Driving Lessons

by Zoe Fishman

“The operation is Wednesday? And what’s today?”

  “Sunday.”

  “That’s not much time to drop a bomb of that size on a guy you’re casually dating.”

  “I know. Although, it looks like I’m out on the street again tonight.”

  “What? No way!”

  “Way.” I stopped in front of a deli. I was craving a black-and-white cookie, the kind that came wrapped in plastic and was mass-produced somewhere in Long Island. “It’s not a biggie. I’m going to babysit for Kate and Ben.”

  “You are?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not completely useless. I babysat all the time in high school. Of course, I raided the parents’ liquor cabinets and rummaged through their bedside tables once the kids were asleep, but things are different now. I can drink openly, for example.” Not that I will, because there’s a very slight chance that I could be pregnant. I didn’t want to mention it yet. There was no need for both of us to become overwhelmed by what-ifs, especially at such a distance, until I either got my period or, gulp, got a positive test.

  “I think you should probably not drink, actually.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I was kidding, anyway. The truth is that I am a little nervous. Okay, a lot,” I admitted. “But c’mon, it’s the least I can do. This will be the second of who knows how many times I’m crashing with them with zero notice. I have to do something.”

  “Ben says they’re loving having you around.”

  “Oh, you talked to him?” I walked to the register and nodded hello to the Indian gentleman behind the counter while depositing my cookie in front of him.

  “Yeah, yesterday I think?”

  My mouth dropped as what I had assumed to be a large cat lying on the windowsill behind him sat up and stared at me with sleepy eyes. It was not a cat at all, but instead a very petite toddler. I paid and waved away the change.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, sorry,” I replied, back on the street. “Something very strange just happened.” I explained the circumstances and settled down on Mona’s stoop to unwrap my cookie.

  “Good ole Brooklyn,” said Josh when I had finished. “I guess that’s another thing I miss. You just don’t see oddities like that in Farmwood.”

  “I literally thought she was a cat.” I took a dainty bite of the cookie’s white half. “Listen, I better go. You hosting another elegant dinner party tonight, Martha, or will you be around?”

  “I’m around. Hey, maybe we can Skype with Franklin.”

  “Maybe. I’ll call you.”

  “Hey, Sarah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I hung up and laid my phone on the stoop, just in time for a ladybug to land on its face. “And, Josh? My period is late,” I whispered to no one.

  I took another bite, this time much bigger, and watched the clouds float across the azure sky.

  Call us if you need anything.” Kate stood in front of me wringing her hands and biting the inside of her cheek. “We’re just down the street.” She looked at Ben beseechingly. “Ben, can you believe how nervous I am?”

  “Yes, I can believe it. You’ve been attached, literally, to him for almost a year now.”

  “A year?”

  “Yeah, if you include the pregnancy.”

  “You’re right!” She fell to her knees in front of Franklin, who sucked his pacifier calmly. “Franklin, do you even know who I am?” she pleaded. He continued sucking, nonplussed by his mother’s desperation.

  “Of course he knows who you are,” I said. “You’re the milk lady.”

  Kate stood up. “Okay. Ben, let’s go before I change my mind.”

  “Kate, you look very pretty,” I said.

  “Thank you. I actually put on mascara and realized that yes, I do have eyes.” She smiled proudly.

  “You look like a million bucks, honey,” added Ben. “Now, for the love of God, let’s go.” I waved good-bye from the couch.

  The door shut and I turned to Franklin, who continued to suck contentedly while strapped into his baby armchair. He had just eaten, and Kate had assured me that there was nothing else to do until he let me know otherwise. If I was lucky, that was.

  “Hey, buddy. How was your day? Did ya get some good naps in?” He stopped sucking and the pacifier fell lazily from his mouth as I held my breath, waiting for him to erupt into tears. He seemed unfazed. I regarded the straps that held him in place. Do I dare try to hold him? What if that sets him off? I won’t.

  “Your mom and dad gave me specific instructions not to turn the television on if you were awake.” He yawned. “I know, right? How dull are they?” I eyed the clock. They had been gone seven minutes and already I was bored. Not a good sign in terms of my mothering potential.

  He began to mew softly. I reached for the pacifier and gently nudged it back into his mouth, but he spat it back out. His arms began to flail.

  “All right, I’m going in,” I announced. My hands trembled as I undid his straps. “Okay, here we go.” I lifted him out and held him in the air in front of me, where he froze, whether in fear or amusement at my ineptitude I could not discern. I cradled him against me awkwardly.

  “Could I have one of you around all of the time?” I asked him. He shifted slightly and I imagined what it would be like to feel that shift from the inside. Did it hurt?

  I looked around the room—a room that used to frighten me with its cleanliness. Now it looked like a low-level tornado had struck, depositing patterned baby blankets, tiny socks, a variety of nipple creams and at least ten half-empty water glasses throughout. This was what new parenthood looked like. My phone rang.

  “Wanna Skype?” Josh asked.

  “I guess so.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to do two things at once.”

  “You mean, watch an immobile infant and talk to a computer screen?”

  “I guess you have a point. Here, let me get Ben’s laptop.” I reached over to the far corner of the couch, opened it up and placed it on the coffee table. “Okay, I’m on Ben’s computer. Call us.” I slid as gracefully as I could to the floor, holding Franklin up a bit so that his head was level with the camera.

  “You okay, little guy?” I asked, awkwardly peering around his shoulder to gauge his expression just as Josh’s face appeared on the screen before us.

  “Look at that,” he said. “You with a baby.” He smiled goofily, as though high from the visual.

  “Josh, you’re embarrassing me. Quit it.” I smiled back at him. It was good to see his face. He looked so handsome. That’s my husband, I thought to myself, feeling proud and shy all at once.

  “You look so pretty,” he said, mirroring my thoughts.

  “Get out of here.” I settled Franklin against my chest, careful to keep his wobbly head cradled. “You look pretty good yourself.”

  “Thanks. I showered for you guys. Wow, Sar, he is so tiny. Hi, Franklin. Hi, little guy.” I moved the baby’s hand to mimic a wave back in response. “What a cutie. I take back the manatee remark.”

  “I know, right? You should see him in person. He’s pretty damn charming.”

  “I think he looks like Ben.”

  “You do? I see Kate.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Okay, I think. Still alive under my care, which speaks well about his survival skills.”

  “Indeed. Although I’m sure you’re great with him. Sorry I was so negative earlier.”

  “It’s okay. Believe me, I was worried too, but so far I’m not a total moron. That said, I haven’t had to do anything yet other than hold him. What are you up to?”

  “Not much. Just grading some papers on the couch.”

  “Grading papers or napping?”

  “Little bit of both.” He yawned. “How long are you on Franklin duty?”

  “Just long enough for them to grab some dinner, although they’ll prob
ably skip appetizers and dessert if Kate is calling the shots.”

  “She had a hard time leaving?”

  “Yeah. This is the first time she’s been separated from him.”

  “Wow. What a different world, huh? Being a parent?”

  “Night and day. Forget about ‘me time’ anymore.”

  “Yeah, at first. I think it gets easier to carve out small pockets as they get a little older. Hey, he just smiled at me!”

  “No offense, but it’s probably gas.”

  “Since when did you become Dr. Spock? He smiled at his uncle, thank you very much. Hey, buddy,” he cooed. “It’s me, your uncle J.”

  “You know, hanging out with Franklin has made me a little less ambivalent about the baby thing,” I said.

  Josh sat back. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, seeing a couple that we know deal with it in real time has made it slightly less terrifying. Just slightly.”

  “You know I’m trying my damnedest not to overreact to your proclamation, right? I don’t want to scare you back into the hole.”

  “What am I, a groundhog?” I smiled and Josh laughed. He knew me well.

  “Sort of. Punxsutawney Sarah.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Sure. The last thing I want to do is bully you into feeling a way that you don’t authentically feel. I love you too much to put that kind of pressure on you. And by the way, I love you for you. I don’t love you because of your childbearing ability.”

  “I know that. I’ve been thinking a lot about why I haven’t been able to express myself to you. I think it’s because my ambivalence makes me feel like a bad person.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What kind of person doesn’t want to have kids? Cat people don’t want to have kids. People who get really excited about different kinds of chutney. How could I be one of those people?”

  “Sarah, you’re not a bad person. It sounds to me like you’re scared. And what woman wouldn’t be scared?”

  “I really hope that’s all it is. Rationally, that makes sense. Is there any part of you that’s scared?”

  “Of course. I worry that my mathematically inclined brain isn’t a good match for fatherhood. I get great joy from the neatness of equation solving. A baby isn’t an equation.”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true. Figuring out your baby is like solving an equation. What works, what doesn’t . . .”

  “That’s true. Huh. I never thought of it that way. Great, so actually no, I’m not scared at all. I’ll be the perfect dad. No worries here.” I didn’t reply. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s good for me to hear that you’re nervous too. I don’t know why I assumed that you weren’t. I guess because you never said as much.”

  “I suppose I thought that was implied, but that was unfair of me.”

  “Don’t you worry that you’ll inadvertently pass on your own neuroses?”

  “I suppose that’s a valid fear. Although, I think that I’m familiar with and wary of them. Maybe I’m naïve, but I think if I caught myself doing that, I’d retract fairly quickly. I don’t want my children to be scared of flying or blamers.”

  “Blamers?”

  “Sure, you know how I am. Instead of taking myself to task for a mistake, I tend to place the blame elsewhere. It’s not an attractive trait.”

  “Right. Why was I thinking that you were perfect?”

  “Beats me. Maybe because you’ve been putting so much pressure on yourself to be this perfect mom-in-training. You’re human, you know? To not be scared of something as big as having kids is inhuman in my opinion.”

  “I’m scared that I won’t figure out this career thing and will pass on my sense of inadequacy in the same way my mom passed on her sense of resentment to me. Kids are really perceptive, you know?”

  “That’s true, but I’m going back to what I said before. Your mom probably wasn’t even aware that that’s what she was doing. Your sensitivity will provide you with antennae, so to speak. Because you’re more in tune with your neuroses, you’ll actually be less inclined to pass them on.”

  Franklin stirred against my chest. I had practically forgotten that he was there. “You think?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I considered sharing the news about my missing period. Just as I opened my mouth, a distinct rumble erupted from Franklin’s diaper.

  “Hey, I heard that!” exclaimed Josh. “That was loud!”

  “It really was.” I laughed. “I think he just pooped.” I would take it as a sign to stay mum until I was sure. Even with the progress we had made on the topic, I still felt vulnerable.

  “Do you know how to change a diaper?”

  “Well, no, but how hard can it be? I watched Kate change one the other night.” Franklin started to flail. “Listen, I better go.”

  “Sarah, this was a great conversation, yeah?”

  “It was fantastic.” I paused. “I don’t know why I was shutting you out on all of this.”

  “It was the force field, melting your brain.”

  “I guess it was. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. That’s who you are. I love who you are.”

  “And I love who you are. Very much.”

  “Okay, give him a kiss for me. Good luck with the diaper.”

  “Thanks, Uncle J.”

  I closed out, feeling better than I had in months.

  14

  Do not allow anyone to ride in the trunk of your vehicle.

  I waited impatiently for the F train with the other Brooklynites. Despite knowing better, and despite the fact that arriving late to my destination was no big deal whatsoever, I peered down the tracks and tapped my foot like a cartoon character.

  It had been a long night. Each time I heard Kate wake up, swing out of bed, and pad patiently to feed Franklin, humming soothingly all the while, I marveled at her devotion. That was love. When I told her so before I left, she had blushed slightly and shrugged her shoulders.

  “You’ll see when you have one, Sarah,” she had said. “It’s just what you do. Part of the program.” Again that morning: no period. Soon I was going to have to bite the bullet and buy a test. Soon, but not today.

  The train finally approached, and the entire platform exhaled. On board, grasping the top bar and on high alert for any open seats, I observed my fellow passengers. Tired and good-looking, most of them possessing that effortless sort of chic that I always strove to achieve but never quite did. I wondered if my Virginia-ness now clung to me like a cloak or if I could still pass as one of them.

  A woman below me pulled out her makeup case, and I practically trembled with excitement. Network execs needed to take note of this phenomenon. Where else could you get an immediate glimpse of someone’s ego and taste in less than twenty minutes, and better yet, right up close? It was reality television at its best.

  A seat opened up at the next stop, and I collapsed gratefully into it, careful not to spill my coffee as the woman pulled out a tube of foundation without averting her gaze from the smudged mirror of her powder compact. She balanced the compact on the top of her purse and squirted a pea-sized beige dollop into her left hand before rubbing it gently into the palm of her right, the whole time staring straight ahead as if in a trance. Next, she raised her hands to her face and massaged its surface, giving special focus to the curvature of her nose, forehead, and chin. On the other side of her, gangster rap blared out of a young Asian man’s headphones, but she did not lose focus. She retrieved her compact to gaze at what she had accomplished and began to set her mask with a liberal dusting of powder before proceeding to her eyeliner. I held my breath as she attempted and perfected a cat eye around the top lid of each eye and had to hold myself back from congratulating her outright. That was talent.

  Before Josh, when I would find myself in the bed of someone else in the morning, I would inevitably wake up before them and sneak into the bathroom for a quick face wash, a gargle of mouthwash
if it was available—if not, toothpaste on my finger would suffice—and a swipe of ChapStick. Then I would crawl back into bed and play possum. Who, me? Yes, this is what I look like when I wake up. Tee-hee! It seemed like a harmless white lie at the time, but in retrospect it was a metaphor for the way I had handled all of my relationships. I never wanted to let them see the real me, was terrified of it, in fact, because if I didn’t it wouldn’t hurt as much when whatever it was that we were doing fizzled out.

  With Josh, things had been different from the very beginning. He had always encouraged the very realest version of me, despite my best efforts to present my trusty façade. For starters, he was the earliest riser I had ever known—up before the dawn to grade papers or go for a run, making me scrambled eggs and presenting me with a hot cup of fresh coffee as I stumbled by him on my way to the bathroom.

  My feeling the need to keep my baby ambivalence from him for so long made more sense if I thought of it in the same terms as driving. It was fear. And I was fearful because it was new, this whole making-and-taking-care-of-a-human-being thing. I wanted to be good at it but didn’t know if I would be because I had never done it before. But conception wasn’t the Wild West, to quote Ray. It was a team effort, and the other half of my team was and always had been incredibly supportive, warts and all.

  Hey, Sarah,” Nate said, greeting me cheerily.

  “Hey, Nate. Nice scarf.”

  He smiled, completely missing my sarcasm. “Thanks! Mona bought it for me. I feel like a jackass wearing it, but she’s assured me that it ups my coolness level considerably.”

  “Doesn’t he look European?” she asked excitedly.

  “Sure. Hey, speaking of Europe, are you excited about your trip, Mona?” I gazed at her coolly, relishing her unease. Something about their devil-may-care happiness despite the reality of Mona’s predicament had released my inner bitch.

  “Uh, yeah, of course. What’s not to be excited about?” Her eyes threw daggers.

  “Can you believe she has the audacity to leave us behind?” asked Nate. “Who wants to go to stupid Paris anyway?” He put his arm around her and she laughed stiffly.