Driving Lessons

by Zoe Fishman

  “Whoa.”

  “So now I’m without him.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yeah, me either. It’s been an eye-opening couple of weeks, let me tell you. I mean, had you asked me a few months ago what I would have done should I get pregnant, I wouldn’t even have courted the possibility of being pregnant in the first place. I guess circumstance changes everything.”

  “Everything. So where are you living? What happens now?”

  “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t holding out hope that Mac will come around. I know that he loves me, it’s just the ‘us’ bit I’m not certain about. For now, I’m still in the house and he’s in an apartment close to the hospital.”

  “Are you still talking?”

  “Yes. Although it’s awkward. If he doesn’t come around, of course, there’s the whole question of financial support. It is his child, even if it wasn’t part of the grand plan.”

  “Are you feeling okay? Physically, I mean?”

  “I’m okay. I’ve had some nausea, but nothing too awful. I’m living on a steady stream of crackers and Sour Patch Kids.”

  “Sour Patch Kids?”

  “Oh yeah, they really cut the nausea. Something about the sourness. Just for future reference.”

  On cue, I tipped my cup over, sending its top and an avalanche of ice cubes across the table. “I am such a klutz! It never fails. Sorry.” I pulled some napkins from the dispenser and attempted to sop up the mess.

  “No worries. I better get used to messes, right? No more white jeans for me.”

  “You do wear the hell out of white jeans.” I held the cup under the rim of the table with one hand and pushed the ice back into it with the other.

  “Thanks.”

  “Iris?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m pregnant too.” I hadn’t planned on telling her, but it felt right to share my news. As sad as her situation was, there was something infinitely more likable about her in this vulnerable position. Her hands flew to her mouth in surprise.

  “No!”

  “Yep.” I laughed nervously.

  “This is fantastic news! Congratulations!”

  “Thanks. It’s still really new and hush-hush, but I figured since you were sharing, I would too. Plus, you know, if you want to, we can commiserate about stuff.”

  “Sarah, I would love it,” she gushed as her cheeks flushed peach with excitement. Whose cheeks flushed peach? “I can’t tell you how giddy it makes me feel to think that I could, that we could, lean on each other for support throughout this process.”

  “I’d like it too. The whole thing has been quite a roller coaster for me thus far. Not like your roller coaster, granted, but you know, lots of twists and turns.”

  “Hence the analogy,” Iris teased.

  “Right. Thanks.”

  “You know, I’ve been going to these amazing prenatal yoga classes, maybe—”

  “Nah, not for me.”

  Iris nodded. “Got it.”

  “Maybe we could go walking together, though? Early mornings before work?”

  “I’d love that.” We smiled, content in the knowledge that we were newfound allies. “Well, I better get going. Josh has your number, right?”

  “Yes, and my e-mail.” She gazed at me wistfully. “Have a nice night.”

  “You too. And I really am sorry about Mac. I hope things work out.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. Me too. Going through this alone isn’t exactly preferable.” I reached over and squeezed her shoulder because I didn’t know what else to do. Without Josh’s support, I would have been a wreck. I turned to go but stopped in my tracks.

  “Hey, do you want to come over for dinner?” I turned around and asked. “Josh is making macaroni and cheese.”

  “No way.” She beamed at me.

  “Yep, and not the box kind either.”

  “The kind with a bread-crumb top?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’d love to. Are you sure I’m not imposing?”

  “Not at all. Just come over when you’re finished here. Do you remember where we live?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, see you soon.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. See you soon.”

  As I drove away slightly dazed, I thought about what had just transpired. Never in a million years would I have expected to be inviting Iris over for dinner and baby talk, but I guessed stranger things had happened. As much as it was a surprise, there also seemed to be something slightly fated about our intertwined destinies. Neither of us was the baby-crazy type, and yet here we were.

  Mona and I had become friends in much the same way, actually. On paper, we had nothing in common. She was fresh out of Princeton and the impossibly sophisticated daughter of globe-trotting parents, while I was head-to-toe New Jersey and the scrappy product of an even scrappier single mom. We’d been introduced by a mutual friend—the woman who shared my cubicle wall, to be exact—because she knew that both of us were desperate to vacate our current Craigslist-roommate apartments. Voilà, best friends. Maybe that was the key to everlasting friendships—a humbling dose of intimidation at the outset. After all, Kate and I were now much more than sisters-in-law. We were friends as well.

  I was probably getting ahead of myself. There was always the possibility that Iris really did suck as much as I had first surmised, but something in me doubted it. Talking with her tonight, I had gotten a glimpse of the real her, without the shiny façade, and I liked what I saw.

  I pulled into the driveway and as I went to pull the key out of the ignition, I realized something. Something huge. Something I never thought I’d have the pleasure of realizing. I had driven home. No nerves, no chattering teeth, no sternum glued to the steering wheel. Just me, driving a car. Getting from Point A to Point B without so much as a second thought.

  A knock on my window made me jump. Josh stood on the other side, wearing the apron that I had received as a wedding gift and never worn. MRS. SIMON, it read in white letters across his chest. He smiled at me.

  “Don’t you look pleased with yourself,” he said before giving me a peck on the lips.

  “You know what?” I turned the car off and opened the door.

  “What?” He took my hand to help me out.

  “I am.”

  P.S.

  Insights, Interviews & More . . .

  About the author

  Meet Zoe Fishman

  ZOE FISHMAN is the author of Saving Ruth and Balancing Acts. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and son.

  About the book

  On Writing Driving Lessons

  THUS FAR IN MY CAREER, my novels have largely been based on my life and personal experiences, for better or for worse. Someday I’d love to write a story that takes me outside of my immediate experience, but at this point, writing what I know has proved to be an emotionally challenging and cathartic experience that I treasure deeply. There is no better feeling for me as a writer than when a reader tells me that they related to or took comfort from the journey of one of my characters. That’s exactly the kind of connection that made me want to be a writer in the first place.

  Driving Lessons is no exception. In the spring of 2011, two things happened. First, after thirteen years in New York, I was over it. And I mean over it. I was tired of the constant hustle, fed up with my tiny dust-ridden apartment with its thimble-sized bathroom attached to our kitchen, and exasperated by the foodie-cum-hipster invasion of the Brooklyn neighborhood I had called home for ten years. Second, I got pregnant. Not a whoops-I’m-pregnant moment or anything, but more of an ovulation-tracking-and-fist-pump-of-joy pregnancy moment. I was thirty-four, my husband and I had been married for two years, and we were ready.

  The idea of having a baby in Brooklyn overwhelmed me. Peering into a future that I could only imagine at that point, I knew that with the juggling of my full-time job and motherhood, something was going to go. And that something would no doubt be my writing. I had w
orked too hard and loved it too much to give it up. We had to move, and quick.

  We decided on Atlanta for a number of reasons, the most prevalent being that my husband grew up and still had family there, and my family was close by in Alabama. He got a job and two months later I sat in a lawn chair on the sidewalk in all of my lumpy, pre-popped pregnancy glory and watched movers carry out our Saran Wrapped belongings while I sipped lemonade through a straw. It wasn’t until the cab ride to the airport that I bawled. What was I doing? How could I leave New York? I had grown into my skin in New York, and now I was leaving it? How could I survive outside of it? How could my baby not know what it meant to take the subway or eat a real bagel or play in Prospect Park? I was a mess.

  And so, the initial idea for Driving Lessons was born. As I began writing, however, my pregnancy became much more real to me—physically and emotionally—and then, of course, I actually had my son, Ari. Although the story was still focused on that move and all that it entailed, it changed dramatically. I longed to write about both the idea of pregnancy before it became absolute and the blurry day-to-day of new motherhood. I also thought it would be interesting to present other points of view as well. What if you made no apologies for not wanting a child, as Iris does? And how does that look juxtaposed against someone who does want a child but cannot have one, like Mona?

  When I moved, it was August, and I was about four months pregnant. I had no job lined up in Atlanta and was thrilled to focus on writing. Excited about the prospect of daylong stretches of creative genius, I promised to deliver the first draft by December. I am laughing now as I write this, thinking back to my naïveté. Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Ari was born in January, and December turned into the following September in the blink of a sleep-deprived eye.

  I wish I could blame my tardiness solely on the fact that I had a baby to keep alive, but my lack of focus was probably never more tangible than during my pregnancy. I would sit down to write and then inevitably spend hours researching cribs and nursery rugs online. I’m certainly not proud of my truancy, but looking back, I’m grateful that I allowed myself that time.

  Although I had only been told by new mothers to treasure the months before the baby arrived, I could never have imagined what being in the trenches truly felt like. Days upon days of zero sleep; cracked nipples; tears for no reason at inopportune moments, along with pockets of sheer joy—those were the things I learned about firsthand and, although I had been warned, was not prepared for. How can you possibly be prepared for such unselfishness when prior to delivery your biggest concern was whether or not to invest in ridiculously expensive eye cream or just go for the drugstore brand? Yes, I’m speaking from experience.

  At any rate, where was I? Oh yes, the genesis of Driving Lessons. Ari is now fifteen months old, and although I do sleep more, it is still not nearly enough, and my brain can certainly wander. For the most part, though, I’ve gotten the hang of it. With the help of wonderful babysitters a few hours a day, three days a week, I’ve learned to focus again, and it feels really good.

  Like Sarah, I worried that any sense of my own lack of fulfillment would translate into my day-to-day with Ari. That’s not the case—I literally don’t have the time to deliberate on that or beat myself up about what I have or haven’t done in terms of personal goals—but I am sincerely grateful that I was able to call myself a writer before he was born. The sacrifices you make as a parent, especially as a mother, are exponential. I know that had I not had a head start with Balancing Acts and Saving Ruth, I would have had a hell of a time putting pen to paper with a baby in tow.

  It’s May now, and about two weeks ago I heard from my editor that, finally, after I’d submitted my third draft, Driving Lessons was going into production. I promptly burst into tears upon reading her e-mail conveying this happy news. It’s been a tough road, the writing of this novel. The hormonal shifts alone, not to mention all the demands of new motherhood, made me feel at times like some of my plot and characterization obstacles were absolutely insurmountable. To hear that I had overcome them anyway was an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment.

  After reading the e-mail three times for good measure, I placed my phone on the counter and turned to Ari, who was sitting in his high chair and eating his banana slices with unbridled gusto. He swallowed, cocked his head, and pointed at me.

  “Mama,” he declared.

  “That’s right,” I replied, wiping my eyes. “Mama.” I paused to squeeze his delicious, knuckleless hand. “Mama and writer.”

  Reading Group Guide

  1. At the beginning Sarah seems lost, despite the fact that she can claim a successful career. Can you relate to this? Would you be able to walk away from lucrative stability in pursuit of emotional fulfillment?

  2. Sarah feels guilty because of her maternal uncertainties and is unable to be truthful with Josh as a result. She feels as though she is letting him down, despite the fact that she will be the one carrying the literal load for nine months. Do you think most women feel pressured by society to play the role of eager mom?

  3. In the same vein, what did you think of Iris’s unapologetic stance on children? Were you put off or did you admire her chutzpah?

  4. Sarah agrees to move to Farmwood despite the fact that she has some serious driving fears. What are these fears analogous to?

  5. Sarah has led a fairly workaholic lifestyle prior to Farmwood. This left some time to pine for a career she was more passionate about—without actually allowing her the time to pursue it. Ironically, when she’s unemployed and with nothing but that kind of time, she’s paralyzed by the opportunity. Has this ever happened to you?

  6. Sarah is plagued throughout the novel by ladybugs. Is there a metaphor here? If so, what is it?

  7. Did you find Sarah’s relationship with her mother to be realistic? As you approach the idea of motherhood, or as a mother yourself, what things about your own mother do you find yourself trying to emulate or avoid?

  8. Sarah and Mona handle Mona’s diagnosis and pending hysterectomy with a lot of humor, despite the fear and vulnerability they feel. How do you think you would react in a similar situation? And do you think Mona’s fears pertain more to the diagnosis or to the results of the surgery?

  9. What did you think about Kate’s unabashed frankness about her pregnancy, delivery, and postpartum sex life? Could you relate or did it make you uncomfortable?

  10. Do you think Sarah and Iris will indeed be friends?

  Read on

  Recommended Reading

  The following are some of Zoe’s favorite books:

  Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout

  State of Wonder, by Ann Patchett

  Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides

  Prep, by Curtis Sittenfeld

  The Secret History, by Donna Tartt

  Plainsong, by Kent Haruf

  Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott

  Heartburn, by Nora Ephron

  The Girl in the Flammable Skirt, by Aimee Bender

  The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss

  Have You Read?

  More by Zoe Fishman

  SAVING RUTH

  Growing up in Alabama, all Ruth Wasserman wanted was to be a blond Baptist cheerleader. But as a curly-haired Jew with a rampant sweet tooth and a smart mouth, this was an impossible dream. Not helping the situation was her older brother, David—a soccer star whose good looks, smarts, and popularity reigned at school and at home. College provided an escape route and Ruth took it.

  Now home for the summer, she’s returned to lifeguarding and coaching alongside David, and although the job is the same, nothing else is. She’s a prisoner of her low self-esteem and unhealthy relationship with food, David is closed off and distant in a way he’s never been before, and their parents are struggling with the reality of an empty nest. When a near drowning happens on their watch, a storm of repercussions forces Ruth and David to confront long-ignored truths about their town, their family, and themselves.
/>
  BALANCING ACTS

  With beauty, brains, and a high-paying Wall Street position, Charlie was a woman who seemed to have it all—until she turned thirty and took stock of her life—or lack thereof. She left it all behind to pursue yoga, and now, two years later, she’s looking to drum up business for her fledgling studio in Brooklyn. Attending her college’s alumni night with flyers in hand, she reconnects with three former classmates whose postgraduation lives, like hers, haven’t turned out like they’d hoped.

  Romance book editor Sabine still longs to write the novel that’s bottled up inside her. Once an up-and-coming photographer and Upper East Side social darling, Naomi is now a single mom who hasn’t picked up her camera in years. And Bess, who dreamed of being a serious investigative journalist à la Christiane Amanpour, is stuck in a rut, writing snarky captions for a gossip mag. But at a weekly yoga class at Charlie’s studio the four friends, reunited ten years after college, will forge new bonds and take new chances—as they start over, fall in love, change their lives . . . and come face-to-face with haunting realities.

  Don’t miss the next book by your favorite author. Sign up now for AuthorTracker by visiting www.AuthorTracker.com.

  Also by Zoe Fishman

  Saving Ruth

  Balancing Acts

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DRIVING LESSONS. Copyright © 2014 by Zoe Fishman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.