Some Women by Emily Liebert Page A

Forty-fourth and Broadway. Of course, that had been nothing compared to the reverberating yelp her mother had released at the American Museum of Natural History, upon sighting the
Tyrannosaurus rex
, with its four-foot-long jaw, six-inch-long teeth, and hulking thigh bones.
    â€œI don’t think so, sweetheart. It’s just”—she cleared her throat—“too much for us.”
    â€œI understand.” She did. But it didn’t make her want them there any less. For so long, Mackenzie had been focused on the prize of becoming pregnant that she hadn’t given much consideration to how she’d feel—beyond being thrilled—when the time actually came. Now, though, she wished her mother lived closer. She wished she could hug her tight when she told her the news. And that she could be there to accompany her to doctor appointments and when she went shopping for maternity clothes.
    Mackenzie didn’t have many friends in Eastport. Initially it hadn’t bothered her. She’d been so consumed by her new married life—new job, new husband, new world—and by the many events that they were not only invited to but expected to attend. She’d talked to Trish on the phone every day, convincing herself that that would be enough until she had kids in school and met all of the other mommies in town. Trish already had three kids. Three kids in four years. That was how they did it in Bowman, Georgia. Only eventually, she started to realize that she had little left in common with Trish, and while their phone calls were still filled with laughter, there wasn’t much of substance left to discuss. Before long, their daily chat sessions had dwindled to once a week, then biweekly, and ultimately they’d resigned themselves to catching up whenever time permitted, which—as of late—seemed to be never. How wasit, Mackenzie had pondered, that the very person who had been able to read her mind from the smallest expression could abruptly become someone with whom she had to grapple for something to gossip about? She could tell Trish felt the same way, as was evidenced by her rush to “jump off” the phone every time Mackenzie spoke of a complication at work or another charity gala.
    Sometimes she wondered how she’d ever lived in Bowman, a painstakingly rural city in Elbert County, Georgia. Although it was a stretch even to call it a city, with its 2.6 miles of land and population of fewer than one thousand people.
    â€œPerhaps you and Trevor would like to come down for the holidays. Maybe stay through Christmas?” she asked hopefully.
    â€œI wish we could, Mommy. But you know . . .” She didn’t have to say any more than that. The chances of CeCe relinquishing either holiday were about as good as Santa Claus appearing in the flesh to roast the Thanksgiving bird. Of course, Mackenzie’s parents were always invited, if not welcome, to join the festivities at the Mead estate.
    â€œI know.” She detected the disappointment in her mother’s wilted tone. And all at once she wanted to make it better.
    â€œI have some great news, Mom.”
    â€œWhat’s that, sweetheart?” Her mother’s attempt to sound buoyant fell flat. She was probably expecting word of another professional accolade—something that had never held intrinsic importance to her, even though she’d always been genuinely proud of Mackenzie’s accomplishments.
    â€œI’m pregnant!” It was the first time she’d said it aloud, and it surprised her almost as much as it had when she’d seen those two precious pink lines.
    â€œOh, Mackenzie. That
is
great news! Arthur! Arthuuuuuur!” Her mother bellowed. “Wait until I tell your father. He’s probably out in the backyard. Well, this is just fantastic! When did you find out? When are you due? I’ll have to plan a few trips up immediately. And then, of course, when the baby