City Mouse

by Lender, Stacey;

  “Tami mentioned you had a cool job,” Drew said. “We used to take clients to shows in the West End all the time.”

  “If you ever need house seats in New York, I can hook you up,” I offered.

  “I might just take you up on that.”

  I asked him what he did for work and he started to explain about swaps and options and managed risk; I nodded and tried to follow but never could get a straight answer of what my friends in finance actually did. It sounded to me a lot like gambling with millions of dollars of other people’s money. Albeit educated gambling.

  “They convince you to go to London by saying it’s good for your career but really I think they send guys away when they don’t know what else to do with them,” he chuckled. “But I made it there and back and here we are.”

  “Here we are. Happy to be here.”

  “Happy you’re here. Welcome to the ’hood,” he said, and reached out and gave my hand a squeeze.

  Uh-oh, he’s one of those touchy-feely guys, I thought, and started to pull my hand away, but then I felt him leaning in for a kiss on my cheek. Ugh. I stiffened, and just as I thought I was in the clear I saw him coming in for a kiss on my other cheek and I bobbed to try to avoid it and we awkwardly bumped noses. “Sorry!” I exclaimed, and I could feel my face redden as I realized he wasn’t being inappropriate; it was the double European kiss, of course. Or was the double the French? Maybe that had been the triple.

  “See you around, Dave!” I said way too loudly.

  “It’s Drew,” he responded with a bemused smile.

  “Right, sorry! That’s what I meant—Drew.”

  I hurried into the den and was relieved to see Alyson’s nanny was back. I almost said something about the cups but knew there was no way for it not to sound accusatory. Alcohol + kids = fired, no doubt, and leaving the cup was more than likely a parent’s mistake, not hers. I handed Phoebe her water and told her I’d check on her in a few minutes and would be right outside if she needed anything.

  I found Aaron still on the couch on the deck entertaining Alyson and Ivy. Drew wasn’t there, thank god, I was so embarrassed about my gaffe in the kitchen.

  “Who plays piano?” I asked Alyson. “Emmy’s not taking lessons already, is she?”

  “Huh?”

  “The piano. In the library?”

  “Oh, that’s just for show,” Alyson said.

  I waited for her to laugh and tell me she was kidding, but she didn’t. Before I could fully comprehend that someone might own a grand piano solely for decor purposes, a blond boy ran outside and whispered in Ivy’s ear.

  “The fireworks will be soon, Tanner, honey,” she said, smoothing his bangs. “Go back inside and we’ll come and get you when it’s time.”

  Tanner. That name was a new one for me. It sounded like a cowboy name—Alyson had said Ivy was originally from out west somewhere, Minnesota or Arizona? She wasn’t sure.

  “I’m still so loving his little British accent,” Ivy said. “I’ll be so sad when that’s gone.”

  Tami’s husband Chris held up what I thought was a cigarette, but then I realized it was too thin and must be a joint. “Anyone want to join me?”

  “Ooh, I definitely missed that in London,” Ivy said.

  “Jess? Aaron?” Chris asked.

  “I’m good with wine,” I said, and Aaron added, “No thanks.”

  Aaron had never been a pot smoker, turned off by the fuck-ups in his high school who had speedily moved from pot to cocaine and harder drugs and eventually into juvee, Do Not Pass Go. I hadn’t smoked in years and really didn’t miss it; pre-Aaron, I had only joined in on the occasion when a joint happened to be passed around at a party, and mostly afterward I didn’t feel much of anything except ravenous for junk food and extremely tired, two states I generally tried to avoid. It seemed that as our friends started having babies, I’d seen it around less and less. In fact, I couldn’t even remember the last time I was at a party where there was pot.

  “Aly, you coming? I’ve got Purple Haze tonight.”

  Tami looked up in surprise. “Since when are you sharing the good stuff?”

  Chris shrugged. “It’s a holiday.”

  “I’ll take a rain check,” Alyson said. “Just don’t light up right here with the kids still awake.”

  Ivy, Tami, Jeff, and a few others went with Chris behind some trees toward the back of the yard and soon I could smell the familiar scent in the air. Aaron wrinkled his nose at me but I thought, If they want to do it, they’re all adults.

  “I can’t believe it’s almost nine already. Almost fireworks time,” Alyson said. “It’s not quite Macy’s, but the local fire department puts on a pretty decent show.”

  “Can you see them from here?” I asked.

  “Most of it. But actually, the best place is on your lawn. From the hill in your backyard we can get an unobstructed view.”

  Our lawn. I felt like I had just won an Oscar: And the award for the best view for the fireworks goes to . . .

  “Should we grab the kids and all walk over?” I asked.

  The kids jumped up at the mention of the fireworks. Phoebe was rubbing her eyes but still running on the day’s adrenaline and way too many sugar cookies. And possibly her first taste of vodka. I decided not to mention that minor detail to Aaron—I wasn’t absolutely sure she had tried it and I didn’t want anything to ruin our night.

  I carried Phoebe piggyback and led the other families on the path to our backyard, listening to them reminisce about last year’s show, the cascading silver sparklers and the red ones, remember? In the shape of a star?

  Aaron transferred Madison to her crib and then helped me quickly arrange our new outdoor furniture along with some blankets for the kids to lie on. Alyson sat down on one of my favorite pieces, the double chaise longue, and said, “I love this fabric,” and I casually replied, “Oh, thanks,” but inside was elated that she’d noticed, as I had spent way too much time at Crate & Barrel debating which fabric and pattern to go with. Aaron grabbed a bunch of beers from our extra fridge in the garage, I passed out some sweatshirts for people to borrow, and in an instant we did it—we were impromptu entertaining.

  This is why we moved, I thought, looking around at our new friends and their families gathered together at our new home, waiting for the show to begin.

  I felt the cool dew on my toes and the chill of the air and then heard a pop as the first burst filled the dark indigo sky. Aaron picked Phoebe up and put her on his shoulders and she squealed with delight, amazed by the spectacle above her. Aaron leaned over and gave me a kiss. “Happy Fourth,” he said, and I felt warm and content and exactly where I was meant to be.

  * * *

  Two days later we were getting ready to drive into the city for Liza’s son’s third birthday party at the Central Park Zoo. I had always wanted to throw Phoebe a zoo party—she loved the seal feeding show and pressing her nose against the glass to watch the polar bears swim below the water, and I enjoyed our outings almost as much as she did. But I had to peel myself off the floor when I looked into it and found out the lowest-priced party option cost five thousand dollars for up to twenty kids, plus you had to pay for all the food and adult admissions. For that amount of money we could throw Phoebe a three-year-old wedding.

  While Aaron had the girls upstairs on a search for Ooh-ooh, Madison’s stuffed monkey, I packed the diaper bag with extra wipes and snacks for the car and saw Emmy’s white sweater neatly folded in a Ziploc bag on the kitchen counter. I had found it hiding under one of our patio chairs after our Fourth of July fireworks viewing with a light-pink Emmy name tag stitched inside. I washed it on gentle and hung it dry and had meant to drop it by Alyson’s yesterday plus say a quick in-person thank you again for the party.

  “Back in a sec!” I yelled to Aaron.

  I found my way through the path connecting our yards and saw Jeff speeding out of their driveway in his white BMW convertible. Nice car, I thought, although couldn’t picture
myself ever driving one. Too fast. And I’d be too worried someone would scratch it in a parking lot.

  Their back gate was open and I could hear the TV on through the kitchen screen door. I poked my head in and sang, “Hel-lo-o!”

  I didn’t expect to find Alyson sitting at the kitchen table with her head buried in her hands.

  “Whoops—uh, sorry . . . Are you okay?”

  She picked up her head and at first looked furious, like what the hell was I doing barging into her kitchen? But the anger vanished as she wiped her tear-stained cheek with her sleeve. “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look fine. With tired puffy eyes and raw red nostrils, she barely resembled the polished Alyson I’d met just days ago.

  Remnants of the party—cups and bowls and empty platters—were strewn on the counter. And the door leading to the garage was left open, like Jeff had split in a hurry. A fight maybe? “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She looked down at her hands. “No! I mean, yes, I’m okay. It’s that . . . um . . . last night we . . . I . . . I had some bad news.”

  Bad news usually meant one of the big Ds: Death. Disaster. Disease. I didn’t hear Emmy padding around the house. I hoped whatever bad news it was had nothing to do with her.

  I took a step closer to the table. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “It’s just . . .” Alyson paused and let out a slow breath. “I had a miscarriage.”

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I rushed to her side but didn’t know if she’d want a hug so I placed my hand gently on her shoulder.

  Pregnant! I never would have guessed—she was so rail-thin. But it was probably very early. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen her drinking at the party; most of the time she was running around pouring everyone else’s drinks. The cup in her hand must have been cranberry and soda, not vodka cranberry—of course, the pregnant drink. I had pulled that switch many times before I wanted anyone to know.

  “I am so sorry,” I repeated. A miscarriage, how terrible. Would she have to go in for a D&C? Probably not on a Sunday. I couldn’t believe Jeff would leave here there alone. “Do you have any help today? Someone to watch Emmy? I can take her if you want,” I offered, even though I had no idea how we’d be able to bring Emmy with us to crash Liza’s party, not at $250 a head.

  “Thanks, but Jeff just took her out for a while and Priya will be back tonight.”

  “Well, that’s good, so you have time to rest.”

  I rubbed her back in a soft circle and could feel each vertebra of her bony spine. “It’ll be okay,” I said stupidly.

  She looked far away, into the living room. “They were convinced the IVF would work, and it had this time, for a few weeks anyway.”

  I remembered the expensive IVF tribulations of Sharon and Dave, the shots and hormones and ups and downs. How devastating to lose a pregnancy after all that. And even though I barely knew her, it felt right to connect in that way only women who have gone through it can know.

  “It happened to me too,” I said softly.

  She turned her head and looked surprised.

  “I didn’t have IVF but . . . it happened, after Phoebe.”

  I couldn’t believe I had just said it out loud; Aaron and Liza were the only people who knew. I had never even told my parents—Aaron and I went in for my twelve-week checkup, giddy for the green light to tell everyone, and I still remember the silence as the doctor stared for too long at the fuzzy gray screen.

  There’s no heartbeat. I’m sorry.

  That can’t be, I have morning sickness, I’m healthy! And my first pregnancy was totally fine.

  It happens sometimes.

  But it doesn’t happen to me!

  It didn’t help even a little when she told me there was likely something wrong with the fetus—It’s your body’s natural way—and did I want to check the tissue after the D&C? No, I didn’t want to check, I didn’t want to do anything except curl up and cry, but I couldn’t, I had to go back to work and wear a maxi pad until the bleeding stopped; I had to change Phoebe’s diapers and give her a bottle and wonder if I’d ever be brave enough to give it another try. From the moment I became pregnant with Madison, I was nervous, drinking juice every hour and turning over to make sure the baby moved inside. I didn’t want to know if it was a boy or girl; I didn’t want to connect with it until I knew everything was safe and fine. And thank god, when Madison was born it was all okay, my quiet secret behind me.

  “I’m sorry,” Alyson said, and I felt myself start to tear up again after all this time.

  Pull it together, I told myself, this isn’t about you. And then I heard myself blurt out, “When you’re ready—if you want I can get you the name of this doctor my friend went to at New York Presbyterian. She has one of the best track records in the country for IVF.”

  Alyson looked uncomfortable and I knew I should have kept my mouth shut; it was way too soon. Shit. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I don’t want to get into it but with Emmy I got pregnant without any help and now the doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong. We’ve done every test, most of it isn’t covered—and this isn’t the first time I’ve . . .” She trailed off.

  I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket. I was sure it was Aaron wondering where the hell I was.

  “I have something for you, from the other day,” Alyson said. She stood up slowly and returned from the other room with a recipe box.

  “What’s this?” I opened the lid and saw a stack of pastel index cards inside.

  “It’s tips from everyone at the party—your Best of Suffern welcome box. The best farmers’ market, the best car wash, the best bakery for birthday cakes . . .”

  My welcome box. I flipped though the cards and felt overwhelmed with gratitude, so touched that Alyson had taken the time to organize such a thoughtful gift. There were so many cards from so many people who didn’t even know me, yet all cared enough to share. And I started to feel it—a part of a community, connected by closeness and kindness and the simple coincidence of choosing this particular house next to this particular neighbor who days ago was a total stranger and now I considered my friend.

  “I can’t thank you enough, really,” I mumbled, feeling tears starting to spring again.

  “This one’s funny,” Alyson said, pulling out a pale pink card with letters written in red Sharpie: DO NOT USE LYNCREST DRY CLEANERS! They ruined my favorite coat! “Sometimes the Do Nots are even more valuable than the Dos.”I saw a weak smile start to emerge on Alyson’s face and was glad that for the moment she seemed distracted.

  But then my phone buzzed again.

  “I feel so terrible to leave you here but we’re driving into the city, and Aaron and the girls are waiting. We’ll be home later and I can stop by to check on you or you can call me anytime. Day or night.”

  “Thanks, I’m fine,” she responded, and then a serious look came over her face. “Promise you won’t say anything about this to anyone? Not even Aaron? Jeff would kill me, sharing this kind of private—”

  “Say no more. I promise. Believe me, I completely understand,” I said, and I gave her a gentle hug before walking out the door, heavy with her sorrow and the reminder of mine and the added burden of having to keep it all inside.

  I walked back along the wooded path in a daze and could hear Aaron’s playful monster voice chasing Madison and Phoebe, laughing in our yard.

  And then I looked down in my hands and realized that along with my welcome box, I was still holding the bag with Emmy’s folded sweater.

  Chapter six

  I sat behind the glass watching Phoebe in her powder-blue leotard next to Emmy and Brianna and nine other preschool ballerinas. First position, second position, now relevé. The gaggle of chatty moms around me was discussing the new pizza place that had recently opened on Franklin Turnpike and whether it was better or worse than Bella Vita. I thought both pizzas tasted like cardboard. I hadn’t managed to find a
decent slice in the months since we’d moved and found myself craving it, that perfect New York City combination of cheese and just enough tomato sauce, with a thin crust crunch that had never seemed elusive until it wasn’t available right down my block anymore. When Liza and I met for lunch in the city, sometimes I made her go with me to Mariella’s, a little hole in the wall near my office that gave me my fix. A Mariella’s would do gangbuster business in Suffern.

  Phoebe’s pigtails bounced as she threw a pile of colorful scarves high in the air and Emmy ran under the cascade, giggling. The two had spent nearly every free minute together over the summer, and thanks to Alyson calling in a favor to make sure they were in the same class at school, the transition couldn’t have gone more smoothly. Phoebe woke up excited every morning to go with Emmy to their “big girl” class; after school most days, the nannies rotated houses for playdates, and then Saturday mornings Phoebe had ballet with Emmy and Tami’s daughter Brianna. We were settling into an easy back-to-school rhythm which we quickly found out included a robust social schedule for the grown-ups as well.