Free Kiss Mommy Goodbye by Joy Fielding Page B

of annoyance in her voice. Adam was once again sitting up in his bed.
    “I want to ask you a question.”
    Please don’t ask me what happens when you die, she pleaded silently. I’ll buy you a copy of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross in the morning! “What is it, honey?”
    “Who made me?” he asked.
    Oh no! Donna thought. Not now. Not life and death both in the same night. Not after a day full of divorce. She sank back onto his bed. “Mommy and Daddy made you, honey.”
    He looked at her with great curiosity in his eyes. “Out of—?” he asked, waiting for her to complete the sentence.
    “Out of a lot of love,” Donna answered after a silence of several minutes, hoping, even as the words fell out of her mouth, that Sharon would never ask her the same question.

SIX
    “Y ou’re not breathing properly.”
    “I am so.”
    “No, you’re not. You’re supposed to be doing level A breathing. That’s supposed to come from down low in your stomach. You’re doing level B.”
    “I’m supposed to be smelling a flower.”
    “No, you’re not. Smelling the flower is level B. We’re practicing level A right now.”
    “I’m tired,” Donna said testily, pulling herself slowly and with some difficulty into a sitting position. “Let’s call it a night.”
    Victor was adamant. “If we don’t practice the breathing every day, there’s no point in going through with this.” His face was dangerously close to a pout.
    “Now
you decide there’s no point?” Donna questioned, trying not to laugh, “now that I’ve already put on twenty-five pounds and I only have two more months to go.” She struggled to her feet. “Not fair, Victor, not fair.”
    “You’re the one who’s not being fair,” he chastised. “To the baby.”
    “Oh, Victor, lighten up. What’s happened to your sense of humor? You’re so funny when we’re in class.” She waddled over to the wet bar and poured herself a glass of ginger ale. “They should see you when you get home.”
    He looked stricken.
    “We’ll practice tomorrow, Victor. One day isn’t going to kill us—or the baby … if we miss doing the breathing one day.”
    “Suit yourself,” he said in a tone he adopted for all unsuitable occasions. “It’s you who’ll regret—”
    “Oh, spare me, Victor.” She shook her head, trying to keep from getting angry. She felt a fight approaching and she wanted to avoid it, sidestep it before it became too large to get around. “I wonder what women did before they had prenatal classes.”
    “They suffered,” he said simply. “A lot,” he added for emphasis.
    “But they survived,” she reminded him.
    “Some.”
    His smugness was starting to rile her. Her patience, she was discovering, was decreasing in direct proportion to the increase in her belly. The larger the load, the shorter the fuse.
    “Victor, my survival will have nothing to do with whether or not I tune-tap during transition.” (Two terms they had learned the previous week.)
    Victor shrugged his shoulders and leaned his head to the side. Then he turned silently and walked out of the room. Donna watched the seat of his pants as he moved awayfrom her. Despite the anger she was feeling—out of proportion to the situation, she recognized—she still wanted him, would offer no resistance if he were to turn around, drop his pants and move toward her, lower her to the floor and—sure, she thought, looking down at her exorbitant girth. Sure thing.
    That was the way their fights had usually ended in the past. Not precisely the scenario, of course. The only time Victor had ever actually dropped his pants after a fight, he had ended up hopping the entire distance of the room over toward her, and by the time he had reached her they were both laughing so hard his erection was gone and she had cramps in her stomach. Still, when they were finally able to struggle free of their clothes, their lovemaking was as good as it always was, their soaked bodies melting into each other on the