My Sister Iris (Part One)

“Maybe something will happen, Lily.” Iris sounded so innocent as she said this, her big blue eyes looking into mine as if she hadn’t an evil bone in her body.

     “What? What exactly does that mean?” I said, trying to keep my voice from rising. I’d just found out I was pregnant with twins, at age forty-three. My two older children were twelve and fourteen. Evie and Jack, David and me, the perfect nuclear family. David and I had thought we were finished with babies, well beyond the sleepless nights, the diapers and the infant gear that cluttered up the house. But even though we had not planned this pregnancy, we were thrilled once we got past the initial shock. But the expenses! Two more college educations to save for, preschools (almost as expensive as college), babysitters, and the most immediate pressing need—a new car that could accommodate four kids, two adults, and a double stroller.

     I had just shared my big twin pregnancy news with Iris, as well as my anxiety about the financial pressure it was bringing. We were sitting on my front doorstep. She was the first person I told after the ultrasound–I texted her and asked if she could come by for five minutes, because I wanted to tell her in person. She had yoga at a nearby studio on Wednesdays, so I knew she would be in the area.  I always tell my sister the important things in my life. Aside from my husband and kids, and to a certain extent, our dysfunctional parents, she is the person who matters most in my life. I was really just talking to myself as I ran down the list of expenses, and debated the choice of minivan versus SUV. And then she said what she said.

     “Well, obviously, you’re kind of old to be having a baby. Anything could happen,” Iris continued, as her gaze slid away. My sister is a pediatrician (seven years younger, as she often reminds me) and likes to emphasize the fact that she is more highly educated than I am (I’m only a lowly art major, with no graduate degree).

     “Such as?” I kept my voice level, tried to sound as if I were interested in all the things that could possibly doom this pregnancy. These babies. Even though they were barely two little clumps of cells, I’d already begun to think of them as my babies.

     “For one,” she began, warming to her subject, “mothers over forty have an exponentially higher risk of congenital defects, or Down Syndrome babies. It would be smart for you to have an amnio and to decide what course of action you’ll take if something is wrong with the babies. They could also possibly have a condition incompatible with life—like anencephaly.”

     I remained calm, and just nodded. “Also,” Iris continued, “you should research twin pregnancy risks. If the twins are identical, for instance, and share the same amniotic sac, there can be problems with one twin not receiving enough blood—basically, the other twin steals his nutrition—it’s called TTTS, or twin-to-twin-transfusion syndrome.” 

     It had been such a lovely afternoon, mid October, my favorite time of year. The liquid amber trees that lined our street were in the midst of their annual red, orange and yellow extravaganza. Some of the trees had already dropped leaves that crunched underfoot, the kids were making plans for Halloween, and in the evenings the smell of autumn woodsmoke drifted through the neighborhood. Best of all, David and I had discovered that (if all went well) we would become parents to twins next June. All in all, it had been a perfect day. Until Iris said what she said.

     “I’ll take that all into consideration,” I said. I wanted to get away from her. I glanced at my watch. “Thanks for the advice, but I’ve got to run—have to pick up Evie at the barn.” I forced myself to smile and turned to go inside the house. I actually did need to pick up my daughter. Her riding lesson would be over by now. Despite my efforts, I must have sounded upset because Iris called after me.

     “Hey, don’t be angry! I’m just telling you what your obstetrician is going to tell you sooner or later.”

     I didn’t bother to answer. I slammed the door behind me and sat at the kitchen table for a moment until I could collect my thoughts. Of course, I knew I was old to be having one baby, let alone two. But other women did it—sometimes even having their first child in their forties. The first baby is usually the most difficult, so at least I didn’t have to deal with that issue. And anything could go wrong with any pregnancy. But who wants to dwell on that? What good does it do? And what kind of person tells her pregnant sister all these ominous possibilities? She enjoyed telling me, I knew it. I know my sister better than anyone. Better than our parents, better than her kids, better than her ex-husband. I could read her like a book. And even though I kept telling myself that she was just insensitive or clueless or whatever, I knew, as I have always known, that she does not wish me well.

     I had ignored all the slights and comments for decades, pretended not to notice, took the high road. All the little jabs and innuendoes. But now, I felt more vulnerable than I ever had in the past, less able to ignore or write off Iris’ behavior. 

     “She’s a fucking bitch,” David said, as he poured himself a second glass of wine. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked, looking at my glass of Perrier. “Because if you want me to teetotal with you, I will.” 

   “Of course, I don’t mind,” I said. I hated not being able to have my usual glass of wine with dinner, but there was no way I was doing anything to put this pregnancy in jeopardy. He was sweet, my David. Even after fifteen years of marriage, he was still so thoughtful and kind. I was lucky I hadn’t married someone like Iris’ ex-husband, Nathan. Now there was a nightmare if ever there was. Even though I had my differences with Iris, and at times wished I didn’t have a sister at all, I was firmly in her camp when it came to Nathan. The man had left her with three kids under the age of ten, after numerous affairs. They’d gone to counseling, but Iris said it hadn’t helped, that he was a hopeless narcissist and sex addict. 

     Iris had been forced to return to work full time, and it hadn’t been easy for her. Nathan never paid the child support on time and it turned out he had a gambling addiction as well as a sex addiction. And to top it all off, he hadn’t paid taxes for the last five years, and Iris was on the hook for 50% of that. So, to a certain extent, I could understand her resentment of me. But I had supported her emotionally, listened to her for hours, crying on the phone. I’d given her (not lent, mind you, given!) thousands of dollars to help with her expenses. But it only seemed to make her more passive aggressive toward me.

     David walked around the kitchen island and stood behind me, massaging my shoulders. “You’re such a trooper, you know that? I think that’s what I love most about you. You never complain, you just do what needs to be done.” He pulled my ponytail to one side and kissed the nape of my neck.

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     “Twins!” Mirna’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding me! When did you find out? I thought it was just one!”

     “So did we, until we went for the second ultrasound! I’m so excited, even though I’m terrified at the same time,” I said. Mirna and I had been friends ever since we met at the preschool co-op our children had attended. We lived five houses apart in our urban neighborhood, and our kids constantly ran back and forth between our homes.

Mirna’s husband had died in a car accident when their youngest child was only three. Fortunately, he’d had a good life insurance policy. That, plus Mirna’s full time career as a realtor, kept her and her two kids fairly comfortable, as far as finances were concerned.

      “I’d love to have another baby,” Mirna said. “Not that I have the necessary equipment–no uterus and no husband.” Mirna had grown up in a family with seven children, and had been planning on having a large family herself, but her uterus had ruptured with the birth of her second child. “You’re so lucky. Promise you’ll let me help, so I can get a baby fix.”

     “Believe me, I’m sure I’ll be begging for help. David thinks we should hire a nanny—he’s worried that I’m not going to have enough stamina for this.” I laughed, but I was worried, too. I am not one of those women who always have it together, the naturally organized type. Mirna, on the other hand, was the epitome of organized. She’d never had a nanny, just the occasional babysitter, but she was always beautifully dressed and in full makeup by seven am. She packed homemade, organic lunches for her kids and volunteered to chaperone every school field trip.  I never could figure out how she managed it.

     “I just saw David last week, with your sister,” Mirna said. “You’ve told Iris, I’m sure, haven’t you?” She inspected a fingernail, and frowned. “I’m overdue for a mani.”

     “What do you mean, ‘with my sister’?” I asked. David had never liked Iris, from the very beginning.

     Mirna suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Oh, um. At Garibaldi’s? They probably just ran into each other.” 

     “Mirna! What do you mean? They were eating together? Standing next to each other? What?” My spidey senses were on full alert. Something was weird.

      “Shit, I don’t know. Me and my big mouth. I didn’t think anything of it. They were sitting at one of the outdoor tables, drinking coffee. They probably just ran into each other and sat down to chat, I don’t know. Look, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

     Garibaldi’s was where David and I always went for coffee, and we liked to have eggs Benedict there on Sunday mornings. Iris never went to Garibaldi’s—she said she’d seen flies inside the pastry case. So what was she doing there with David?