by Meghann Foye
Everyone breathes a huge sigh of relief and starts to smile. People start grabbing Diet Cokes and Honey Cups, and relax in their seats.
“I’m also pleased to announce that we’ve been awarded best service feature for ‘Fair-Trade Families’ by our own Elizabeth.”
Immediately I flush. Jules gives me a huge hug, and Cynthia beams. I can’t believe it. An MEAA award is a mark of excellence. Receiving one is a career pinnacle. In the span of two seconds, I’ve become A-list all the way. Cynthia says nothing, but her warm, open smile conveys all I need to know. I’m not going anywhere.
In the flush of excitement, I ask Jules if she wants to come for drinks with me after work to celebrate. She says she’s trying to take things low-key these days while trying. Brie is also busy, and Addison is going to dinner with Jacques.
And then I think of Ryan. Before I know it, the cupcakes from the conference room party have made me text something that is probably no bueno: I have some good news. Even through a fizzy haze, I know this is a good idea for now, but a bad idea for my future. Beneath it, however, something tells me that Ryan won’t mind.
A few seconds later, I get a response.
Buckley! Good 2 hear from u! What r u up 2?
I start typing back the response I’ve secretly been dreaming of for the past week. It would be great to see you.
Well, where you at later?
I can meet you at the Yards? The rooftop bar near the West Side Highway?
Perfect. At 7? Be there soon, Ms. Buckley. Will be good to see u!
After work, I take extra time to primp, then make my way over. As I enter the swanky loft space, I look around nervously. The brick walls are filled with various paintings from Chelsea’s premier galleries. I find the elevator and ride to the top, texting Ryan that I’m going to be at the corner, overlooking the Hudson.
When he arrives, I feel it everywhere in my body. The warmth. His eyes find mine, and there’s a softening.
“Hey, Liz, you look good!” says Ryan, coming right up and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I don’t pull away. He’s wearing a navy suit and sky-blue tie, not his typical jeans and statement T. Maybe it’s just the August heat, but he’s looking unusually hot tonight. Like a man.
Just for one quick moment I entertain the thought of what our babies might look like. He, just like me, has Irish-blue eyes and light brown hair, and his tall frame has just a hint of thirtysomething beer belly, but is mostly muscular. Strong arms. He definitely has good genes, I think, smiling to myself. He would look sooo good with a BabyBjorn strapped to the front of his chest.
“Thanks. So do you,” I say, beaming through the champagne.
“What are you having?” He touches my drink.
“Another glass of this stuff, I guess,” I say.
We raise our glasses and say “Cheers,” glossing over the whole turn of events earlier in the spring, and catch up on work and recent life events. I find out he’s recently been made head of the digital video department at Discovery. I recount my MEAA good news. He seems genuinely happy for me.
I’m feeling pleasantly drunk and after one more touch on the arm from Ryan, I’m willing to put my cards on the table.
“So I hope I didn’t take you away from another happy hour out with Kendall.”
He looks at me, confused.
“No. Why would you think that?”
“Isn’t she your girlfriend?”
He gives me a questioning look, but doesn’t say anything.
I look down, sheepishly. “I saw the pictures on Facebook.”
“No,” he says, mystified. “I thought I told you—she’s my coworker. We’ve been working on a lot of projects recently—and I’m helping her transition to my old job. We’ve worked together forever and we’re really good friends, but I think of her as a little sister.”
My shoulders soften at his words, and he smiles.
All of a sudden Alanis starts playing. We both notice and Ryan shoots me a knowing smile.
We pause, listening silently to the tune for a few moments.
Then, he touches my knee. “I tried reaching out to you three times, but you never called me back.”
Hmm. He’s right. He did. “I just thought, you know, you were one of those guys who wasn’t looking for a real relationship. I was protecting myself.”
“Why would you feel like you had to do that?”
“Well, you kept leaving quickly—and I thought our dates were all work-related, well except for that last one.
“And you never texted me after. I guess I thought you didn’t like me,” I respond.
He looks down as though he genuinely feels bad. “Well, I would have, but you’re not exactly easy to read, Liz. I mean, you pushed my hand away that day at the Highline, got cold on me that night on the roof, canceled our meeting because of some random excuse about work, turned me away that night after you invited me to your apartment. I know your job is everything to you, so I didn’t want to get in the way and take up too much of your time or distract you from your goals. I was playing it cool.”
Huh, I guess I’d never really considered that I could have given off that impression.
“But you showed up at my apartment sloppy drunk?”
“I’m sorry Lizzie, that was totally rude of me. But hey, after I sent you that contact at six, you didn’t text me back until ten. I sat in McGanns with Kendall waiting for you, trying to decipher it...and I had a few.” He looks down, genuinely embarrassed. Damn cracked iPhone!
“I’m pretty sure I texted back, but I don’t think it made it to you.”
“Really,” he says, his head rising. “I thought you weren’t that into me.”
“Really? I thought you weren’t that into me.”
“No, the opposite. I’ve always thought you’re interesting, you’re smart, you’re funny, when you talk about your ideas, you get all cute and you’re...sexy.” I look down, realizing that his impression of me is ultimately how I’d like to see myself. “You’ve got dreams, Liz—real ones. Not like some girls who just care about copying and pasting a life off some Pinterest page.”
“Board,” I correct absentmindedly.
“And then you called me a player that day outside your apartment. That really hurt, Liz. Not all guys in this city are douche bags, you know. It was like nothing I’d done up until that point mattered to you and you’d already formed your opinions.”
“I guess, I interpreted what you said about the potential husband stuff to mean that you weren’t looking for anything serious.”
“I can see how you’d think that. But no, it’s just, well, a lot of girls don’t see me—the whole person. To them, I’m just some guy with a job who’ll take them out to expensive dinners. It could be me, or anyone. I’m looking for something real. A girl who can hang in an Irish pub, drink a rusty nail. Or two.” I can’t help a little grin from forming.
“Well, anyway, I moved to Brooklyn—Greenpoint—really cool neighborhood. My brother’s doing really well, and got a place of his own. You should come out sometime. We’ve got better bars. And coffee shops where you can write.”
Now I feel bad.
“I wanted to say something that night I saw you at the Mondrian, but then I saw you with that Australian dude. I thought you’d moved on and were doing well in your career so I didn’t want to mess things up for you. Even though that guy seemed like a total tool.”
“Trust me, Ryan, that wasn’t anything.”
“Really, don’t lie to me, Liz, or you’ll break my heart all over again.”
I want to tell him the truth—I owe him that. “Look Ryan, I can see how you’d think I was flaky, but it’s really not the case. I meant what I said—I really do want to travel around the world, like soon, while I still have the chance. And to that end I, well,
I did something pretty bold—and stupid—several months ago...”
His face lights up, and he jumps in speaking over me, “I’m traveling all the time now, too, Liz.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Now, what did you want to tell me?”
I chicken out. “I’m, uh, looking into other options for work, and thinking of going freelance in October. October 20 to be exact.”
His smile brightens. “I’m going to quit my job at the end of the year and travel for six months to research the documentary before it starts filming.” As much as I want to reveal my secret, I hold back. I know now exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to quit my job on October 20 and not look back. I’ll live my dream of writing and traveling the world. Ryan or no Ryan. Even if my bank account balance is zero. Negative zero. I’ll make it work. Somehow.
“Hey, want to get out of here?” asks Ryan.
“Yes,” I reply.
We wade through the crowd, taking the elevator down toward the street. Ryan hails a cab on the corner of Thirty-Fourth Street and Tenth, and, as we get in, I feel very adult. It’s as if the cloudy haze of twentysomething confusion has all but burned away. What’s there is the clear blue sky of clarity...would things have been this easy and direct had I just revealed what was in my heart long ago?
The Adele song “Hello” comes on and we find ourselves moving our heads in silence, at the very same time, which makes both of us smile.
“You never answered the question you asked me that time in McGann’s. What is it you’re looking for?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Easy, a big love.” He falls silent. “You know, Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman–style.”
“But they didn’t end up on the plane together,” I tease.
“Oh, if that was me, that would have never happened. I would have caught up with her eventually.”
Riding all the way up Amsterdam, we’re holding hands, catching up on the past few months. It’s about midnight when we approach my apartment, and this time, I feel confident that I’m ready to be with Ryan. I’ve got a golden glow as he leans in to kiss me softly before we get out of the cab.
And then I see him, sitting on my stoop. Oh, God. It’s Gavin. He didn’t go to Italy.
When we get out of the cab, I can tell he’s been drinking by the way he’s kind of sprawled out, lounging on the steps leading up to my apartment building. He looks at me, then Ryan, then he starts talking.
“Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt something, Liz?”
I look over at Ryan. He looks shell-shocked.
“You certainly move fast, Liz. I guess I should have expected it.” Gavin lights a cigarette. “Who’s this dude?”
Ryan just gives me a look of stabbed pain. “You’re serious right now, Liz?”
“Mate, time to leave,” says Gavin somewhat aggressively. “We need to work some things out.”
“Gavin, this isn’t the time...it’s over... You need to leave. Ryan, I can totally explai—”
“Liz, Doug told me about your situation,” Gavin interrupts. Oh, no, could Brie have said something about my fake pregnancy? What could she have been thinking? I feel my limbs start to go numb. I have to stop him from saying anything in front of Ryan.
“Gavin, there is no situation. You have to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I turn to look at Ryan, inexplicably say the thing I don’t want to. “Ryan, I’m so sorry. Can we get together tomorrow and I’ll explain?”
Ryan looks at me, hurt in his eyes.
“Huh? Liz, why?” Ryan just looks at the Aussie, and then back at me with confusion.
I don’t know how to respond, so I stand there with a pleading look.
“Liz, whatever it is, just tell me,” demands Ryan. It seems like there’s a hopeful look, like he’ll believe what I say.
Gavin starts to get up, impatient. “Mate, like I said, get outta here.” Ryan just looks at Gavin with disgust, trying to contemplate what’s going on.
“Dude, hold up. Let Liz finish what she has to say.”
“What are you—her rebound guy or something, mate? We’ve got some things to work out—I just found out that I’m going to be a father.”
Ryan’s eyes widen in disbelief, and for a few seconds he’s completely white, taking it all in. I have no idea what Gavin is talking about.
“Is this true, Liz?”
I contemplate telling Gavin and Ryan the truth right here. A lump forms in my throat and I can’t find the words, as a rush of adrenaline seems to lift me off of my feet. What would he think? My expression must seem like a look of guilt, because Ryan coldly says, “Guess you got your start traveling around the world a little bit sooner than I thought.” With that, Ryan turns around, walks to the street corner and hails a cab. Before I can run after him, he’s gone.
I turn around to face Gavin, seething. “What the fuck was that? You know I’m not pregnant.”
“You’re not?” Gavin looks amazed, then relieved.
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“I was out with Doug last night, I was asking about you and he said Brie said her best friend was pregnant...”
I let out a huge sigh. “Okay, this is going to sound completely nuts, but I have something to tell you,” I say. “Let’s go inside.”
Once we get up to my apartment, he sits on my couch and seems to brace himself.
“First of all, Addison’s the one who’s pregnant. Not me.”
“Oh, shit,” says Gavin. His jaw drops to the floor.
“But there is something I need to get off my chest, too. You know how I always have baby books around and talk about how much I hate my job?”
“Uh-huh.”
I move over to my hall closet and find all six bumps, loading them up in my arms, before slipping one over my hips and under my dress. I walk out into my living room. “I’m not pregnant. But I have been pretending to be.”
Gavin’s eyes grow wide in disbelief. “Lizzie, why on earth would you want to do that?”
Up until this point, I haven’t been totally sure myself. “For a few reasons, actually.” I take a deep breath, then look him in the eye. “But one being that I’m trying to prove a point—to myself really. That I’ve been overlooked where I work because I’m not a mom. And that pregnant women and women with kids get preferential treatment.” He looks completely confused, then starts to laugh all of a sudden—hard.
“Good on ya, Liz. I didn’t think you’d have it in ya, you little tart!”
The humor breaks the tension, and I can’t contain myself. The next thing we know we’re both laughing hysterically to the point of tears.
Once we’ve caught our breaths, Gavin continues, giving me a cheeky eye raise. “Go on. Explain yourself.”
For the next five minutes I tell him the entire story: the day of Pippa’s shower and canceling my Paris trip, Alix’s affair, the cover story stand-down and finally deciding to go through with it. I tell him how differently I’ve been treated recently. To my total shock he seems to understand, giving me a huge kiss on my forehead.
“So you don’t think I’m totally nuts?”
“Well, it’s certainly bonkers. But as us Aussies say, YOLO—you only live once. Life isn’t all about work, Lizzie.”
“Really?” I wonder, feeling a relief that at least someone sees the nutty logic to all of this.
“Yes. And let me know if I can help—you know, with that.” He winks at me, looking down at my stomach.
“I think we’re better off as friends,” I say, realizing that Gavin will always be a flirt if he has the chance. “Think you can handle that?”
“I do.” He stiffens up a bit. “In all honesty, Lizzie, you’re better off. I’m not good for any woman right now
. Before I can be with someone, I’ve got to become the guy I want to be. Does that make sense?”
“Yep,” I tell him. Finally, it does. “But why didn’t you just tell me that?”
“You had all these expectations. I knew I’d just disappoint you.”
“Gavin, I’m a thirtysomething single woman living in post–Sex and the City, Tinder-and-texting culture New York. I know how to handle disappointment.”
He laughs hard. “Good on you. I guess you’re right.” He gives me a quick peck on my forehead. He looks again at me with his charming flirtatious look and swoops in for a kiss, but this time it’s just on the cheek. “Bye, Lizzie. Good seeing you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say sarcastically as I open the door and push him toward it. “Bye!”
“I’ll text you for drinks once I’m back in a month—with the girls?”
“Maybe. We’ll see. Bye.” I send him out with one more push, slamming the door shut with a loud thud.
The next morning I awake to check my phone, hoping for a reply from Ryan to my voice mails asking to explain. Nothing.
Heartbroken, I realize I’m going to be late to work. And with the late-August swamp, I know I’ll be sweating all day. For a second I wonder how I will ever pull off month eight. That’s why everyone must try to go for September conceptions, I realize, thinking of all of my friends from back home who’d gotten pregnant on their first tries just after Labor Day so they could be out on maternity leave for the three months of summer.
My basketball-size bump is calling. I pull on my sack dress, big space-age neoprene bump and maternity Spawn-x to smooth out all the panty lines. When doing my makeup, I add extra shine powder and lip venom to create that “glow.”
But it’s all for naught. My heart feels like it’s ready to give in amidst the weight of the bump. Did last night really happen?
* * *
On the subway to work, I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Ryan. I’m so lost in thought that I barely notice when I bump into someone very familiar just as I’m crossing the street at Twenty-Third.
“Well, hello there, miss. Long time no see.” It’s Seamus, the bartender from McGann’s. And I’m wearing my neoprene love child. He looks down, mystified about how to respond.