Skeletons

"What harm could it do? We sit in the kitchen of our Roxborough twin, drinking coffee and reading the Inquirer, our Sunday ritual. She glances at me from across the top of the Image section. "Gilly?
"No. The word is as crisp as the early autumn air outside.
"It doesn't mean. . . She narrows her green eyes at me, scrunching her nose in the cute way it gets when she's pissed. "Lots of people have trouble. . .
"Damnit, can't you listen to me? No. No! Grabbing her mug and the paper, she storms upstairs. Our bedroom door slams.
Two years. That's how long we've been trying. When she told her doctor she wasn't refilling her prescription, Dr. Wertz said it wasn't unusual for it to take a couple months and not to become discouraged. Dr. Wertz and I have different ideas of a couple months.
Yesterday marked the anniversary of the day Gilly ceremoniously flushed her pills down the toilet. She ran through the house, opening and shutting cabinets until she unearthed our wedding crystal. "Here, she handed me a dusty goblet filled with out favorite Shiraz. "Might as well make the last one special. Bottoms up. She flashed me a berry-stained smile and I reached for her.
To Gilly, seeing a doctor would be admitting failure. The youngest of five, an aunt to nine, she wasn't supposed to have this problem. Her hormones weren't supposed to react this way.
"Help me. That night, Gilly's hunched on all fours, palms down, the crown of her head flat against the bedspread. She's still ticked, we've barely spoken all day, but the quest continues. I want to reassure her that there's nothing wrong with a little technological help. Gilly believes her body should be capable of the same miracles centuries of women before her experienced.
I stand behind, grab her ankles, and lift her legs in the air. She's now perpendicular to the mattress. "It's just an old-wives tale, I want to say, but I can't bring myself to. Standing on her head. This is Gilly's latest trick, the latest in a line of do-it-yourself remedies. How it's supposed to do anything is beyond me. Two years ago, naked handstands would have been fun, but there's a cold, scientific quality to them.
A while back I went to a doctor without telling her. I wanted it to be me, my body at fault, to take the guilt away. It wasn't. Gilly never knew. How can you tell your wife, "Honey, I'm perfectly healthy. You're the one who's messing the whole thing up. So if holding her ankles gives her a sense of power, then I'll stand here all night long.
"Under the Bridge sounds through the room. My phone. Gilly peers at me over her shoulder. "I forgot. We have an agreement to turn our phones off. There has to be some measure of romance left. The spontaneity has long disappeared. In one of her magazines, Gilly uncovered a theory there's such a thing as trying too often. Pure crap if you ask me, but what can I do? We're ruled by a thermometer that supposedly predicts her optimum time for conception. It's scheduled into our blackberries. Tues: Presentation. Wed: Sex. Thurs: Drinks with guys after work.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers continue to play. "Answer it already, will you. I release her and she thuds onto the bed. I pick up the phone from the nightstand. Looking at the caller ID, I step into my boxers before flipping it open. "Hi.
"Hey, I need to talk to you. Can you grab lunch tomorrow?
"Marathon at one?
"See you then.
***
I elbow my way through the center city lunch crowd until I reach Alexa's table. She's absentmindedly stirring her iced tea and doesn't notice me until I sit down. "Oh, you're here. Her voice is small, lost, like it was when we were children and she was afraid and I know there is something big about to happen.
We always know. Next to Gilly, she's the person I love most in the world. On a certain level, I love her more. There's a bond between us that even Gilly with her quartet of siblings can't quite wrap her head around. When we were sixteen and I backed the car into a telephone pole, she was the first one I told. When she went on probation for violating the alcohol policy freshman year, I was the only one who knew. When I was up to my ears in debt and couldn't make my rent, she wrote the check. Science will tell you we're no closer related than we would have been were we born ten years apart. Science is wrong.
"Alexa?
"I'm pregnant.
I never knew it was possible to feel such contempt for someone I loved so much. I want to strangle her.
Her wrist whisks the straw around, creating a whirlpool of ice cubes and tea, clanking against the glass until I reach across the Formica and cover her hands with mine. "Jesus Lex. I revert back to the childhood nickname. "Lex Luthor, I called her when I felt spiteful. She replied with "Nancy Drew.
"It's so big I had to tell. . .
"Can I start you off with a drink? The waitress stands over my shoulder. I order a Sprite and without opening the menu, an egg salad sandwich. Alexa orders a Greek salad.
". . .somebody. She pauses, I watch her study my face, before adding, "I don't know what I'm going to do. Andrew? Her gaze pierces into me. "Say something.
I rack my brain, trying to come up with the name of her latest boyfriend. She lives a free-spirited life, going through a string of semi-serious relationships in the decade since college, indulging in the perks of perpetual singlehood”last minute vacations, shopping sprees, an unadulterated climb up the corporate ladder. "Does Mike know?
"No. I need to weigh my options.
She's asking me to carry this secret with her, to take some of the burden. It's possible this news will become part of our history, something that only passed between Alexa and Andrew and the stick with the pink line.
"I'm thirty-three, she says wistfully. What she means is that time is slipping away and this could be her one very screwed-up chance. "But I don't love him.
"Mike?
"Yeah. She sighs. "Why can't I have what you and Gilly do? Then everything would be perfect. It's so unfair.
Tell me about it, I want to shout but I catch myself. Alexa doesn't know about Gilly and me. It's the one secret I can't bring myself to share. We sit in silence until the food comes.
***
"God, these kids are amazing. We're sitting in bed later that night. Gilly's grading tests and I'm watching the Phillies game. "I never learned this so young. Gilly teaches freshman math at Masterman, one of Philadelphia's top academic high schools. She scans the papers, red pen hovering just above, when she asks, "How's your sister?
Unsure of how I'm supposed to answer, I hesitate before replying, "OK.
Gilly seizes on this. Her attention diverted from the equations, she lowers her pen and looks at me. "What's up?
Gilly's a firm believer spouse trumps sibling when it comes to secrets. I'm fully aware of the dramatic and the mundane inner workings of the O'Brien clan, often before her blood relatives are. Evern after four years of marriage, I'm unsure where my loyalty lies.
"Did she break up with Mike? I shake my head. "Lose her job?
"Not that I know.
"Oh God, don't tell me she's pregnant.
"I didn't say anything.
Gilly looks like a girl left out of a playground game. "Tell me, she pouts.
"There's nothing to tell. Which was true. Who knows what Lex is planning? Why rock the boat?
I can tell she doesn't believe me. Sighing, she returns to her tests.
A week passes. I don't talk to Alexa. Gilly doesn't bring up her question. I'm sitting in my office at Comcast when the phone call comes. Lex.
Gilly thinks there's a crisis requiring me to work overtime. I stand outside the high-rise and wait. She looks smaller than usual when she approaches. I'm torn between wanting to hug her and wanting to slap her. A forbidden vision enters my mind. Me and Gilly and this baby, a happy family.
"Thanks for coming with me, Alexa says as we walk through the revolving door.
"What's family for?
Pausing to read the directory, we board an elevator bound for the thirteenth floor. I note the irony.
It looks like any other medical office. Pink-seated wooden chairs. Outdated magazines. Generic prints on white walls. Lex approaches the desk. I overhear the receptionist ask, "Do you have an appointment?' and see her bob her head in agreement.
We sit without speaking. My stomach feels like I swallowed rocks. I think of all the things I can't bring myself to say.
"Alexa?
She stands and heads down a corridor.
When my sister returns, she's held up by a nurse, unsteady on her feet. I go and put my arm around her shoulder.
"Can you take her home? asks the nurse.
"Come on, I say to Lex. "Let's get you out of here.
We head to the garage housing my car. I double park on Chestnut outside her building and escort her inside. I help her to the couch, take off her shoes, cover her with a blanket.
"Do you want me to stay?
No answer. She breathes slowly, asleep. I touch my lips to her forehead before letting myself out and heading home.
Opening the door, I hear Gilly call, "I'm in the bathroom.
She's sitting on the closed toilet, white stick in hand. "I'm late.
I step forward and clutch her other hand in mine. Together, we wait.