Swimming Upstream, Slowly A Novel

One Sasha Salter squeezed between two pregnant women on her way to the bar for her third round of drinks. She was at her best friend's baby shower, and by the looks of it she was one of the few who weren't expecting. As she slipped past, one of the women slid her pedicured foot forward. "You're Sasha Salter," the woman declared, as though she were introducing Sasha to Sasha. "Yes," she said, forcing a smile. The other pregnant woman lit up. "She's practically having her baby as an excuse to watch your show." They both smiled politely. "That's sweet," Sasha said, eager for another vodka cranberry. She assumed this was a compliment, but the previous drink was fogging her thoughts, and instead of focusing on the compliment she could focus only on the women's bellies, which stuck out like tongues, seemingly mocking her own slender stomach. "You've really brought quality back to television," one of the women said, as though she were the Quality Television Authority. "You should be proud of yourself," the other one said in a maternal tone. Sasha smiled again and cocked her head with what she hoped indicated a grateful modesty. She looked toward the bar. "Well, I'm just gonna . . ." "Go," one of them said, laughing. "Have one for me, too." Sasha drummed her fingers on the bar until the bartender noticed. He was staring at a jar of olives but snapped out of it. "If it weren't for you, I'd have nothing to do today," he joked. "Everyone's pregnant here," she said, looking around for the restroom. When their eyes met, she noticed a deep sympathy. He handed her the drink. "Your time will come," he said. He seemed sincere. "Oh," she started. "That's not what I meant." He continued looking at her with earnestness. "I just meant . . ." She took a sip. Suddenly she didn't know what she meant or what she was defending or why, exactly, she felt that the bartender felt sorry for her. Her mind had suddenly gone from foggy to cloudy. The third vodka certainly wasn't going to help clear things up. She watched the party guests. So many women bursting with new life, her best friend Erika in the middle. She was thrilled for Erika, but what was more pressing was her bladder. She finally found the sign for the ladies' room and, once settled on the toilet, her glass resting on the toilet-paper holder, she pulled out her cell phone and made a drunken call to Jordan. "Where are you?" he asked. "On the toilet," she said, because that's where she was. "I know we're close, but that's a little too much information." "I'm at Erika's baby shower," she said. "I'm drunk." "I know," he said. "How?" "Baby shower, toilet, cell phone. I know you." "I didn't mean to" "I'm not judging." "What if I said I was too drunk to drive home and if I see another pregnant person I might retch, and that I'd owe you the biggest favor in the world if you came and picked me up?" "I don't know how I'd react." "Well, I'm saying it." Jordan sighed. "IClark, Melissa is the author of 'Swimming Upstream, Slowly A Novel', published 2006 under ISBN 9780767925266 and ISBN 0767925262.