On Sunday morning, Daisy arrived at the station an hour ahead of time, and it only took her two tries to liberate the ticket to New York City that she’d reserved from the machine. At a coffee shop near the waiting area, she bought herself a cup of coffee and, after some deliberation, a warm chocolate croissant.
She and Beatrice used to go to New York City every year, for Beatrice’s birthday. They’d get their nails done ahead of time and purchase a new dress for Bea. They would take the train up, and see a Broadway show, and spend the night in a hotel, and have brunch at the Plaza. Daisy still had the Playbills in a box in her closet: Waitress and Avenue Q, Wicked and Legally Blonde. The last time she’d mentioned her birthday and the possibility of a trip, Beatrice had said, “I’m going to do something with my friends.” She hadn’t been rude, or dismissive, or sarcastic. In fact, she’d spoken so gently that Daisy suspected that Beatrice was worried about hurting her feelings. Which, of course, had injured her more than sarcasm would have.
Sighing, she thought of Hannah, and wondered what her friend would have said. Don’t take it personally, she imagined, and pictured Hannah’s pale, freckled skin, her reddish hair and eyes like dark chocolate drops, her sly smile.
Daisy had met Hannah when she was eight months pregnant and had ended up alone in a Bradley Method birth class. Hal had been scheduled to be there with her, but he’d been called away to Ohio for a case that had unexpectedly gone to trial, and Daisy had ended up sitting by herself, stiff and self-conscious in a Pennsylvania Hospital conference room, aware that she was younger than the rest of the women in the room by at least six or seven years. She could feel their eyes on her, and was fiddling with her engagement ring so they wouldn’t think she was a single mom when Hannah hurried through the door, plopping down in the seat beside her just as the lecture began.
“Birth is a natural process,” said the instructor. She was middle-aged, and wore a long strand of chunky amber beads over a long-sleeved black dress, black leggings, and black clogs. “It’s a task your body was built to perform, and there’s no reason for interventions like epidurals, or drugs to hurry labor along. Now, Dr. Bradley developed this method in the 1950s, when most women labored in what was called twilight sleep.”
“Those were the days,” murmured Hannah （they hadn’t been introduced yet, but they’d all been given name tags）。 Daisy glanced sideways, as discreetly as she could. Hannah was petite, one of those pregnant women who looked like she’d stuffed a basketball under her shirt while staying skinny everywhere else （as opposed to Daisy, who just looked bigger everywhere）。
“Dr. Bradley was raised on a farm, where he saw many animals giving birth. As a result of what he saw, he believed that women could give birth without drugs or distress.”
“Moo,” said Hannah softly. Daisy bit her lip. Hannah raised her hand.
“Yes?” said the instructor.
“I’m just curious. How did Dr. Bradley know that the animals weren’t in pain?”
The instructor, smiling tightly, said, “I’m assuming he was able to tell whether or not a horse or a cow was suffering.”
“But how? They can’t scream, or moan, or curse, or anything like that. Maybe they were in absolute agony, and just, you know, suffering in silence. Maybe,” Hannah continued, “if they could have asked for epidurals, they would have.”
“I guess we’ll just have to take Dr. Bradley’s word for it,” said the instructor. “And remember that more than eighty-five percent of the women who’ve completed the course have had natural, vaginal births.”
Daisy didn’t like the word “vaginal.” She supposed, if she stuck with the course, she’d be hearing it frequently. Hannah tapped Daisy’s shoulder. “Want to be partners?”
Daisy looked around. The instructor was removing a stack of pillows from a closet, and the other couples were grabbing pillows and arranging themselves on the floor.
“Which one of us gets to be the mother?”
“We can take turns. Or,” Hannah whispered, “we can go get a burger.” When she saw Daisy hesitating, she pointed at the stack of documents they’d been given, whispering, “Protein! It says we’re supposed to be eating lots of protein!”
They’d slipped out the door and gone to Butcher and Singer on Walnut Street. “How’d you get interested in the Bradley Method?” Daisy asked as they walked.
“My sister gave birth to twins in her bathtub,” Hannah said, lifting her narrow shoulders in a shrug. “I’m competitive. But I think in this case I’m going to let Rose win.”