by Zoe Fishman
“You mean Mom me?” She stopped in her tracks. “Mom Me. M-O-M capital-M-E. I need to write that down. Hold on a sec.” She tapped it into her phone. “Okay, genius moment captured. Anyway, where were we?”
“Do you feel like you anymore?”
“I have these very small moments, you know? Like when I’m putting on makeup—which happens never, by the way, but I did tonight—my mind drifts and it’s just me again, thinking about the benefits of mascara or whether or not I’ve shaved recently. You know?” I nodded. “And in those moments I suppose it feels like the old me. But so much of my brain is consumed by Franklin now, it’s just—well, I guess there is a distinct divide between old me and mom me. Not that I mind. I mean, mascara and shaving are topics I am happy to shelve. My work though, that’s something I still have to figure out. Hey, you want to eat here? I love this place.”
She stopped in front of Ralph’s, which specialized in small plates of appetizer fare, carafes of fairly priced wine and excellent lighting. How I was going to opt out of wine consumption inconspicuously was a mystery to me, but I would give it my best shot.
“Sounds good to me.” We walked in, gave our name to the Winona Ryder–lookalike hostess, and settled ourselves at the bar.
“Salut,” I said, and lifted my glass to toast Kate. “I say that when I want to feel cool.”
“Do you feel cool tonight?” She clinked my glass and took a sip. I pretended to as well.
“I think I do, actually.” I surveyed the room and found myself feeling not at all homesick for the scene that was Brooklyn. That was the second time today. “So, Kate, what did you mean about figuring out your work?”
“Oh, with Franklin, you mean?” I nodded. “Every time I try to sit down and focus on it, my mind drifts. It’s almost like I am physically incapable of it. It’s worrying, to say the least.”
“Yes, but you’re what, not even two months into motherhood? Come on. Time will make it easier.”
“I hope so, Sarah. Because from around month four of pregnancy until now I have been coasting on God knows what in the business department. It’s a miracle my company is still afloat. I think my partner has just about had it with me.”
This did not bode well for me. At least Kate had a career at the moment of Franklin’s conception. If I wanted to make this marketing-consultant thing work, I had to get started immediately, before I had even less energy to care.
“Does she have any kids?”
“Yes, but they’re older. Eight and twelve. Different ball game.”
“Well, at least she’s sympathetic.”
“You would think, but it’s almost as though she’s forgotten what the reality of having an infant entails. I’ve heard that all women function that way. We all forget, apparently. It’s the only way to maybe want to do it again.”
“Have you forgotten your labor yet?”
“Not one millisecond.” She emptied the remains of the carafe into her glass. “Not one.”
“And would you do it again?”
“Yeah, as crazy as that sounds. Did I tell you about my labor?”
“You hinted at some stuff, but you didn’t really go into detail.”
“I didn’t?” She looked surprised. “That is very unlike me.”
I laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No, not really. I feel like it’s my duty to share this knowledge, because not one woman could even come close to describing the experience to me when I was curious, and it really pissed me off. Seriously, not one woman!”
“Maybe they all blocked it out.”
“Bullshit. It’s more like this secret-society crap. But I am not an elitist, and I think everyone should know what it feels like.” She lowered her voice, grabbed both of my hands and stared me directly in the eyes. “You ready?”
“Jesus, Kate, should I check the telephone poles outside for a flock of perched black crows? This feels very ominous.”
“Labor feels like a Mack truck pushing a piano out of your asshole,” she said, careful to enunciate each word. I recrossed my legs under the bar. “And not just in one fell swoop, either. The truck, like, backs up and charges forward again, over and over.” She nodded and drained the rest of her glass.
“Your asshole?” I whispered.
“Yes. Your asshole. And you know what else no one told me about?” Winona approached and let us know our table was ready.
“I think I may be okay not knowing,” I answered as we gathered our things. We followed the hostess through a maze of tables. Kate hung her purse on the back of her chair and sat down unsteadily, rocking the chair dangerously to the left as she did so.
“Okay, I’m drunk.”
“You don’t say.” I poured her some water.
“But I need to tell you something about the postpartum sexual experience and then I’m done.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”
“Promise. Okay. Here goes.” She took a deep breath. “So, Ben and I finally had sex the other night. Our first time since Franklin was born.” The waiter delivered a basket of warm bread and I greedily plunged my hand inside of it as Kate ordered the charcuterie plate to start.
“So, my vagina,” she continued, not missing a beat as he walked away. “I had a vaginal birth, which is all well and good, and I wouldn’t change it for anything, believe me. But.” Her eyes widened. “My vagina is just not the same.”
“Well of course it’s not, Kate! Give the ole girl a break.”
“Now, when I have an orgasm”—she lowered her voice to an almost undetectable decibel level so that I was forced to lean across the table to hear her—“it sounds like my vagina is eating fried chicken.”
“What?” Water shot out of my nose and I covered it with my napkin.
She nodded somberly. “I’m not exaggerating. Not even a little.”
I threw my head back and laughed uproariously as she cracked a small smile. “Are you serious?” I wheezed. “Fried chicken?”
“Start doing your Kegels now is all I’m saying. Now, pass that bread basket over here, I am fucking starving.”
“I don’t think I’ll be ordering the chicken tonight,” I said as she bit into her slice.
“Seriously. Man, that feels good to get off of my chest. I’ve been dying to tell someone about it.”
“Could Ben hear it? Did he say anything?”
“Are you kidding? He was so grateful to be having sex that a humpback whale could have swum out of there and he wouldn’t have said a word. Anyway, let’s change the subject, shall we?” She paused to chew. “How’s Mona?”
“Her attitude is incredible.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, she’s fully faced the reality of her situation, she’s admitted to being pissed off about its unfairness, and at the same time she’s trying her best to be mindful of her luck.”
“What luck?”
“They caught it early, and she doesn’t have to endure chemo or radiation. To her, that’s lucky.”
“Wait, what about this boyfriend who’s totally in the dark? That doesn’t sound like facing the reality of her situation to me.”
“True.” The waiter deposited our platter of cheese and meat on the table and Kate clapped her hands appreciatively. “That’s the only glitch.”
“It’s a pretty big glitch,” said Kate as she wrapped a piece of prosciutto around a hunk of Gruyère. “Although I can understand her position.”
“You can? I think she’s nuts. He really cares about her.”
“I’m sure he does, but does he care enough about her to handle not only her cancer but a hysterectomy to boot? That’s pretty heavy for a new relationship if you ask me.”
“Right, but what’s heavier is lying and telling him that you’re going to Paris. That’s a relationship ender in my book. ‘Oh, how was Paris, Mona?’ ‘How was where?’ You know?”
“Wait, she told him s
he’s off to Paris instead of telling him the truth?” asked Kate.
“Yeah, for work. It’s her way of explaining being gone for two weeks.”
“Wow. That’s pretty creative. He buys it?”
“Yeah, I guess so. You know, I wasn’t a huge fan of his at first, but he’s grown on me. And I know for a fact that he’s crazy about her. I think he would really be there for her if he knew. She deserves that kind of support.”
“Well, what can you do? You can’t force her to tell him. Maybe it will all just work itself out on its own.”
“How often does that happen?” I asked.
“Less often the older we get, it seems.”
“Exactly.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. Josh. “Hey, Kate, do you mind if I step out for a second? It’s Josh.”
She waved me away. “Of course not, go on. I’ll just finish this platter.” She smiled devilishly, her lips purple from the wine.
“Hey,” I answered, moving as quickly as I could through the mass of hipsters in tiny peacoats and oversize glasses crowding the bar.
“Hi. Sorry it took me so long to call you back. Hectic day. How are you?”
“Good, good.” Out in the fresh air at last, I shivered. I had left my own jacket inside.
“You with Mona?”
“No, actually. She’s with Nate tonight. I’m having dinner with Kate.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Yeah. She was desperate for a little girls’ time.”
“Nice! Good for you guys. How’s she doing? Ben says she’s—”
“Josh.”
“Yeah?”
“Josh, I’m pregnant,” I whispered, my heart racing.
“Wait, what?” His voice cracked. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
“Yeah.” My eyes welled for what felt like the thousandth time that day.
“Oh my God, Sarah! Wha— Are you sure? Of course you’re sure, what am I talking about? Sarah! We’re having a baby?”
“Looks like it.” My smile was so wide that my face hurt.
“How do you feel about it? Are you okay?”
“I’m surprisingly happy. Happy and terrified, but not one bit remorseful.”
“Sarah, I am overjoyed. I really am. God, I can’t believe we’re not together to celebrate this!”
“I know, it’s ridiculous.”
“Do you feel okay? Are you taking care of yourself? Are you getting enough rest?” His questions came at me rapid-fire.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I laughed. “Not even that nauseous, really. Just stunned.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“Mona.”
“Oh God, that must have been hard.”
“It was. I’ll call you later, Josh. I should get back to Kate.”
“Does she know?”
“No, no idea. I’d like to keep it to ourselves for a little bit, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure, whatever you want, Sarah. I love you so much. I know you weren’t exactly prepared for this, but I think you’re gonna be great at it.”
“I love you, too. And thanks. I think you’re going to be a wonderful dad.”
“Dad!” He laughed. “Oh wow.”
“Bye.”
As I pushed back through the crowd to my table, I placed my hand over the lower part of my stomach, no longer protecting just myself, but us.
16
I crept out of Kate and Ben’s apartment in the morning, careful not to wake them. Brooklyn was quiet save for the click-clack of early-bird work heels, the soft thuds of runners’ feet, and the garbage trucks rumbling by like disgruntled rhinoceroses.
Mona and I had not even discussed the possibility of something going wrong with her operation. I knew the odds of that happening were slim, of course, but what if? What if they found more cancer? I willed myself out of that negative spiral and vowed to only focus on Mona’s wellness.
On the train, I sat down and closed my eyes, visualizing a smiling, cancer-free Mona floating in a swimming pool come summer. But wait, Mona really isn’t a fan of getting her hair wet. How about the roof of the MoMA sipping wine? Okay, much better. What about a demure Mona hand in hand with Nate in Prospect Park? Nice, although will Nate still be around, all things considered? For my purposes I’ll assume that he will be.
At her stop, I climbed the subway stairs to the street. I shivered slightly, thinking of how much I missed the curl of Josh’s body around mine, even the way he would get heavier and heavier as he fell asleep, until at last, feeling like a giant boulder had collapsed on top of me, I shoved him—sometimes gently and sometimes not—off.
I buzzed Mona’s apartment and took a deep breath. Would she be pretending that everything was the same as always, that this wasn’t the day they were going to remove much of her insides, or would she be facing it head-on? I had no way of knowing, but whatever mood she was in, I would match it.
She buzzed me in and I ascended the stairs slowly. Her door was ajar, and I pushed it open tentatively to find her suitcase splayed open the way, well, the way I imagined she would be in about six hours.
“Do you think I need more than one pair of pajama pants?” she asked, walking out of the bedroom and holding up two to show me.
“How long will you be there?”
“They say I should be in and out in twenty-four hours.”
“One is probably fine then. And something to go home in.” She draped one pair over the couch and folded the other with careful precision. “And won’t you be in one of those hospital gowns for most of your visit anyway?”
“You’re right. I hope not, though. What about shoes? Do you think I need to bring another pair?”
“Other than the ones you’re wearing?” I glanced down at her black flats. Like everything she owned, they looked expensive. Not garishly expensive, but the kind of expensive that good taste and a well-paying job afforded. “Those are nice, by the way.”
“Thanks. I got them on sale.”
“Remember that time you let me borrow your Prada loafers?” I asked, smiling.
“Oh my God, I had forgotten about that. I came out of the bathroom and you were wearing them with white ankle socks!” She shook her head, laughing. “The horror!”
“You almost had a heart attack,” I said.
“Who wouldn’t? People should go to jail for that sort of fashion offense.”
“I was worried about blisters! Anyway, I’m better now. No socks with flats.”
“I’m so proud. And to answer your question, yes, these are comfortable. I don’t need another pair. I’ll just bring these.”
“Hey, Mona, you haven’t stopped moving since I arrived. You okay?”
“I’m scared, Sarah. What can I say?”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I replied softly. “Just let me know how I can help you.” I walked over and hugged her, and she rigidly returned my embrace. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“Is it?” she asked. “Will you make some coffee? Oh wait, I keep forgetting that I can’t eat or drink anything.”
“You can’t? Will you hate me if I have some?”
“Can you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can pregnant ladies drink caffeine? I think that’s a no-no.”
“You’re kidding.” No soft cheese, no raw sushi, no wine, and now no coffee? I slumped against the wall dejectedly.
“I guess it depends on your doctor?”
“Well, I’ll just make a weak cup, then. Wait, should I? Never mind. Forget it. What time did Nate leave?” I asked.
“Around two this morning, I guess. He didn’t want to, but I insisted. I just needed some time alone to process what’s happening today.”
“Instead of pretend to be excited about Paris, you mean?”
“Exactly. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think about Paris the same way. It will always be a code word for ‘hysterectomy’ now.”
“We should use the word ‘Pari
s’ as a stand-in for everything shitty we have to endure from here on out,” I suggested.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Idiot bosses, for example. Instead of saying your boss was riding you about something insignificant, you could say that she was sending you to Paris.”
“I like that. Or when you go away for a weekend, have a great time, and somehow manage to gain three pounds, you could say that the doughnuts you inhaled gave you the Paris.”
“Or when your man is irritating the crap out of you, you can say that you’re sending his ass to Paris.”
“I’m sending this doctor to Paris if he screws up.”
“With a six-hour layover in Frankfurt.”
“Okay, I think I’m all packed,” Mona announced.
“Let’s sit down then. Take a load off.” I made myself comfortable on the couch while Mona perched on the edge of it nervously.
“What time do you think we should leave?” she asked, fidgeting with her waistband.
“You have to be there at eleven?”
She nodded.
“We’re taking a cab?”
“Well, I thought about driving, but since I probably won’t be able to drive back, I decided against it.” Mona had inherited her mother’s 1984 BMW. She used it for menial tasks like going to the grocery store or traveling upstate whenever she had an itch for greenery. She called it Gus.
“I can drive Gus!” I shrieked, my heart immediately racing at the thought. “I can drive now, thank you very much.”
“Virginia back roads are one thing, Sarah, but New York City is quite another. Let’s be real about this.”
“Mona, I can drive, damn it. Whatever you need, I can do. I have Ray on speed dial in case I need any guidance.”
“Sarah, that’s very sweet of you. I’ll take you up on it next time. For now though, let’s just take a cab.”
Thank you, Jesus, I uttered in my head to the rug. Why I had railed so passionately in my own driving defense I had no idea. What would I have done if she had accepted my offer? “Okay, if you’re sure.”
“So let’s leave at ten, just to be safe,” said Mona, settling back against the cushion at last. “We’ll leave at ten,” she repeated.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied uselessly.