New Neighbor

New Neighbor

I was home from college with the flu the day the new people moved into the house next door. I’d been trying to study in spite of my fever, sore throat and stuffy head, and the combination of the sweltering heat (there was no air conditioning in the old cottage-style house I still lived in with my mother who worked as a housekeeper and younger brother Tyrell) and the malaise of my illness made me retarded; I wasn’t absorbing a thing about 19^th century literature, and finally, in disgust, I laid down the Thomas Hardy book I’d been slogging through for my class, dragged myself off my bed, and switched on the TV. I watched southern fried white trash hurl chairs and insults at each other on Jerry Springer for awhile, and it hit me how stupid and pointless it all was. I just felt sorry for those people; their illicit affairs, freakish liaisons, and petty three-way jealousies didn’t entertain me, they just made me feel sad and even sicker than I already felt. There was too much crap on TV anyway. It just depressed me most of the time. The commercials were even worse.

It was beastly hot out, probably in the 90s, and humid, but it was a beautiful day just the same. The undulating Blue Ridge mountains to the west took on a bluish cast through the haze, and the sky was a faded robins’ egg blue, shot through with cotton-candy strands of cirrus clouds, the appearance of which promised rain within the next 24 hours. I was hopeful, as it hadn’t rained in several weeks, and the grass was no longer the deep kelly green it had been in May, but was now a parched patchwork of brown and dull olive. Rain might also bring an end to the unrelenting heat. Local news reports had warned of possible forest fires in the surrounding Pisgah National Forest if the drought continued, and already I could detect a smokiness in the air that made me suspect this may have already occurred.

So even though I should have probably just drank some orange juice, popped some more Tylenol, and gone back to bed, I found myself dressing in a pair of shorts and a tank top, and stepping out onto the rickety wooden porch that fronted the house. I did have the sense to bring a light blanket out with me in case I got an attack of the chills (yes, even in this weather I was getting them), and I arranged it over my legs on the wooden porch swing my dad had built before he died when I was 10 years old. My mother was at work, and my brother was working as a part time auto mechanic and taking summer classes at the technical college (he had just graduated high school). I enjoyed being here all alone, enjoyed the solitude of the mountains, the sounds of nature, the birds calling to each other across the meadow, the buzzes and chirps of insects in the trees and shrubs. Distantly I could hear the creek burbling, but it was a weak burble, as so little rain had fallen recently. Rocking myself softly in the creaky swing (which was badly in need of some WD-40), I relaxed and fell asleep.

I was awakened by the sound of a large vehicle, much larger than the pickups and regular cars and even the UPS trucks (which sounded as brown as they were) that normally cruised this recently paved country road. The sound was coming from the direction of the house next door, and then it stopped. I looked over and saw a huge Allied moving van. So that ramshackle little house had finally been sold. I wondered why people moving into such a tiny house would need such a huge moving van. Surely that van could hold more furniture than that house ever could. I watched in fevered fascination as a variety of shabby looking yet attractive furniture and crates and boxes of God-knows-what were loaded into the house by three well-muscled and tanned young men. One of them saw me and hooted at me. I just waved back and smiled. I wondered how he was even able to see me there scrunched under my thin blanket on my covered porch, a skinny black girl in the shadows.

Soon a slightly battered red Subaru wagon pulled up in front of the van. I sat straight upright to have a closer look. These must be the new owners. A handsome blondish man of indeterminate age but probably somewhere between 30 and 40 got out of the car, then went around to the passenger side door and let out a woman I presumed to be his wife. The first thing I noticed was she was hugely pregnant.

And she was beautiful. She was probably around 28, and wore some sort of hippie-style cotton dress in an Indian or paisley print, with a high waist and a billowing yet thin skirt whose folds clung softly to what appeared to be long and shapely legs in the slight breeze that brought no relief from the heat. The dress was sleeveless, and her tanned arms were smooth, slightly plump and glistened with perspiration. She wore flat leather sandals and had fine, wavy pale brown hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. Even from a distance, I could tell she probably wore no makeup. Earth mother, I thought. I could easily imagine her out in the garden, planting and tending vegetables, or sitting on a stool in an old barn, milking a cow (their house did have a barn, in fact, though the last owners had never used it for anything but storage). I also could picture her as an artist of some kind, turning clay on a wheel as sensuously as she would make love, or sitting before an easel on the hillside painting landscapes. I saw her nursing the child she was about to give birth to, and she would be very open and natural about it, making no attempt to hide her full white milk-laden breasts. She would sit proudly and with dignity as she fed her child, reveling in her life giving femininity. Irrational as it was, I felt jealous of her husband. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, he got to see this woman naked, would see her give birth, see her in her most intimate moments, make love to her. Her life had nothing to do with mine: I was a 21 year old black college student and planned to leave for a city (Charlotte? Atlanta? New York? I didn’t know) when I graduated, and make some sort of career for myself. I didn’t want to end up like my mother, forced to work as a waitress, then a receptionist, and now a housekeeper because she had only a high school education. This new neighbor of mine was older than me, white, married, and expecting a child. She had probably already had a career; she looked educated, but it was probably in something arty or something humanitarian like social work. I could never imagine this woman in such a sterile place as a bank or a corporate boardroom, which is probably the sort of job I would wind up having, as my talents were of the more left-brained, pragmatic sort. I was good at business, math and computers, but didn’t have an artistic cell in my body. I’d always envied those who did.

What was I, nuts? Obsessing about someone I knew nothing about. Probably she was none of those things at all. Besides, why was I even fantasizing about a woman at all? I was no lesbian; I had never before been even slightly attracted to a woman. I couldn’t explain it. I pulled my blanket closer and watched the woman and her husband walk toward their front door–his arm protectively around her. She waddled in her hugeness, a delicate white hand placed over her bulging stomach, like the hands of madonnas in Renaissance paintings. I could make out the conical shape of her swollen breasts under the top of her dress, and thought I could even see the outline of her nipples. Her beauty made tears come to my eyes and I realized my panties were damp. Disgusted with my irrational emotions, I dragged myself off the porch swing and went back into the house, slamming the screen door behind me. My mother would be home from work soon, and my brother probably much later, as he usually went to hang out with his friends after school and didn’t come back until well after dark. I went to the kitchen and gulped down two more Tylenols and a cold pill with a huge glass or orange juice, then decided to take a bath. I debated whether I should make dinner but decided against it. I still had to find time to study, as I had an exam the end of the week, but probably wouldn’t get around to it today. I still felt like crap.

While laying back in the tub, I closed my eyes and my thoughts again drifted into fantasies about my new neighbor. Soon my hand found my swollen clit, and then I was sliding my fingers into the velvety warmth of my pussy, imagining my short-nailed black fingers were really her delicate tapered white ones. My nipples stood out of the water like hard brown berries. The warm water sloshing around my body felt womblike and sensual, and as my excitement grew, the sloshing became louder and threatened to lap over the sides of the tub. Vaguely I was aware of my mother coming in the house, but I was too far gone now. Within a few minutes, I came explosively, my pelvis thrusting convulsively, my toes curling against the porcelain side of the tub, and then I deflated, collapsing back into the water, wearing a shit-eating grin.

I dried, got in my panties and nightshirt, called goodnight to my mom, who was now watching TV in our small living room, and crawled under the cool sheets of my bed. It had been an interesting day.

The next day I decided to stay home again. I felt better, but rationalized that I was really still too sick to go to school, and even if I wasn’t, that I shouldn’t go because I could still be contagious and make other people sick. Right. The real reason I stayed home (though I was loath to admit this) was because I wanted to spy on the new neighbors. I was really becoming obsessed. The red Subaru wasn’t there, and I was momentarily disappointed, thinking they had gone out for the day and I had played hooky for nothing. But through the kitchen window I saw the pregnant wife come out to stand on her porch, which was the same type we had. My heart jumped into my throat. She just stood there, her hands on the wooden railing, occasionally lifting a glass of something that looked like either apple juice or iced tea (or beer–but surely she would not be drinking alcohol in her condition?). I came out on the porch then and sat down in one of the lawn chairs that faced her house. She must have heard me come out because she turned then and waved. I waved back. She was smiling, a beautiful, wide smile.

“Hi!” Her bell-like voice was soft and velvety.

“Hi!” I called back.

“Are you busy?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, come on over. My husband’s at work and I’m too tired to finish unpacking. I could make you some tea.”

Definitely the tea drinking type, I thought. Herbal or green tea.

“Sure, I’ll be right over!”

I ran back inside the house and checked my appearance in the beveled oval mirror in the tiny foyer that led to the equally tiny living room. Dumb! Why did I care what I looked like for this pregnant married woman? Yet I did.

I tried to flatten down my unruly hair that the humidity worsened (the heat and humidity had not let up). I changed into a nicer pair of shorts and a white tank top (no bra, I wore only an A cup) and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I washed my face, but it was so sticky and humid that almost immediately it felt grimy again. Oh, well. It didn’t matter anyway. She was married, with child, and probably wasn’t interested in me that way at all anyway. Why would she be? I was just an ugly, skinny black girl with hair like Brillo, eyes that were too big, knobby knees and practically no tits.

She was seated on the porch in a wicker chaise lounge with chipped white paint that had been left there by the previous tenants. She was holding a huge glass of iced tea. A plate of Ritz and Triscuit crackers and ranch dressing sat on a small round iron table with a frosted glass top. The table was badly in need of cleaning, and there were dried bird droppings on it. I didn’t care though. I accepted the glass of iced tea she handed me. She tried to get up (presumably to hug me?), but in her heavily pregnant condition she was obviously having difficulty. She flopped back down on the lounger rather clumsily, holding onto the arms for support. Then she shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

“Sometimes I wish it was over with already. There’s nothing worse than being this far along in the summer.”

I kept smiling, interested.

“Well, I think you look beautiful.” I hadn’t meant to blurt this so tactlessly. I backpedaled, apologizing. I could feel myself blush; had my skin not been so dark, this would have been obvious to her. Sometimes being African-American was actually a blessing.

“You do?” Her beautiful gray-blue eyes widened. She seemed almost–what?–innocent?

“Um, well, yeah. I mean, you carry your pregnancy well, and I think–“

She laughed. I think she knew what I really meant, was that I thought her pregnancy itself was beautiful, because I think she thought it was too. It was just one of those things that’s too personal to express, especially to a stranger.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask your name.” She extended a soft white madonna-esque hand to me. Her nails were tapered, unpolished, perfectly shaped. “I’m Holly Spratt.”

Holly. Simple yet feminine. Unpretentious. The name Holly suited her.

“I’m Cicely.” My mother named me after Cicely Tyson, her favorite black actress.

Holly’s laugh sounded like wind chimes.

“Do you live with her still, or are you by yourself, or what?”

I shrugged toward my own house. “Yeah. She works as a housekeeper right now at the Hampton Inn. I don’t get to see her much. My brother Tyrell lives with us too, but he’s not here much either, usually out with his friends when he’s not at work or school.”

“I see. You seem intelligent, though, the sort of person who doesn’t miss anything. You go to college, don’t you?”

“Well, I am studying computer science and mathematics at UNC at Asheville.”

“Very pragmatic.”

I picked up a cracker and dipped it in the ranch dressing, and chewed it slowly, savoring its flavor the way I was savoring Holly. I became aware of a slight breeze that rippled the flimsy skirt of her dress and her lovely wavy brown hair; I loved the way the sunlight looked on the top of her head, emphasizing gold and red highlights. Somewhere in the distance I heard the bleat of a goat. A couple of dogs were barking. A group of sparrows circled just outside the shelter of the porch’s roof.

Holly suddenly grabbed my hand and placed it over the bulge of her stomach, pressing her hand over mine. Her pregnancy surprised me; it felt much harder than I’d expected. I could also feel something moving, rippling under the thin cotton fabric of her billowing dress. It was creepy in a wonderful way.

“Feel that?” She was gazing intently at me, as if this moment were extremely important to her.

I felt slightly nervous, but the combination of the warmth of her hand and the hardness of her stomach made me feel a tingling warmth between my legs. I pressed them together to both relieve and enhance the feeling.

“Yes.”

“Sometimes I feel like my life is passing by, and I’ve missed out on something. Michael is a wonderful and caring husband, and is thrilled about the baby, same as I am of course, but sometimes...” She trailed off, sipping her iced tea pensively. She tapped a finger on the side of the glass.

Then she seemed to gather her thoughts. She looked directly into my eyes again as she squeezed my hand.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m getting old, sometimes I want to experience–“

My heart was doing somersaults. Holly had me under some sort of spell; I couldn’t look away from her, uncomfortable as I felt. It was like that moment just before an actor goes on stage–incredibly excited but terrified as well.

“Forgive me, Cicely, but sometimes I–“

“Please tell me.” I wanted her to tell me that she wanted me and I think she knew I wanted this.

“Sometimes I fantasize about making love to a woman.” She said this fast, as if trying to chase it away.

“Really?”

“Yes. And–“

I looked expectantly at her, slowly sipping my iced tea to disguise the trembling in my lower lip.

I couldn’t believe what I was sure I was about to hear.

“Cicely, I am sure we can be good neighbors, and maybe even friends. But I also wanted to tell you that I find you very attractive.” She hesitated, frowning. “Please don’t feel pressured, though.. If you’re not interested, it’s absolutely okay. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t say much; I was afraid my voice would advertise my nervousness.

But I wanted her, I wanted her. She had no idea.

“I’m a very open and straightforward person. Sometimes that puts people off.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I placed a hand on Holly’s thigh and raised the hem of her dress so her knees were exposed. She had creamy skin and beautiful knees. She felt warm and velvety and her legs were practically hairless. I moved my chair so our knees touched: her rounded white ones pressed against my knobby brown ones.

She threaded her fingers through mine, and with her other hand, picked up a dressing-laden chip and fed it to me. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to receive the treat.

“I have never done anything like this before, Cicely.”

I smiled, relieved. “Neither have I.”

“I’ve always wanted to.” She sipped her tea. “I love Michael so much, but sometimes things get a little boring, sometimes I think I would like the softness of another woman...” she trailed off, as if she was suddenly deep in thought–or just embarrassed.

“I know what you mean.” I didn’t. I had no point of reference, but decided that’s what Holly expected to hear. I wanted to please her. She was so incredibly gorgeous, even pregnant like that. Especially pregnant. I wanted to feel the motion inside her hard belly pressing against my naked body. My nipples hardened, pressing against my white tank top, all the more visible because of their dark color. I was squishy between my legs now and wished I hadn’t worn such light colored shorts.

The bright afternoon sunshine was now turning into the golden light of late afternoon, and I noticed the bruised-looking dark clouds moving in from the west. A breeze was picking up now, and making the sweat on my skin feel itchy.

“Looks like rain,” Holly said, eating another dressing laden Triscuit.

“Thank God,” I said. “I can’t take much more of the heat.”

“Let’s go inside, Cicely. That is, unless you have to get home.”

“Oh, I can stay. I’m an adult; I don’t always have to check in with my mom anymore, you know.”

She laughed softly and I started to help her from her chair; she was having a touch time of it. She placed her soft hands in mine, and I helped her up. She righted herself with a groan.

She placed her hands on her belly. “I can’t wait to have this baby already. I loved being pregnant until about last month; I felt so sexual. But now I just feel like an invalid...or a freak.”

“You still look sexual to me.”

“You’re sweet.”

I followed her into the house which seemed dark after having been outdoors so long, and we put our glasses and dishes in the sink.

“I’ll do them later,” Holly said. “Come.”

I followed her to a bedroom at the back of the house. The one she shared with Michael, where they made love. The room was not very large, but was airy and bright, with white painted walls and blue and white gingham tie-back curtains. The two windows faced a forest that lay beyond the back of the Spratts’ property, and the verdant light outside, now made even greener by the impending rain, permeated the room, making it feel like a getaway cabin in a remote forest.

The floor was bare wood, and must have been polished recently. I almost slipped, and was afraid Holly might slip herself. I need not have worried; she seemed very sure footed here. The bed was a king size, and covered with a white comforter and an assortment of embroidered and tapestry throw pillows. An oval multicolored rag rug was on the floor next to the bed, and on the bedside table lay a couple of paperback books. I picked up one: “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” A pen fell out of the book, and I it almost fell to the floor, but I caught it before it did. Embarrassed and afraid she’d be mad at me for snooping, I glanced over toward where Holly had been, but she was not in the room. She must have gone to the bathroom. The other book some sort of mystery or detective novel; it might have been hers or Michael’s. The room also contained an antique dresser in some sort of dark wood, and an old fashioned rocking chair with a gingham cushion and an antique looking teddy bear wearing a suit sitting on it. I thought he looked lonely.

Holly came back in the room. She had removed her hippie dress. All she wore was a sheer white cotton knee length gown with thin spaghetti straps that did nothing to hide her body or her pregnancy. It billowed gracefully around her lush body. I could tell she wore no panties under the gown because I could plainly make out the thatch of brown pubic hair between her slightly tanned, well-shaped thighs. And her breasts! The nipples were pink and huge, and I could see the large areolas even through her cotton gown. Her huge belly strained at the thin fabric. Her hair, enhanced by the extra hormones in her body, fell in soft and lush waves over her creamy, slightly freckled shoulders. Holly was so ripe. I had never seen anyone look so beautiful. I thought of my own body, how unsexy, even boyish it was. Why did she want me? It was too weird.

“The baby keeps kicking me in the bladder, and I feel like I’m peeing about every five minutes.”

“Does it hurt when it does that?”

“Not really, but it is a little uncomfortable!”

It had begun to rain outside. One of the windows was open, and the cool breeze entered the room like a caress.

We approached each other and embraced in front of the full length mirror on the closet door.

I lifted her gown, exposing her body from her belly down. Her ass remained covered, but I could see its round shape through the fabric when I looked in the mirror. I placed my hands on her belly, dark on white chocolate. I held them there, feeling motion under the skin.

“She is very active,” Holly said. I looked up at her, admiring her delicate features and the tiny freckles on her slightly sunburned face.

“Yes, we decided to find out the sex.”

“What are you going to name her?”

“Well, I was thinking of Rianne Elizabeth, but Michael wants something more traditional, like Catherine.”

“Either one of those is nice,” I said, tracing my index finger along the brown line that bisected her the length of her huge bump.

I looked at us in the mirror and couldn’t believe how intimate the contrasts were. My brown skin against her white; my smallness and thinness pressed against her generous proportions; my youth and her ripened maturity. She unbuttoned my shorts and let them fall to the cool floor, then raised my arms and slid my tank top over my head, exposing whatever breasts I possessed. I stood there motionless, wearing only my white thong panties. My hard nipples quivered over the pounding of my heart, as she cupped them in her hands.

“You’re so cute and your breasts are so perky, Cicely.”

“I hate them. I think I look like a boy.”

“You don’t look like a boy at all. You’re just young and supple. Women like you always look good in clothes. Now me, I always felt like a cow, even before this baby. When I was in high school, I would have killed to have a body like yours.”

I found that hard to believe but nodded. I wanted her so bad, I wanted her to hold me in her bed, stroke my hair, sing me to sleep like she would soon be singing little Rianne or Catherine to sleep.

“You’re beautiful, Cicely.” The rain was really coming down hard now. I could hear it pelting the roof like a million drumming fingers. Thunder crackled and rumbled. I was glad to be with Holly in her cozy room, out of the rough weather.

We embraced again, more tightly yet with more tenderness than before, and I ran my hands through her hair. It was so soft and fine I could barely feel it at all. It just felt cool in my fingers.

Holly slid a hand between my thighs and pressed the side up against the wet crotch of my thong. I squeezed my legs over her hand and felt the squishy wetness covering her hand. She closed her eyes and kissed me tenderly on the mouth, and it surprised me how much softer a woman’s kiss is than a man’s. I wasn’t sure I like it yet, but it was interesting. But it was Holly’s mouth I was kissing, and that made it special. As she continued to kiss me, her breathing slowed and deepened, becoming heavy, and she lowered my thong down my hips and until they dropped to the floor. I stepped out of them, nudging my knee between her round white ones. Then Holly raised her graceful arms and I lifted off her gown and that fell gracefully, like a feather, landing on top of my thong.

She took my hand the way a mother takes a little girl’s hand in a crowded place and led me to her bed. We took turns sucking each other’s pussies and breasts, but mostly we just held each other close and kissed. Her body was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen or touched, and I thought Michael was so lucky to be able to make love to her every night, and most of all to be able to look at her body and know that it was his seed that had started the baby inside her that made her even more beautiful than she already must be. Holly raised her knees slightly as she lay on her back, and opened her thighs to let me eat her. She cradled my head between her soft creamy thighs, which glistened from her own juices, and I lapped the sweetness that flowed steadily from her blood-engorged pussy. My lips were covered with her nectar as we kissed again. I cupped her breasts in my palms, thumbing her hard nipples. They felt swollen and slightly spongy, and blue veins crisscrossed their white surface. I continued to gently fondle them as I moved one hand between her thighs. With my thumb I rubbed her clit, and inserted my index and middle finger into her hot velvety opening. I felt the muscular walls of her pussy close around my fingers, and it this point, she moved her hand between my legs and did the same thing to me. We kept kissing as we brought each other to a slow yet intense orgasm, which seemed to go on and on. Spent, we lay in each others’ arms a few minutes, and then she told me she had to go get dinner ready; her husband would be home soon and I had better get ready to go. I didn’t want to, but of course that was the only thing that made sense. She did not belong to me. Her baby was not mine. I was only there to bring her pleasure and fulfill a lesbian fantasy. So I got up, wiped myself dry with a few tissues from a box sitting on the antique dresser (I would shower when I got home; it was almost time for my mom and brother to get home, anyway). As I dressed, I heard the toilet flush, and then the bathroom door close as she left.

After I finished dressing and fixing my hair, I went to the kitchen to tell Holly goodbye and thanks for inviting me over. The rain had stopped.

The kitchen was very quiet; I’d expected to hear the clattering of pots and pans in preparation for cooking, but then I saw Holly. She was standing at the kitchen sink, her hands on the counter, leaning forward slightly, and staring out the window. I heard a sniffle and realized with shock that she was crying, I walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She began to pull away, but not too quickly for me to miss the tears that sparkled on her cheeks and lashes.

“Holly, are you alright?” I was worried now.

“I’ll be fine, Cicely, just leave me alone now please.” Her back was turned toward me.

“We had a great time, didn’t we?” I tried to hide my anxiety, but my voice sounded too tense, the words packed too tightly in my throat.

“Yes, but that must never happen again.”

I wanted to ask her why not, but of course the answer was obvious. Still, I felt rejected and hurt. Why was I being such a baby?

“I understand,” I managed to choke out, close to tears myself.

“Goodbye, Holly.” I leaned toward her and tried to kiss her wet cheek but she turned her face away. She sniffed again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Maybe we can get together soon, go shopping, or to the movies..” I had to see her again, even if we couldn’t touch anymore.

“Sure, maybe.” But she didn’t sound sure at all.

The sun was back out, but instead of cooling things off, the rain just made the air seem even heavier and steamier, as sultry as sex in the middle of the afternoon.

That night at dinner my mother and brother Tyrell both thought I was acting strange and subdued, and my mother wanted to know if I wanted to talk about anything. I begged off, saying I had a lot of schoolwork to finish (I did, actually), and went to take a shower and then go straight to bed, even though it was barely even dark out yet. A cool breeze rustled my curtains and cooled my skin, and I fell asleep.

During the next several weeks Holly and I saw each other come and go, and we usually waved and said hello, as all neighbors do, but otherwise we barely exchanged a word. We acted like such strangers, I almost believed our experience had been just some crazy dream I’d had.

I busied myself with my classes and finals, using school more as a way to escape my romantic obsession and bruised emotions, than as a way to improve my mind and build a life for myself.

A cute Hispanic boy and then a slightly older successful lawyer asked me out, but I refused, not interested in anyone except Holly, even though I knew rationally I could never have her. I even rejected invitations from girlfriends. I was just too depressed to have fun. So I just studied. At least when I studied I could be alone.

Whenever I heard Holly’s old red Subaru, I fought the temptation to run to the window to watch her coming and going. I would have killed even to be able to just go grocery shopping with her, or even to the post office, or even to the recycling station. Mindless errands would become romantic interludes if only Holly would share them with me, let me help her.

I wondered if she was angry at me. I tried to remember who had started it all, and realized it had been her. I guessed she was feeling guilty, but I couldn’t help worrying that she suddenly didn’t like me, or even worse, had realized when I’d had my clothes off how ugly I really was.

One night soon after I’d passed all my finals with high marks, I was lying in my bed and heard the Michael’s Ford Taurus pulling out of their driveway. I looked at the clock, and it was almost three-thirty in the morning. They never went out this late. Had they had a fight and Michael decided to leave?

Then I remembered. He was probably driving Holly to the hospital to have their baby. In an hour or less, he would be with her in the delivery room, coaching her as she pushed their child from her beautiful body. My stomach clenched with jealousy. I punched my pillow and tried to get comfortable. How dare I be jealous?

She didn’t return for a week. Somehow during that time I thought I might receive a phone call at least, but nothing. I was very worried, wondering why she was in the hospital that long. Holly’s red Subaru parked in the driveway was a constant reminder of her absence. Michael came and went, but he was always alone, and even from a distance, I could tell he looked upset and preoccupied.

One afternoon in late June he had gone out again in the Taurus, but this time, when he returned Holly was with him. She looked pale and weak as he helped her out of the car, then he opened the backseat of the car and emerged with a pink wrapped bundle in his arms. I began to cry as I watched them go into the house, his strong arm protectively around his wife’s waist, and the baby in his other arm.

I did not see Holly for two more days. On the third day after she returned, I finally saw her. She was sitting on the rocking chair on the battered white porch, and she waved at me.

I waved back.

“Come on over and see the baby.”

I’m sure anyone watching me then would have seen me as nothing but a blur, I ran over there so fast.

She had gone into the house and I let myself in through the open screen door. Holly stood there, beaming at me. Her loose white blouse was open, exposing one swollen breast. Milk was dripping from both breasts, wetting her blouse.

She laughed her chimelike laugh. I heard the thin cry of an infant coming from her bedroom, the bedroom we had made love in.

“That always happens when the baby is hungry. It’s so amazing how a woman’s body responds to her baby’s cry.”

I wanted to taste her milk but didn’t dare say this to her.

“She wants to feed constantly, she’s such a ravenous thing.”

“Why were you gone so long? I was worried about you?”

Holly’s face became serious, almost sad. “I had to have a Caesarean. The cord got wrapped around Cicely’s neck, and we almost lost her. So they had to do an emergency C-section. I had to stay to recover from the surgery–these stitches itch like crazy by the way, and it still hurts to laugh–and they had to watch Cicely a few days to make sure she was going to be alright.”

Holly had named her baby after me. I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything at all.

The wailing became louder, insistent.

Holly took my hand then and led me into her bedroom. “She needs to be fed. My tits are killing me.”

I watched as she lifted the baby from her crib, a tiny pink and white creature with the same shade of hair as Holly’s. I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. Milk was pouring out of Holly’s swollen breasts as she handed Cicely to me. I gathered her in my arms and rested my cheek against her fragile and downy little head.

I thought she smelled just like buttered toast.

I looked up at at Holly, who was smiling at me.

“Well, I guess I’d better get going.” I handed the baby back to her, who immediately latched onto Holly’s breast and began to nurse.

Cicely, before you go, I just wanted to say thank you. I’m sorry I acted so distant, but I was afraid I was falling for you and I couldn’t let that happen.” She stroked her baby’s head.

“You understand, I hope?”

“Yes.” I understood perfectly.

“Goodbye, Cicely.”

“Bye, Holly.”

I walked back to my house, feeling happy and light as a feather. I decided I would take my mom out for dinner when she got back from work. She deserved it.

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