Next Tuesday

Marie peered in the window to see if Kim was there. She hated ringing that small gold bell on the counter. Its harsh ping was so invasive, like dropping a dish and tensing before it shattered on the floor.

She pressed the tip of her nose to the glass to block the glare. Kim waved. Marie backed away from the window. Her shoulders reached her ears with anxiety. She wrenched the door open, muttering under her breath, “Why can’t dry cleaning be self-service like everything else?”

Every week, Marie ordered some combination of a soup and salad from her phone and picked up the little brown bag on a shelf without speaking to anyone. Every month, she was notified by text that her prescriptions were on her front porch, and Amazon always confirmed each week with a fresh, blurry picture of her front step that something she forgot she had ordered had been delivered. Yet when it came to her dry cleaning and tailoring, she liked her shirts done a certain way, and she always needed a few items repaired, a button here, a hem there.

Kim gave a quick bow. Her apple cheeks beamed like two exclamation points on either side of her wide smile. Her bob danced around her ears. “Mrs. Marie, how are you!”

Marie pulled her sunglasses up. Her eyes squinted to adjust to the dimly lit space. A stagnant, suffocating heat clung to her body. “Gosh, it’s hot in here.” She peeled the cotton shirt off her skin.

Kim only waved her off. “What do we have?”

Marie puffed out air, causing her bangs to feather around her forehead. “Shirts.”

“Just shirts today?”

Marie swung her tote bag onto the counter. “Just shirts.”

Kim typed with one hand as she held each garment up. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. As quickly as she typed, little strips of paper inched out of the printer with a haggard automatic groan.

Marie leaned over toward the screen. “Next Tuesday’s fine, no rush.” The small golden cat pawed her elbow with its automatic arm.

Kim paused. Her hands glided down the front of a teal dress shirt. She stopped her long pink nail on the fifth button down. Gently, she inspected the button. “It’s cracked. Want a new one?”

Marie bit her lip. This was the eye for detail that no automated or self-service could ever replace. “Yes, please, I forgot I snagged it on my work bag last week.”

Kim pulled a pair of spectacles from her pocket. They balanced on the brim of her nose but were missing one side. Marie couldn’t tell whether they were broken or intentional.

“I can do it for free, no problem.”

Marie’s fists balled. “No, please, you can’t do that.”

“No problem. Next Tuesday, work?”

Sweat dripped down Marie’s side. “I’d rather cover the cost.”

“No, no, don’t worry.”

A rash of hives crept up her neck. A computer would give a price and move on. “Well, okay, but really I don’t mind.” She scratched her skin.

“How’s Benji? Did the vet figure out what’s wrong?”

Marie froze for a moment. She couldn’t remember telling Kim about her beagle who ate a tampon, which led to a $12,000 vet visit, but apparently she did. Her voice trembled as she laughed nervously. “Oh, much better, but banned from the bathroom.” She pulled at every thread of memory she had to ask a personal question back.

“How’s Wang and his…”

“Wei?”

Marie curled her toes, wanting to crawl out of her own skin and leave it there to be washed and pressed instead. “Wei, I’m so sorry.”

Kim clipped a safety pin around the broken button. “No problem, very good, just graduated with honors from Georgetown.”

Marie sank in on herself from the weight of forgetting her drycleaner’s only son’s name. “Congrats, you must be so proud.”

Kim clutched her hands together. Her nose pinched up with glee. “We’ll see you Tuesday, Marie. Take care.”

Marie kept thanking Kim, sounding apologetic, as she pushed through the glass front door. Every inch of her crawled and tingled. She craved a cold shower or a warm bath; she couldn’t decide which would soothe her faster. She watched Kim disappear into a curtain of Saran-wrapped fabric from her front seat. Her backup camera blinked on. As she reversed her phone chimed. She turned the volume down so that pedestrians could not hear any conversation vibrating from inside the car.

“Hello?”

She knew it was the IVF clinic, but it felt weird to say anything other than hello.

“May I speak to Marie Tattersall?”

Marie parked. “Yeah, yes, I’m here. I’m she.”

“The HCG levels are over 1000.”

She’d read every chart online defining those ranges, but she needed confirmation. “So that’s good?”

“It’s really good; we’ll schedule an ultrasound for a week from today.”

“Next Tuesday?”

“Next Tuesday.”

She spun the small gold ring on her ring finger with excitement. It was her mother's. She passed away five years ago. Marie loved the ring, and it didn’t fit any other finger but her ring finger. She didn’t believe the stupid wives' tale that if you wore a ring on your ring finger you’d never get married. Marie, however, wasn’t married.

She contemplated calling Todd but hung up immediately. She shared custody of her beagle with her ex-boyfriend Todd. He managed the grocery store up the street, but never wanted children. A key reason they never tied the knot. Marie hoped to change his mind with a puppy. He adored the dog. But continued to hate the idea of children. So now every other weekend she drops Benji off at his “dad’s house.

Marie still wanted kids. But didn’t want to keep looking for someone to invest in that idea with her. She made well over 200k a year, had a house, outsourced much of the other aspects of her life, was forty-two and ready to start this chapter. She did, however, wish there were someone she could call to share this news. Her married friends hated the idea of her doing it alone, and her single friends hated the idea of her losing her freedom.

She pulled out of the parking lot.

***

Next Tuesday, Marie lay on her back, with her shirt pulled up to her chest while she clasped her wispy blond hair into her fingers behind her head. She counted twenty-seven ceiling tiles before she felt the warm goo glide across her abdomen. The nurse dimmed the lights. A bright screen flicked on. Gray and black lines quivered.

“There it is.” The nurse moved the wand from side to side. Marie sucked in. She didn’t know where to look. Her eyes darted around the screen. The nurse printed out a picture. “Here ya go.”

A white bean-like form sat in an abyss of darkness. Marie hugged it to her chest. “Thanks.”

“The doctor will call if there’s anything to follow up on.” The nurse wiped her down with wet wipes. “Congrats again.” She stepped out, pushing the mobile computer.

Marie tucked the picture into her wallet. It slid behind the dry cleaner receipt. The bright yellow strip did its job, reminding her she needed to stop by to pick up her shirts.

Summer heat radiated off the pavement in the parking lot. Marie blasted the AC. The corner of her mouth rose. Her fingers flipped through to her favorite beach soundtrack. She released the sunroof. Wind whipped through her hair as she turned onto the main road. Venessa Carlton blasted through her four-door as she rolled past Target. Shoppers filled the lot. Marie pulled in front of the dryer.

Kim flipped through a magazine at the counter. Like a pretzel, she contorted herself in a way that her legs balanced crisscross on the small bar stool.

Her body, with her voice, bounced with a greeting as Marie stepped in. “Marie!”

Before Marie could pull out her receipt, her freshly dry-cleaned linens hung on a bar between them. “Thanks!”

Her card pinged against the small black screen.

Kim nodded. Marie tapped the card on the counter.

Kim joined her hands together as if in prayer. “Everything alright?”

It was a fair question. On most occasions, Marie would be gone now, fleeing any opportunity for small talk. Marie folded the clothes over her arm. “Yeah, great.” She paused. “Really great, actually.”

Kim eagerly nodded.

The small photo peeked out from her open wallet. “I’m pregnant.”

The words felt foreign on her tongue. She’d dreamt of them a thousand times but never said them out loud like that.

“Oh?” Kim straightened. Her fingers touched the cellophane for a moment. “Mr…”

“There’s no Mr.” Marie’s knees locked. “I’m not married. I don’t know the father.” Her hands trembled slightly as she arranged her bangs. “It was done clinically.”

Kim’s fingers continued to rub the plastic together. Marie surmised that the realization she had never dropped any men’s shirts off was coming to mind. Marie tucked her ring finger under the clothes, not wanting to divulge her entire family lore in one afternoon.

“How far along?” Kim pointed gingerly at Marie’s stomach.

Marie grew slightly pale. Myths swirled in her mind for a moment as she thought of her blurted mistake. Her voice grew somber. “Only six weeks.”

For the first time, Kim came around the corner. Marie realized how similar they were in height as they stood close together.

Kim tapped her finger in the air. “You’re like me. Only me and Wei.”

“No, Mr…” Marie realized she didn’t know Kim’s last name despite coming here for the last three years.

“No.”

Marie breathed a sigh of relief at Kim’s unexpected response. “I’m like you.” Her tote hit against her side. “Oh, I forgot!” She pulled out two silk skirts, a blouse, and two blazers. “If you don’t mind, can I pick up by next Tuesday?”

Kim’s fingers fluttered over the keys. “Next Tuesday.”

***

Next Tuesday, Marie’s labs came in. The baby continued to grow, and she’d graduated to monthly visits. She stopped in Target for only the essentials. Pink and blue baby jumpers filled the aisle. She’d walked past a thousand times, but now she lingered. The pastel colors exploded on either side. On a display counter, someone abandoned the book Corduroy and green newborn-sized overalls. Maire laughed out loud at the ridiculously small green Corduroy overalls with yellow buttons. Her fingers flipped it over. As if outside her control, the overalls slipped from her hands into her cart. She didn’t remove them.

At Kim’s dry cleaner’s, she collected her skirts and placed her soiled blouses on the counter. The Corduroy overalls tumbled out of her bag in a crumbled ball.

“How cute!” Kim exclaimed. Her long purple nails swiped it off the floor. “For the baby.” She dropped it on top of the blouses.

“Oh, that doesn’t need to be…”

Kim placed a hand firmly on top. “It’s all wrinkled. I’ll make it fresh.” She folded it. “For the baby.”

Marie blushed.

***

The next Tuesday, Marie showed up earlier than usual, excited to show Kim an adorable hat she’d found at TJ-Maxx.

A large red note taped to the door read, “Closed for two weeks,” with a number to call in case of emergencies.

Marie instantly dialed the number. Her tote sagged with insignificant, bland blouses she’d worn to her remote meetings. The number let out a weird chime, and then a robotic woman spoke back to her in Chinese before hanging up. Marie blinked back tears. Red blotches crawled up her chest and neck like untamed vines. She slumped onto the curb.

Opening WhatsApp, she typed in the number and the message: "Hi, it’s Marie." She checked the time; it was midnight in China.

Three bubbles blinked on.

As if she stood in front of her, Marie envisioned Kim popping up in response to her message. “Hi! Marie! Everything okay?”

She wanted to write, no, I was expecting to see you. I need you to see this cute hat because you are the only friend I have who knows. Instead, she wrote. “Yes, you’re in China; everything okay?”

More bubbles. They lingered, allowing a shadow of worry to squeeze Marie’s heart. She thought of Wei; she thought of Wei’s absent father.

Finally, a message. “My mom passed unexpectedly.”

The squeeze ached, pulling Marie over. She hugged the screen.

Her fingers tapped back. “I’m so sorry.” Words she never expected to write to her dry cleaner. “I’m here if you need to talk.” Tears streamed down her face as she sat next to the gutter outside Kim’s store in the parking lot.

Bubbles formed again. “Thank you.”

Marie typed back. “See you when you get back?”

Bubbles again. “See you in three Tuesdays.”