Making Babies. Wendy Warren

clothes to change into.” Still mumbling, she tried the front doorknob, surprising both of them when it turned easily and she was able to wait inside. As she crossed the threshold, Elaine heard her say, “Jeez, what was he thinking? He could have had two condos in Lakewood for the price of this place.”

      Elaine fought a terrible desire to go back into her apartment, station herself behind the curtains and wait for Mitch to return, but that nosy image was just too awful, so she directed herself down the porch steps. She was halfway to the sidewalk when she heard, “Oh, hey!” She turned. “Thanks, uh…”

      “Elaine.”

      “Elaine. Right.” And with that the brunette disappeared inside the apartment again and shut the door.

      Elaine stared at the closed door for a time. Well, obviously he did see women and obviously he liked them slender as grass, tall as elms and surprisingly offbeat. Fine. Wasn’t any of her business.

      Setting off down the steps, Elaine prepared to outrun the emotions she wanted no part of. By the time she reached the corner, she was practically sprinting.

      When she returned an hour later, the porch steps looked like the side of Mount Hood. Her pronounced limp was the result of a rather painful attempt to jump over a Chihuahua that had crossed her path at the park. Elaine’s knees were not what they used to be, apparently; she’d successfully avoided crushing the tiny canine, but her knees had buckled upon landing. Neglecting to warm up hadn’t helped.

      Before she’d jogged ten minutes, her chest had felt like thick rubber bands were holding her ribs together. Lord, how would she work and care for a baby on her own when she was this out of shape? Plus, now she was starving. Her stomach growled, her legs groaned. She was too tired to go out for food and too hungry to think that tofu anything would satisfy her tonight.

      Trudging to her door, she saw that the light was on in the vacant apartment. Vacant, but not empty. Mitch and the woman were seated on the floor, smiling and laughing as they helped themselves to bags of food laid out between them on the carpet.

      She watched the woman take Mitch’s burger and help herself to a big bite. The gesture was natural, as if they’d done this many times in the past.

      Apparently preferring his burger to her own, she handed Mitch her sandwich and kept his. He pulled a comically woeful expression then reached out when she wasn’t looking to pull a piece of bacon from the sandwich she’d appropriated, popping the strip into his mouth before she could snatch it back.

      Then they both laughed, and it all looked so cozy, Elaine had the most awful impulse to bang on the window and shout, “Knock it off in there!”

      Getting a second wind, she gave in to her next awful impulse: hobbling back down the porch steps and around the house to peep through the side window. Since it was still fairly light out, this seemed like a good plan for a budding voyeur. The shrubbery on this side of the house was tall, terribly overgrown and made good camouflage.

      It was also scratchy. Branches poked and scraped at Elaine’s arms and legs while she wedged herself into position.

      These old-Portland-style homes had windows that were relatively high off the ground to accommodate daylight basements and tall front porches, so Elaine had to stand on tiptoe and jump a little to get a good view. Mostly what she could see was the back of Mitch’s head and the woman’s profile as she reached into a bag, pulled out several long, skinny fries and ate with unabashed enthusiasm. They spoke the entire time they ate, and though Elaine couldn’t make out words through the closed window, she could see that the conversation flowed easily. They laughed frequently.

      At one point, Mitch’s shoulders shook. The man she regarded as rigid, self-righteous and a stick-in-the-mud was sitting on the floor with an idiosyncratic but lovely woman, scarfing burgers and fries and, unless Elaine missed her guess, fresh marionberry milkshakes from Burgerville.

      A wave of sadness washed over her, and she began to wonder whether, in fact, she was the stick-in-the mud? Because, criminy, she was legally single, as footloose and fancy-free as she was ever going to get, and she hadn’t even flirted with anyone since her divorce. Here it was, Saturday night, and the only thing waiting for her at home was a little light reading about artificial insemination and half of a cold soybean sandwich, hold the canola mayo.

      She was about to detangle herself from the shrubbery, if not the humiliation of being a Peeping Tom, when she saw Mitch’s friend look at her watch, scoop up a bag of food and stand. Mitch rose, too. Elaine’s heart pounded, as anyone’s heart might when she realized she was about half a minute away from looking like a complete idiot. A complete idiot with questionable morals.

      She had mere seconds to make a decision: attempt a run to her front door and risk running smack into the happy couple and, worse, being seen coming from around the corner, or stay where she was until Mitch returned to the apartment. Mitch decided for her when he opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

      Elaine froze, hoping the scratchy bush would freeze, too.

      “So I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” The woman’s distinctively deep voice carried easily.

      “Is there any way I can avoid it?”

      “No. If you don’t show up, I’ll hunt you down.”

      Mitch laughed. “I’ll be there. In fact, I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go to the airport together.”

      There was a moment of quiet. What was going on? A hug, a kiss? Elaine strained to hear.

      “Love you,” the woman said.

      “I love you, too.” The affection in Mitch’s voice was evident.

      Love? He loved her?

      Footsteps led away from the porch and over the walkway.

      When Elaine heard a car door slam, she got ready to make her move. As soon as Mitch reentered the apartment, she would extricate herself from this bush, sneak across the yard and pretend she’d just returned from a five-mile run.

      She waited. Mitch must be headed back to the house, but the front door didn’t open. Footfalls sounded, however, leading up to the house, closer and closer to where Elaine was standing. She held her breath through several tense moments then heard a strange plumbing-type squeak. Poking her head between branches and leaves, she glanced around.

      Geysers of water sprang up over the lawn as oscillating sprinklers burst to life. The first blast of cold water made her yelp in surprise. She fought her way out of the foliage only to get soaked to the skin by another wet blast. Because she couldn’t see exactly where the water was coming from, she wasn’t sure which way to run. She was aware, however, of some very girly squealing sounds that seemed to be coming from her own mouth, and she heard Mitch say, “What the—”

      A moment later, the water stopped, and she was standing on the lawn in a sopping wet T-shirt and shorts. Mitch stepped around the side of the house. “Elaine?”

      She wiped her face, opening her eyes one lid at a time. Clearing her throat, she prepared to do some quick talking, but Mitch wasn’t interested in an explanation. Yet, anyway. He took her arm and hustled her into the open apartment.

      Leaving her briefly to drip in the entryway, he returned with a soft dry bath sheet. “I brought towels in case I had to shower here,” he said by way of explanation. “Let’s get you out of that T-shirt.”

      “I don’t think so!” Elaine grabbed the wet hem.

      “The towel isn’t going to do much good if you keep those wet clothes on.”

      “I’m not getting undressed in here.”

      Mitch lowered the towel. “Right. Because you’d rather be the only participant in a wet T-shirt contest.”

      Elaine looked down, gasped and crossed her arms across her chest.

      “Do you want to change in another room?” He waved the towel toward the rear of the apartment.

      “No.