Maybe in Another Life

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

  So this morning, while Gabby is taking Charlemagne to the vet, I have found myself Googling nursing schools. I mean, it seems completely absurd to have a job, go to nursing school, and have a child, but I’m not going to let that stop me. I’m looking into it. I’ll see if there is any way I can make it work. That’s what you do when you want something. You don’t look for reasons why it won’t work. You look for reasons why it will. So I’m searching, I’m digging, for ways to make it happen.

  I’m looking into the local community college when my phone rings.

  It’s Ethan.

  I hesitate for a moment. I hesitate for so long that by the time I decide to answer, I’ve missed the call.

  I stare at the phone, stunned, until I hear his voice.

  “I know you’re home,” he says, teasing me. “I can see your car on the street.”

  I whip my head toward the entry, and I can see his forehead and hair through the glass at the top of the door.

  “I didn’t get to the phone in time,” I tell him as I stand up and walk to the door.

  There is a part of me that doesn’t want to open it. I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I am meant to raise this baby on my own, to be on my own, until my kid is in college and I’m pushing fifty. Sometimes, when I’m lying awake at night, I imagine a middle-aged Ethan knocking on my door, years in the future. He says he loves me and can’t live without me anymore. And I tell him I feel the same way. And we spend the second half of our lives together. I have told myself on more than one occasion that the timing will work out one day. I’ve told myself this so many times that I’ve started to believe it.

  And now, knowing he’s on the other side of the door, it feels wrong. This wasn’t a part of my new plan.

  “Will you open the door?” he asks. “Or do you hate me that much?”

  “I don’t hate you,” I say. “I don’t hate you at all.” My hand is on the knob, but my wrist doesn’t turn.

  “But you’re not going to open the door?”

  It’s polite to open the door. It’s what you do. “No,” I say, and then I realize the real reason I don’t want to open it, and I figure the best thing to do is to tell him. “I’m not ready to see you,” I say. “To look at you.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. Quiet so long that I think he might have left. And then he speaks. “How about just talking to me? Is that OK? Talking?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s OK.”

  “Well, then, get comfortable,” he says. “This may take a minute.” I see his hair disappear from view, and I realize he’s sitting down on the front stoop.

  “OK,” I say. “I’m listening.”

  He’s quiet again. But this time, I know he hasn’t left. “I broke up with you,” he says.

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” I tell him. “I didn’t leave you much choice. I’m having a baby.”

  “No,” he says. “In high school.”

  I smile and shake my head, but then I realize he can’t see me, so I give him the verbal cue he’s looking for. “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “I think I wanted to pin it on you because I didn’t want to admit that I might have avoided this whole thing if I’d acted differently back then.”

  “Avoided what? Me being pregnant?” I don’t want to avoid being pregnant. I like where life has led me, and if he can’t handle it, that is not my problem.

  “No,” he says. “Being without you for so many years.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “I love you,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I loved you from the moment I met you at Homecoming and you told me you listened to Weezer.”

  I laugh and work my way down to sit on the floor.

  “And I broke up with you because I thought I was going to marry you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was nineteen and a freshman in college, and I thought, I have already met the girl I’m going to marry. And it scared me, you know? I remember thinking that I’d never sleep with anyone else. I’d never kiss another girl. I’d never do any of the things my friends at school were doing, things I wanted to do. Because I’d already met you. I’d already met the girl of my dreams. And you know, for one stupid moment in college, I thought that was a bad thing. So I let you go. And if I’m being completely honest, even though it makes me sound like a total jerk, I always thought I’d get you back. I thought I could break up with you and have my fun and be young, and then, when I was done, I’d go get you back. It never occurred to me that you have to hold those things sacred.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I tell him.

  “I know, because I never told you. And then, of course, I realized that I didn’t want any of those stupid college things, I wanted you, but when I came home for Christmas to tell you, you were already dating someone else. I should have blamed myself, but I blamed you. And I should have fought for you, but I didn’t. I felt rejected, and I turned to someone else.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “No,” he says. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I keep chickening out. I see what I want, and I’m too scared to do what it takes to have it. I’m too much of an idiot to sacrifice the small stuff in order to have the big stuff. I love you, Hannah. More than I have ever loved anyone else. And I told you, when I got you back, that I would never again let anything get in the way.”

  I nod to myself, even though I know he can’t see me.

  “And what do I do? At the first sign of trouble, I back out.”

  “It’s not that simple, Ethan. We started dating again, and within two weeks, I told you I was having another man’s baby. These are extenuating circumstances.”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure I believe in extenuating circumstances, not when it comes to this.”

  “You said it yourself,” I tell him. “Sometimes the timing just doesn’t work out.”

  “I’m not sure I believe in that anymore, either,” he says. “Timing seems like an excuse. Extenuating circumstances is an excuse. If you love someone, if you think you could make them happy for the rest of your life together, then nothing should stop you. You should be prepared to take them as they are and deal with the consequences. Relationships aren’t neat and clean. They’re ugly and messy, and they make almost no sense except to the two people in them. That’s what I think. I think if you truly love someone, you accept the circumstances; you don’t hide behind them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I love you, and I want to be with you, and if you want to be with me, then nothing is going to stop me. Not timing, not babies, nothing. If you want to do this, if you want to be with me, I will take you in whatever form I can have you. I will love you just as you are. I won’t try to change a single thing about you.”

  “Ethan, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I do,” he says. With my back against the door, I can feel that he has stood up. I stand up with him. “Hannah, I believe you are the love of my life, and I’d rather live a life with forty babies that aren’t mine than be without you. I have missed you every day since I last saw you. I’ve missed you for years. I’m not saying this is an ideal situation. But I am saying that it’s one I’m on board for, if you’ll have me.”

  “What happens when my baby is born?” I ask him.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I know I said that I wasn’t ready to be a father. But I keep thinking to myself, what if it was my baby? Would I behave differently? And I would. If you were pregnant by me, accident or not, I’d get ready.”

  “And now?” I ask him through the door. “When it’s not your kid?”

  “I’m not sure I see much of a difference anymore,” he says. “What you love, I love.”

  I stare down at the floor. My hands are shaking.

  “We can figure out how you want to play it,” he says. “I can be a dad or a stepdad or a friend or an uncle. I can help with all the classes and be there when you give birth, if you’ll let m
e. Or I can hang back, if that’s what you want. I’ll follow your lead. I’ll be the person you need me to be. Just let me be a part of this, Hannah. Let me be with you.”

  I put my hands on the door to steady them. I feel as if I might fall down. “I don’t know what to say,” I tell him.

  “Say how you feel,” he says.

  “I feel confused,” I say. “And surprised.”

  “Sure,” he says.

  “And I feel like maybe we can do this.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I feel like maybe this was how it was supposed to go all along.”

  “Yeah?” he says. I can feel the joy in his voice as it vibrates through the door.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I was meant to have this baby. And I was meant to be with you. And everything is happening the way it’s supposed to.” What I believe to be fated seems to fall perfectly in line with what I want to be true at any given moment. But I think that’s OK. I think that’s hope. “It’s messy,” I tell him. “You said earlier that it’s messy, and you’re right. It’s messy.”

  “Messy is OK,” he says. “Right? We can do messy.”

  “Yeah,” I say, tears now falling down my face. “We can do messy.”

  “Open the door, sweetheart, please,” he says. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I say. But I don’t open the door.

  “Hannah?” Ethan says.

  “I’m fat now,” I tell him.

  “That’s OK.”

  “No, really, I’m growing a double chin.”

  “I have back acne,” he says. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  I laugh through my tears. “Are you sure you can be with a fat lady?”

  “What did I tell you?” he says. “I told you that you could gain four hundred pounds and I’d want to be with you.”

  “And you meant it?”

  “I meant it.”

  I open the door to see Ethan standing on the stoop. He is wearing a light blue T-shirt and dark jeans. His eyes are glassy, and his mouth is smiling wide. He has a box of cinnamon rolls in his hand.

  “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” he says, and then he steps into the house, and he kisses me. And for the first time in my life, I know I have done everything right.

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  I can walk now. Without a walker. On my own. I use a cane sometimes, when I’m tired or sore. But it never holds me back. Sometimes I walk to the convenience store down the street to get a candy bar, not because I want the candy bar but because I appreciate the walk to get one.

  Gabby’s still not ready to date, still skittish from the shock of it all, but she’s moving on. She’s happy. She got us a dog. A Saint Bernard just like Carl and Tina have. She named him Tucker.

  The woman who hit me proved also to be responsible for another hit-and-run two years ago. She didn’t hit a person then, but she did hit a car and drive off. Between insurance payouts and the lawsuit, I’ll have enough money to be comfortable on my feet.

  When I got to the point where I could get myself from place to place, I bought a car. It’s a cherry-red hatchback. You can see me coming from miles away, which I like. I think it’s a very “me” car.

  Then, once I had a car, I started looking for a job.

  I told Carl and Tina that I’ve been thinking about going to nursing school. After the money comes in, I’ll be able to afford it, and I keep thinking about the nurses who helped me during my hospital stay. In particular, I think of Nurse Hannah and how well she handled me at my most annoying. And I think of Deanna and that pediatric nurse who helped those parents on the oncology floor.

  And of course, I think of Henry.

  Nurses help people. And I’m starting to think there’s nothing more important I can do with my time than that.

  When you almost lose your life, it makes you want to double down, to do something important and bigger than yourself. And I think this is my thing.

  Carl offered me a job at his pediatric office until I figure out what I want to do. He says that his practice has a program to help staff members go to night school if they meet certain financial criteria. When I reminded him that I probably won’t meet those criteria, he laughed at me and said, “Good point! Just come take the job for the experience and living wage, then. Spend your money on school.”

  So I took him up on it. It’s early still, I’ve only been working there a few weeks, but it’s confirming what I already know: I’m headed in the right direction.

  I told my parents that I wasn’t moving to London, and they were sad but seemed to take it well. “OK,” my mom said, “we get it. But in that case, we need to talk about a good time for us to visit.”

  And then my dad pulled the phone away from her and said he was coming in July, whether I liked it or not. “I don’t want to wait until Christmas to see you again, and to be honest, I’m starting to miss Fourth of July barbecues.”

  A few weeks later, my mom called to say they were considering buying a condo in Los Angeles. “You know, just a place where we could stay when we come to visit from now on,” she said. “That is, if you’re staying in Los Angeles . . .”

  I told her I was. I said I wasn’t going anywhere. I said I was here to stay. I didn’t even think twice about it. I just said it.

  Because it was true.

  Ethan has started dating a really nice woman named Ella. She’s a high school teacher and a pretty intense cyclist. He bought a bike last month, and now they are on some three-day trek raising money for cancer research. He seems incredibly happy. The other day, he told me that he can’t believe he’s gone so many years living in Los Angeles without seeing it from a bike. He has bike shorts now. Hilariously tight little bike shorts that he wears with a bike shirt and a helmet. We had dinner the other night, and he biked there from his place, a thirty-minute drive away. The smile on his face when he walked in the door rivaled the sun.

  And he’s been great to me. He texts me whenever he sees a place with a cinnamon roll that I haven’t tried. When I could walk upstairs on my own, he came over and helped Gabby and me move my stuff back up to the second floor. Even he and Gabby have become close in their own right. The point is, Ethan is a great friend. And I’m glad I didn’t ruin it by thinking we had anything left between us. We are better this way.

  I’d be lying if I said I never think about the child I might have if I hadn’t been hit. Occasionally, I’ll be doing something completely arbitrary, like taking a shower or driving home, and I’ll think about it, the baby. The only way I can make any peace with it is to know that I wasn’t ready to be a mother then. But one day, I will be. And I try not to busy my mind with too many thoughts about the past or what could have been.

  I wake up most mornings feeling refreshed and well rested, with an excitement about the day. And as long as you can say that, I think you’re doing OK.

  I woke up early this morning, so I figured I’d get into the car and head to Primo’s. It’s a habit I’ve started for myself, a small treat when I find the time. I often call my dad while I’m there. It’s not the same as when he would take me as a child, but it’s close. And I’m finding that, at least with my parents, the more we talk on the phone, the better I feel.

  I call him now as I’m driving, but he doesn’t pick up. I leave a message. I tell him I’m on my way to Primo’s and I’m thinking of him.

  I pull into the crowded Primo’s parking lot and park the car. I grab my cane from the backseat and walk around to the front of the store. I stand in line and order a cinnamon roll and a buttermilk doughnut for Gabby.

  I pay, and I’m handed an already-greasy bag.

  And then I hear a familiar voice speak to the cashier. “A cinnamon roll, please.”

  I turn and look. For a moment, I don’t recognize him. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I’ve only seen him in navy-blue scrubs.

  I look down at his arm, to make sure I’m not crazy, to confirm that I’m not seeing things.


  Isabella.

  “Henry?” I say. But of course it’s him. And I’m surprised just how familiar he looks, how natural it seems that he would be standing in front of me.

  Henry.

  “Hello,” I say to him. “Hello, hello. Hi.”

  “Hi,” he says, smiling. “I thought I might see you here one of these days.”

  The man behind the counter gives Henry his cinnamon roll, and Henry hands over some cash.

  “All the cinnamon roll joints in all the world, and you had to walk into mine,” I say.

  He laughs. “By design, actually,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I figured if I was ever gonna meet you again, run into you, and start a conversation like two normal people, I knew my best bet was a place with good cinnamon rolls.”

  I blush. I know I’m blushing, because I can feel the warmth on my cheeks.

  “Can we talk outside?” he says. The two of us are holding up the line.

  I nod and follow him out. He sits down at one of the metal tables. I put down my food. Both of us pull out our cinnamon rolls. Henry takes a bite of his first.

  “Did you get my letter?” he asks me when he’s done chewing.

  I chew, closing my eyes and nodding. “Yeah,” I say finally. “I looked for you for a while. On street corners and in stores. I kept looking at men’s arms.”

  “For the tattoo?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “And you never found me.”

  “Until today,” I say.

  He smiles.

  “I’m sorry if I caused any problems for you at work,” I say.

  He waves me off. “You didn’t. Hannah didn’t love the stunt you pulled after I left, though,” he says, laughing. “But she also said you seemed like a stalker. And that I was clearly not to blame.”

  I blush so hard I have to put my head in my hands. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed,” I say. “I was on a lot of medication.”

  He laughs. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. “It made my day when I found out about it.”

  “It did?” I ask him.