a terrible experience with Tony," said David. "She wants this to be different."

Olivia nibbled on her toast. "She seems bossy."

"Angela? Bossy?"

"David! I mean Victoria."

"I know what you meant."

But then Olivia giggled. "Angela is bossier than usual, but the husband is not allowed to say that."

"Figures," he said. They ate. "So, I haven't heard your latest exploits."

"I'm job hunting," she said.

"But I thought you liked it at Bloomingdale's?"

"Too many backstabbers. I'm interviewing at Saks next week."

Olivia sold department store cosmetics. David had seen her at work once: sharply dressed, hair perfectly arranged, face made up in a tasteful manner. He could imagine women being thrilled to get her advice on cosmetics.

"Will you get a raise out of the deal?"

"I'd better," she said flatly.

They finished the meal and sat sipping their coffee. Olivia placed her hand on David's arm. "I really do want what's best for Angela."

"I know you do," he said. The cream-colored polish on her nails had become cracked around the edges. Her arms had the artificial glow of a tanning booth.

"But, sometimes people don't know what's good for them," she said. Then Olivia lowered her voice another notch and leaned closer to David. "When you think it's time for Angela to go to the hospital, you need to take charge around here."

David knew that taking charge was the last thing he would do. Between Angela in labor, and Victoria tending her, and Olivia providing support, and Jade teaching him yoga positions, the thought of him asserting any control over anything was laughable. He wondered what Olivia was getting at.

There was a little drama he had learned to play out with Angela's family. They could be so earnest about the most ridiculous things, like the lecture he once received from Angela's father about how to talk to a mortgage lender. David was convinced that if he had followed Buddy's advice he and Angela would be homeless. Yet, David had to act like he was receiving wise counsel.

She squeezed his arm lightly, but emphatically. It was part of the speech. The Tortorich family was all about touching. They touched, they hugged, they kissed. Men kissed men, women kissed women, and men and women kissed each other. It had taken David years to get used to Angela's mother giving him a big smooch on the lips at Christmas time. When he and Angela went to New Jersey to visit family, Olivia gave him a full body hug and a long, lingering kiss every time. It always made him panic: 'What will Angela think?' But Angela was too busy kissing her parents or her brothers. There was never that much touching in David's family.

David patted Olivia's hand. The moment required warmth and affection. "Thanks," he said.

"You don't believe me," she said. "You aren't taking me seriously."

"I do. I am." Damn. He had never been a convincing actor.

"Buddy and Natalie are going to be very upset if they come here and find their daughter on the verge of having a baby and still laying around the house in pain." She was whispering urgently now.

"She doesn't want medication."

"Who got that notion into her head?"

"She thinks it's best for the baby. And she believes her recovery time will be faster."

"What do you think?"

David stopped. He wasn't sure what he thought. But, then again, his opinions were clouded by one inescapable fact: he was male. When Angela was pregnant with Tony, they had done a lot of preparation together: Lamaze classes, hospital orientation, postpartum briefings. David found it interesting, and wanted to be supportive, but felt detached from it. He told his parents about the classes and his father replied, "When you and Paula were born, my job was to drive your mother to the hospital. And let me give you some advice: drive very slowly, and avoid the bumps." "Thanks, Dad," he had replied. That was the typical Smith family exchange; in the Tortorich family, a blood oath would have been involved.

When Angela became pregnant the second time, he went to one meeting with the midwife at the hospital to learn about risk factors. After that, Angela went to classes and read books while he worked seventy hours a week at their fledgling company. She didn't exactly discourage that because they had started the company together and were committed to making it work. And, frankly, he was a lot more comfortable dealing with lines of code in a computer program than being taught the contents of the amniotic sac.

Now he considered Olivia's question. He had to admit that she was a people person; she wanted to know what he was really thinking; it mattered to her. That was her strength, he realized. She never tired of listening to the problems of others. Therefore, he felt he had to level with her.

He sighed, "Look, my approach has been to let Angela feel her way through this thing. Between you and me, I don't understand all that much about having babies. But, I do know one thing: Angela knows what she wants. She's smart. And if she changes her mind and wants something different, she'll let me know. And I'll go along with it. And if she changes her mind five times in an hour, I'll go along with that, too. I want to be there to respond to anything she needs."

He could imagine Olivia processing his words, evaluating them according to some formula that only she understood. She smiled. "You're a good husband, David."
Then she gave him a hug.