Driving Lessons

by Zoe Fishman

  I would e-mail Meghan about lunch. Worst-case scenario, she’d never respond, and best case, she’d dispense some helpful advice. I painstakingly composed what I hoped was the perfect paragraph. As I was reading it over for the twelfth time, Mona approached.

  “You’re mouthing the words you’re reading,” she informed me.

  “Well, I’m concentrating really hard. ‘Thank you so much for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you, Sincerely, Sarah,’ ” I said aloud as I read over my closing. I nodded to Mona and pressed send. “What’s up, Mo?”

  “I’m ready to go,” she replied. “Part two of Mona day is now complete.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes, part one was that delicious bagel you brought me.”

  I smiled as I twisted imaginary dimples into my cheeks with my forefingers. “Hey, so does Nate think you’re actually in Paris now?” I asked, standing up.

  “He thinks I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Ah.” I turned my computer off. “Oh wait, so does this mean I have to make myself scarce tonight?”

  “Indeed.” I pouted. “Please?”

  “Of course, no problem. I get it. It’s her last hurrah.”

  “Literally.”

  “I’ll call Kate. Maybe she and Ben will want another date night or something.” I zipped my bag, slipped it over my shoulder, and followed Mona out of the shop while dialing my phone.

  “Sarah!” yelled Kate. Franklin howled in the background.

  “Hey, Kate, how’s it going?”

  “I’m losing my mind. No, I’m not losing my mind, he’s a good baby, but well, yeah, I am losing my mind just a little. How are you? Did Mona have her surgery yet?”

  “Tomorrow, actually.” I glanced at her walking beside me. Tomorrow a robot was going to remove the majority of her reproductive system and today we were going to Barneys. Was it okay to be so blasé about all this? Was Mona’s joke-cracking just following my lead, or was it her preferred method of dealing with the situation? She stared straight ahead, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Kate and I were obviously talking about her. I continued. “I was wondering if you might be in the mood for a houseguest tonight.”

  “Oh my God, I would love it. Wait! You know what?” The howling abated. “By the way, I’m breast-feeding as we speak. In public, no less. Is that multitasking or what?”

  “The ultimate. What?”

  “I want us to go out, just me and you and a giant bottle of wine. Maybe some food, too. What do you think?” I think I may be pregnant, Kate, so on second thought, let’s get burgers and shakes.

  “I’d love to do that,” I replied instead.

  “Good. I’ll tell Ben now.”

  “Okay. I’ll be by in the early evening, all right?”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  I hung up. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. I know it’s been a pain in the ass for you to schlep your stuff around like a nomad.”

  “It hasn’t been so bad, really. I swear. It’s been nice to get to know Kate outside of Josh.” We scampered halfway down the subway stairs together before Mona stopped abruptly.

  “Fuck this. My uterus wants to take a cab into the city,” she declared.

  “Are you serious? That’s, like, what rich people do.”

  “Well, anywhere but New York I’d probably be almost rich. We’re doing it.” She trotted back up the stairs.

  “No arguments here.”

  In the cab, Mona continued the conversation. “So Kate is cool?”

  “She is. I like her. Motherhood has made her more human, somehow.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to gather them like Easter eggs and stuff them back inside. “I’m sorry.”

  “What, because you mentioned motherhood? Sarah, we can’t tiptoe around the concept for the rest of our lives.”

  “I know, but it seems awfully insensitive to bring it up now.”

  Mona looked out her window as she spoke. “Well, it sucks, you know? No arguments here. But it’s not the end of the world, and all things considered, I’m pretty lucky.” She turned around to face me. “Even if I don’t feel so lucky. Sometimes I think if I say it enough times, I will actually feel that way.”

  “Mona, is it okay that we’re joking around so much about all of this? This whole uterus-day thing? The last thing I want to do is undermine the gravity of what’s happening here.”

  “No, Sarah, it’s good. It’s good to have you here and be joking around. It’s exactly what I need, I promise. It might not be what other people in my position would want, but it’s definitely what I want.”

  “Okay.”

  “And the motherhood thing. You have to be okay with saying that word in front of me, you know? Because you’re going to have kids, and—” She paused. “Wait, why are you making that face?”

  “What face?”

  “That face you make when you’re uncomfortable.”

  “And what face is that?” I could see the red awnings of Barneys in the near distance. I had only been to this store twice in my life, both times with Mona.

  “Your constipated face.”

  “Well, I happen to be constipated, so that’s not a surprise.”

  “No, you did. You made the face.”

  “Near or far corner?” asked the cabbie from the front seat.

  “Far,” answered Mona. “Sarah, what’s the story?” She swiped her card through the credit card machine on the seat back and we got out.

  “Really, Mona, is this something you want to talk about now?”

  “Shut up. You’re pregnant?” I didn’t reply. “Sarah! Holy shit!”

  “I don’t know, Mona! I mean, I’m not sure. I may be, but I’m not sure.”

  “Oh my God.” Behind her smile I could see her sadness, like thunderclouds in the distance on a summer afternoon.

  “Mona, my timing here is terrible. Let’s not talk about it until there’s even something to talk about. If there’s even anything to talk about. Forget I said anything.”

  “Yeah, right! Hello, are you nuts?” shrieked Mona as I held the door to Barneys open for her. The sweet perfume of wealth—sun-toasted cashmere, champagne, and tuberose—poured out into the street.

  “I agree that your timing is shit, but it’s not like you have anything to apologize for, Sarah. You’re thirty-six years old and married. If you weren’t trying to get pregnant, you would be, like, one in a zillion. How late are you?”

  “Five days,” I whispered as we made our way to the escalator.

  “Five days!” She hopped on in front of me and I followed. I looked up at her guiltily. “And you haven’t taken a test yet? Hasn’t the suspense been killing you?”

  “Not really. I’m just ambivalent about the whole thing, really. Or maybe just scared. At least I thought I was until it became a very real possibility that I might be.”

  “So now that you may very well be pregnant, you’re more into the idea?” We disembarked and she led the way to a rack of sleek black.

  “Yeah. At least I think so. Also, hanging with Franklin has sort of tipped the scale a bit. He’s a cool kid.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting development. And very good news if indeed you are with child.” She held what looked like a pair of opaque panty hose on a hanger against her chest.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “A shirt.”

  “Seems a little insubstantial, no?”

  “Sarah, that’s the look.”

  “Fine, whatever.” I approached a black-and-white-patterned dress and sighed in appreciation. “Mona, this conversation is making me very uncomfortable. I hate talking to you about this when you’re in the position you’re in.”

  “Why, because I don’t have the choice to be indifferent about kids?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed a pair of black leather pants with my thumb and forefinger.

  “Well, obviously I think you’re nuts not to want to have kids.”

  I o
pened my mouth to protest. “Sorry, not to not want to have kids, but to be ambivalent about the whole idea. Pretty soon, if this time turns out to be a false alarm, you’re going to have to shit or get off the pot, as my grandmother used to say.”

  “What a lovely euphemism.”

  “Isn’t it though? Hold this.” She handed me her jacket and purse and slipped into the cardigan equivalent of a cloud. “Your age is a nonnegotiable, you know.”

  “I know.” I watched her watch herself in the mirror. She tilted her head and squinted. “That’s really pretty on you, Mo.”

  “It is, right? I feel like this is what a convalescing actress would wear in a movie. Penélope Cruz, maybe.”

  “Totally. You look sort of like her, you know,” I said, knowing full well that she did.

  “Do I?” Her eyes danced. “Okay, I don’t care what this costs, I’m buying it.”

  “I’m only thirty-six, by the way. I don’t know why everyone has to dangle the stopwatch every time the word ‘kid’ comes up,” I said. I took the cardigan from her and handed her back her things.

  “Because, Sarah, it could take some time. You could feasibly be thirty-eight or older by the time your delivery date rolled around.” She made her way toward the register. “And now my uterus is getting depressed, talking about your uterus on her day.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to not talk about it anymore.”

  “Oh no, now we have to talk about it! What does Josh think?” She handed the sweater and her credit card to the impossibly put-together salesperson and looked at me closely.

  “I haven’t told him.”

  “What!” She retrieved her card without missing a beat and slipped it back into her wallet. “Why not?”

  “You know me, I don’t like a big fuss before I’ve got a handle on things.”

  “But, Sarah, this is more than just a thing, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, but still. I just want to be sure first. If I’m not, I’ll tell him after the fact when I’m home.”

  “And if you are?”

  “Then I guess shit will hit the fan.”

  “So when are you going to take a test already?”

  “I have one in my purse,” I confessed.

  “You’re just carrying it around with you like a lip gloss or something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For God’s sake, let’s take it already! What are you waiting for?”

  “But maybe it’s too early?”

  “Who cares? And it’s not too early, anyway. Let’s go.” She marched toward the elevators.

  “Here?”

  “There’s a bathroom in the basement that nobody uses.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, following her.

  “Sometimes I get a nervous stomach here after I spend too much money on something. Move it or lose it.”

  Do I just leave it here? On the back of the commode?” I asked from inside the stall. “The directions say that you’re supposed to leave it alone while it works.”

  “Yes. Leave it there. We’ll wait in the lounge,” Mona replied through the door.

  “But what if someone comes in this one?”

  “We’ll tell them not to. They can’t actually enter the bathroom without going past us first.”

  “Right.” I flushed and left, refusing to look at the test until the maximum seven minutes were up.

  “God, I’m so nervous,” I said through chattering teeth as I washed my hands. “This reminds me of my first driving lesson. My t-t-t-teeth. They ch-ch-chattered like this. So weird.”

  “Of course you’re nervous.” Mona took my arm and led me toward the couches in the lounge.

  “Wait, do you mind if we sit right here?” I asked. “I know it’s not the most sanitary thing, but I’m nervous to leave the test.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head.

  “Fine. How dirty could it be? It’s Barneys.” We sat down and pressed our backs against the wall. “I hope no one I know comes in here,” said Mona. “This would be a hard one to explain.”

  “Mona, you’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re being so supportive with all that you’re going through.”

  “I’m glad you told me. What were you going to do, wait until the baby came and be like, ‘Oh, by the way, I had a baby’?” She shook her head. “I’m scared about tomorrow, Sarah,” she added.

  “I know.” I snuggled closer to her.

  “What if I come out and I don’t feel like me anymore? What if all of this”—she glanced down at her abdomen—“is responsible for all of my Mona-isms?”

  “I don’t think that’s biologically possible, Mo, but I certainly understand the worry.”

  “Why? Why isn’t it possible? Hormones and estrogen are all I am on most days.”

  “Fair enough, but you’ll still have your ovaries, right? Those regulate all of that stuff as far as I know.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But still. Who knows?”

  “Right.”

  “What’s it called when someone loses a limb, but they can still feel it as though it’s there?”

  “Phantom limb?”

  “Phantom uterus syndrome. PUS for short. What if I develop that? How apropos.”

  “But a limb is more obviously utilized, you know? When do you think about your uterus? Are you saying that you’ll have phantom periods?” I asked.

  “God, I hope not.” She smiled slightly.

  “Whatever you need, I’m here for you, Mona. There’s nothing you can’t ask me for.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is it strange to not have Nate know about any of this? Wouldn’t it be nice to have his arms to fall into afterward?”

  “Not really. Well, maybe. It’s too complicated, though. If we were farther along in our relationship, sure. But we’re not, so . . . Anyway, look at you, Little Miss Hypocrite! Your husband doesn’t even know that you might be pregnant.”

  “Fair enough.” I looked at my watch. “Mona, it’s time.”

  Just then, a woman walked into the restroom, doing a double take as she noticed us camped out on the floor like tweens in line for Justin Bieber tickets. I stood up quickly and pulled Mona to her feet.

  “Okay, I’m g-g-going in,” I announced.

  “Okay,” Mona said. “Go on. Now or never.”

  I nodded and pushed the door open, my heart beating wildly. I closed and locked it before turning around to face the most powerful piece of plastic ever created.

  I couldn’t figure out exactly what I wanted it to tell me. “Not pregnant” would be both a relief and a letdown somehow, as though all of this worry and stress was for naught. “Pregnant” was an entirely different scenario altogether—the emotional dimensions of which I couldn’t really imagine. Classical music wafted through the bathroom’s speakers as I willed my feet to move.

  Pregnant. I put my hand over my mouth, too shocked by the verdict to even pick it up. Without warning, tears streamed from my eyes. I was beyond overwhelmed with joy and fright, disbelief and wonder.

  “Sarah?” whispered Mona on the other side of the parallel universe that this stall had become. A universe in which I was grown-up enough to be pregnant and excited about it. How could it be that I was delivering this news to someone who was about to lose her chance at ever seeing this word staring up at her? The scenario seemed so cruel, and yet, there was nothing that could be done. I opened the door slowly and Mona peered in, her face a mask of concern.

  “What is it, Sar?” I held out the test, and she looked down, grabbing my forearm as she did so. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her own tears beginning to fall. “Congratulations.” We embraced fiercely, both sobbing.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Mona said through her tears.

  “Mo, you don’t have to be, it’s okay,” I sobbed back. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m not so happy.” She pulled back and we regarded each other, her eyes puffy and mascara smudged. “It
’s not fair.”

  “It’s not,” I replied. “I hate that this is happening now.”

  “I know.” She sniffled loudly. “Me too. But you’ll be a good mom, Sar.”

  “I hope so. And so will you, Mo. I know you hate hearing the word ‘adoption’ right now, but I want you to pursue it when the time is right.” She nodded halfheartedly. As we embraced again, the woman emerged from her stall apologetically and washed her hands at lightning speed, opting to dry her hands on her pants in an attempt to exit as quickly as possible.

  “I forgot about her.” I laughed.

  “Man, does she have a story to tell at lunch.” She wiped her eyes. “Speaking of, let’s celebrate with a decadent lunch. My uterus is a little crestfallen about having to share her day, but some French fries should help.”

  “You got it.” I held the test up. “What do I do with this?”

  “Put it back in your purse.”

  “But it’s covered in pee.” I made a face.

  “Sarah, God willing, in nine months’ time, everything you own will be covered in pee. And poop, for that matter. Think of it as a head start on the inevitable.”

  I placed it in my bag’s inside zipper compartment gingerly and washed my hands as Mona attempted to refresh her rumpled face.

  “Life is crazy,” she mumbled, wiping under her eyes with a Kleenex.

  “No shit,” I agreed.

  Free at last, free at last!” sang Kate as we exited her building. She skipped a few steps in front of me. “This elation will last approximately two and a half minutes, and then I will plunge into a deep well of guilt and loneliness,” she then informed me.

  “About Franklin?”

  “Yes, little man Franklin. The love of my life. That said, it does feel good to be out on my own again, without worrying about feeding or soothing anyone but myself.”

  I listened to her Mommy woes with considerably elevated interest. I hadn’t told a soul but Mona about my newest development, although I had left a message for Josh to call me back. Not a “Call me back, I have news” message, but just a regular one.

  “Do you even feel like you anymore? Or is it this new version of you?”