Free All She Ever Wanted by Rosalind Noonan

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    As their entrees were served, she dreamed of mornings spent on the kitchen project and afternoons spent writing about it. She could imagine the momentary buzz of success when she stood beside a plumber, turning a switch to spark the flame of a new gas stove. She could see better times and happiness ahead.
    The only problem was that she could not see Annabelle in that picture.
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    Their magical night ended all too soon. A trip to the ladies’ room revealed that the pads in the cups of Chelsea’s bra were damp; she would have to either feed the baby or pump soon. Disappointment was a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. She didn’t have an ounce of freedom.
    â€œNo dessert for us,” she told Leo when she returned to the table.
    â€œNo problem. I’ll get the check.” He was good-natured about things. Sometimes she wished he would join in her anger at the futility of trying to have a life of her own.
    But not Leo. He talked about Annabelle’s cute habits as they drove home. He was worried about missing her when he went away on his business trip next week.
    â€œMaybe you should cancel your trip,” she said as dark anxiety came seeping back into her thoughts. “I don’t know how I’m going to handle nights without you.” Sometimes the only break in her day was handing off the baby to him when he got home from work.
    â€œI can’t. This is the convention that gives us our biggest sales boost.”
    â€œThis is the Boston trip?” She knew it was huge for him, but it worried her to be alone with the baby right now.
    â€œLet’s see if Mrs. Rosekind is available to come over a few nights,” he suggested. “She would be a big help to you, right?”
    â€œWe can’t afford her.”
    â€œWe’re dipping into our savings.”
    â€œNot for a sitter.” Especially at forty bucks an hour. She had balked the first time the woman at the agency had mentioned the price on the phone. “We represent licensed nurses with experience caring for infants and children,” the woman had told her. “Sometimes you have to pay extra for peace of mind.” And after they’d come home from a dinner and found their teenage sitter making out on the couch with a goth boy introduced as “Krispy,” Leo had decided they needed to pay for peace of mind.
    â€œThe trip is more than a week away,” Leo said as he pulled into the driveway. “Your medicine should kick in by then. Maybe you’ll feel ready to handle Annie-bananee when the time comes.”
    Chelsea’s hand squeezed the armrest. Better to pinch the hell out of the car than lash out at her husband. “We’ll see.”
    Their little house looked quaint, the yellow squares of light from its windows shining cheerfully against the indigo sky. It was a cute house. So why did dread tug at Chelsea as she plodded up the steps? Her breasts ached and she suspected that milk had soaked through to her sweater. She had to get inside and pump or feed the baby, but every step was difficult.
    Inside, the kitchen smelled of bleach and the fixtures over the sink gleamed.
    â€œI think she scrubbed the floor.” Leo nodded, impressed.
    Chelsea wanted to point out that the woman was here to watch their baby, but it seemed like a lame argument when she’d left the house sparkling.
    The living room smelled of lemon wax. The sofa cushions were plumped. The magazines were fanned out on the coffee table, like in a doctor’s office. Mrs. Rosekind sat in the Scandinavian rocker that Chelsea had restored. The lamplight turned her hair to pale gold. For a woman in her forties, Mrs. Rosekind had young skin, but the washed-out shade of her hair always reminded Chelsea of a schoolmarm. She was a little thick through the middle, but she wore it well, with strong cheekbones and cheerful animal-print scrubs, the kind that pediatric nurses wore. The nurse was reading a