California(74)

“That’s why you’re here,” Micah said icily. “To discuss the matter.”

“I guess I’ve given you a lot to think about,” Cal said.

Micah leaned back on his hands and hung his head back so that all Cal could see of his face was his beard. A few crumbs were stuck there like flies in a spider’s web.

“Do you like the tree house as much as Frida did?” Micah asked.

“She’s been up here?”

Cal immediately wished he hadn’t said it. This was where she must have talked to Micah. Why had she left out that detail? His face felt hot; he might as well have been hanging upside down from one of the tree branches. Damn it, Frida. He thought they were done with secrets. Soon everyone would think he didn’t know his wife. Maybe they’d be right.

Micah lifted his head up. He was smiling. “My sister sure is secretive, isn’t she?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Guys, knock it off.”

“Knock off what?” Micah said. “I guess your news has stayed with me, California.”

“As I suspected.”

“For one, how are you sure that Frida’s with child?”

“You know how the female body works,” Cal said. “She’s late.”

“That doesn’t confirm a pregnancy,” Micah said. “Not these days.”

“She might have missed it for a number of reasons,” Peter said. “Poor nutrition, for one. Micah says she used to be heavier.”

“She’s lost some weight over the years, yeah,” Cal said. “The grocery stores in L.A. weren’t exactly well stocked by the end. And out here, just the two of us, it’s not easy.”

“There’s also early menopause,” Peter said. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Stop it,” Cal said. “Look, guys, Frida says she’s pregnant. She says she’s sure, okay?”

Micah laughed. “Fuck me! Frida, feeling the pull of the moon? We can’t be talking about the same person here, Cal. My sister used to throw out a pair of panties every month because her period always, as she put it, surprised her.”

“Jesus Christ, Micah.” Cal didn’t know what was worse: Micah talking about Frida’s body, or that he was right. When she and Cal had first started dating, Frida had to buy new underwear on a regular basis. “Oops,” she’d like to say, coming out of the bathroom.

Later, when the department stores went out of business, and they lost their Internet connection for good, and they had hardly a dollar to spare, especially on clothing, Frida committed herself to being a little more “organized.” That’s when she realized she had a perfectly predictable cycle. “I’m textbook,” she’d cried, delighted.

Before then, Frida’s relationship to her own body had puzzled Cal. It was funny, even charming, how ignorant she was of it. But from another angle, it seemed pitiful. Or just weird: how could she not be obsessed with a body like hers? In the beginning, Cal had thought of it all the time. He remembered one time at work in L.A., planting tomatoes and thinking of Frida’s smooth back and her pillowy ass, which he loved to spread apart.

Peter cleared his throat, and Cal realized no one had said anything for a moment.

“Micah,” Peter said, “that really is repugnant.”

“What?”

“I had a sister.”

Past tense, Cal noted.

“And I stayed far away from her, and her…period. It’s weird to talk about it.”

“Don’t be a child, Peter. You misunderstand me. You both do.” He turned to Cal. “I bet all these years, you thought Frida was just being absentminded about her body.”

Cal didn’t reply.

“You’re wrong. It has nothing to do with her period, or her womanhood, or some shit like that. It’s time she doesn’t get. If Frida doesn’t keep track of time passing, then it can’t pass. Then nothing changes.”

“Well, she keeps track now.”

A gust of wind picked up, and from miles away, a scrub jay cried out. The platform creaked beneath them, and Cal imagined the whole thing toppling to the ground. No one said anything. The tree swayed.

Peter stood, maybe to break the mood. He leaned against the railing. “Let’s stay on topic, guys. Cal, has Frida been exhibiting any symptoms?”

Micah laughed again. “‘Exhibiting.’ Nice one, doctor.”

Peter shot Cal a look that meant Don’t mind him, he’s just showing off. Cal couldn’t help but feel relieved; here was an ally.

“Is she nauseated?” Peter asked. “Tired?”

Cal shook his head. “Not that I know of. But it could be too early.”

“There you have it,” Micah said. “There’s nothing definitive.”

“But—”

Peter held up a hand. “You know he’s right, Cal. And if he is, then things are a lot less complicated.”

“I realize her pregnancy is a complication for you,” Cal said. “But not for me.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Micah said. “Frida wants to stay, and I think you do, too, if you’d just allow yourself to admit it.” He’d moved to a kneeling position and was fiddling with a nail in one of the wood planks. He would not look at Cal. “Tell you what. Let’s keep this supposed pregnancy quiet.”