The Swap(42)

Then she dropped her arms and took a step back. “Come in.”

And just like that, I was back where I had longed to be for three months.





36


Februarys are long and wet in our part of the world, so we took a lot of photos indoors. This served double duty in showing off the beauty of Freya and her magnificent home. My subject hoped she’d capture the attention of some interior-design magazines. She was keen for a feature on her stunning abode. Freya had already received a new sofa in exchange for three tagged photos featuring it. I photographed her curled up on it, in pajamas, reading a Deepak Chopra book I’d borrowed from Gwen. (Freya had requested a prop that would make her look “deep”). In another, she featured the stain-resistant technology by holding a large bowl of chocolate ice cream that I ended up eating. In the third, I shot her naked, a blanket strategically covering all but her shoulders, legs, and belly. (This also satisfied the requirements of the pricey skin-care company sending her boxes of body lotion.)

Though I was the photographer, Freya was the art director. “Move closer. I don’t want my feet in the photo,” she instructed me. Or “Stand on my left. I have a zit on my right cheek.” She inspected the photos as we went, insisting I delete or edit any unflattering shots. “Why would you shoot me from that angle?” she’d gripe. “I look morbidly obese.” She didn’t, of course, but perhaps my infatuation was messing with my critical eye. To me, she was perfection in every image.

She wasn’t always bossy and demanding. She could be inquisitive and considerate, too. One day, as I shot her at the breakfast table eating plant-based protein patties couriered to her in a portable cooler (the same kind used to transport donated organs), she asked after Eckhart.

“How’s your baby brother doing?” Her lips barely moved as she held a forkful of patty to her glossy mouth.

“He’s good. Now that he’s finally over his colic.”

“What’s colic?”

Jesus. She was in for a rude awakening. I lowered the camera. “It’s when a baby screams its head off for weeks, or in Eckhart’s case, months, for no apparent reason.”

Freya made a face like she’d actually eaten the unpleasant patty. “Does every baby get that?”

“No. My other brothers were pretty happy. I think Leonard had it for a couple of weeks, which was pretty manageable.”

“How do you make it stop?”

“Sometimes swaddling helps. Or a walk or a car ride. But I think you just have to let it pass.”

“You know a lot about babies, don’t you?”

Enough to know I don’t want any, I was about to say, but then thought better of it. Freya was in too deep, and there was only one way out now. She was going to give birth to a baby who would poop and scream and puke and whine and keep her up all night. I didn’t want to scare her. Or scare her more. So I said, “With three younger siblings, I guess I’ve picked up a few tips.”

Freya dropped the fork, signaling that our shoot was over. “I’m really going to need you after the baby’s born.”

My jaw clenched as she took the plate and dumped the patties into the trash. I’d spent my life around the stinking little creatures, but that didn’t mean I liked them. Especially this one. Freya’s baby was sure to be adorable, wrapping both its parents around its teeny finger. It would turn them into pathetic, lovestruck sycophants, responding to its every whimper, indulging its every whim. Like some prehistoric giant squid, it would suck up all its parents’ time and energy. I already resented the thing.

But I liked the thought of Freya needing me. So I said nothing.





37


jamie


Freya had said we needed a break. But how long did that mean? It had been almost three weeks since I’d confronted her about the couples’ swap. Freya had to be missing me, too. Like me, she had no other friends on the island, only acquaintances. She had to be craving my companionship as much as I craved hers. Didn’t she?

I would wait another week before I reached out. A month would have passed then; enough time to let all anger, resentments, and jealousies go. My reason for contacting Freya was two-fold. I missed her. But I also needed to order more of her pieces for the store. Business would pick up in a few months, and Freya’s pottery was among my bestselling items. With the baby coming, she wouldn’t have much time at the wheel.

But mostly, I just missed her.

Freya needed me, too. Her due date was rapidly approaching, and I felt she was woefully unprepared for the birth and the baby. If she’d read the baby books I’d given her, she’d have known what to expect, but she’d pronounced them both “gross” and “boring.” It was almost like she was in denial about what was to come.

About a month after she’d shared her pregnancy news with me, she’d asked me to be present at the birth. “I don’t have a sister. And my mom is a lunatic. I want you there with me.”

“I’d be honored,” I said, touched.

“Besides,” she chirped, “I’m going to be knocked out on drugs. You can tell me what happened.”

I’d laughed, but I wasn’t sure she was joking. Could the island’s small hospital provide the level of sedation Freya was anticipating? Did they even have an anesthesiologist on staff? I had suggested that Freya and I sit down with her doctor and prepare a birthing plan. She’d promised we would after she returned from Mexico. But shortly after, she’d cut me off. For her sake, I hoped she’d done one without me.