Rogue

And just as they were about to leave the table, Zellie cleared her throat. It was obvious that she was going to say something, but they had no idea what it was.

“I…uh… I'm sorry to do this right now. I know with the wedding coming up, and …” She looked apologetically at Maxine, who was suddenly convinced Zelda was going to quit. That was all she needed right now. With the wedding in August, and Charles moving in, she wanted as much stability and continuity as possible for them. This was no time for a major change, or for someone important to them to leave their lives. And Maxine had relied on her for years. Zelda was family now. Maxine looked up at her in panic. The children stared, having no idea what to expect. And Charles looked nonplussed as he finished his pie. Whatever Zelda had to say had nothing to do with him, or so he thought. Who Maxine employed or didn't was entirely up to her. It wasn't his problem, and she seemed fine to him, and a pretty good cook. But in his mind, like anyone else, she could always be replaced. That wasn't how Maxine and her children felt about it, by any means.

“I … I've been doing a lot of thinking …,” Zelda said, twisting a dish towel in her hands. “You guys are growing up,” she said, looking at the children, “and you're getting married,” looking at Maxine, “and I just feel like I need something more in my life too. I'm not getting any younger, and I don't think my life is going to change anymore.” She smiled lopsidedly. “I guess Prince Charming lost my address …so I've decided …I want a baby … and if that doesn't work for you guys, I understand, and I'll leave. But I've made up my mind.” For a long moment, they all stared at her, stunned. Maxine wondered for an instant if she had sneaked off to a sperm bank and gotten pregnant. It sounded like it to her.

“Are you pregnant?” Maxine asked in a choked voice. The children said nothing, nor did Charles.

“No. I wish I were,” Zelda answered with a rueful smile. “That would be great. I thought about it, but the last time you and I talked about it, Max, I told you I've been loving other people's kids all my life. I have no problem with that. So why have morning sickness and get fat? And this way I can keep working. I'll have to. Kids aren't cheap,” she said, and smiled at them. “I went to see a lawyer about adopting. I've seen him four times. A social worker came to do a home study here. I had the physical and I've been approved.” And through all of that, she hadn't said a word to Maxine.

“When are you thinking about doing this?” Maxine asked, holding her breath. She was not ready to have a baby in the house right now. Or maybe ever. This was a lot to swallow, with a new husband moving in too.

“It could take up to two years,” Zelda said, as Maxine breathed again, “if I hold out for a designer baby.”

“A designer baby?” Maxine asked, looking blank. She was still the only one doing the talking. The others were too stunned.

“White, blue-eyed, healthy, both parents Harvard grads who decided that a baby doesn't work with their lifestyle. No alcohol or drugs, upper middle class. That can take a long time. Generally, these days, those girls don't get pregnant in the first place, or they have abortions, or they keep their babies. Babies like that are pretty rare. Two years is optimistic, particularly for an unmarried middle-aged woman like me, working class. The designer babies go to people like you.” She glanced at Maxine and Charles, and Maxine could see Charles shudder and shake his head.

“No, thank you,” he said with a smile. “Not for me. Or us.” He smiled at Maxine. He really didn't care if Zelda was planning to adopt a baby in two years, whatever kind it was, designer or otherwise. It was definitely not his problem. He was relieved at that.

“So you think two years from now, Zellie?” Maxine asked hopefully. By then, Sam would be eight, Jack and Daphne in high school at fourteen and fifteen, and she could worry about it then.

“No. I don't think I even have a shot at a baby like that. I considered international adoption, and I looked into it, but there are too many unknowns, and it's too expensive for me. I can't go sit in Russia or China, for three months, waiting for them to give me some random three-year-old from an orphanage, who might have all kinds of damage that I only figure out later. They don't even let you pick your baby, they pick it for you, and most of them are three or four years old. I want a baby, a newborn if possible, that no one else has screwed up.”

“Except in the womb,” Maxine warned her. “You have to be very careful you know what you're getting, Zellie, and that there were no drugs or alcohol used during the pregnancy.” Zelda looked away for a minute.