by Lauren Sams
But then, out of nowhere, Lucas started to cry. Big, fat toddler tears made their way down his cheeks.
‘What’s wrong?’ Nina asked, lowering herself to Lucas’s eye level. He couldn’t speak, he was sobbing so hard.
‘My . . . my . . .’
Before Ellie could move to Lucas’s side of the table and figure out what was wrong, an older woman appeared, turning her attention to Nina.
‘Your son dropped this,’ she said, handing Nina the front of the train.
Lucas stared at it, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this toy, which he’d lost all but sixty seconds ago, could possibly have been found. Then he snatched it back, embarrassing Ellie by ignoring her pleas that he say thank you.
Nina said nothing, but I could tell she was rattled by the woman assuming she was Lucas’s mum. It was hard enough for her to hang out with a couple of breeders like Ellie and I, without having her lack of motherhood rubbed in her face.
‘So how about a man for you, George?’ Ellie asked, her voice shrill with the urgent need to change the subject.
‘Huh? Me? I don’t think so.’ As if on cue, to remind me of my perennial undateability, Pip started to cry. I picked her up with a little trepidation. This past week, she had clung to me before I’d left her at daycare, but when I’d returned, she didn’t want me near her. Which was difficult, seeing as I was literally feeding her with my own body.
Nina clapped her hands. ‘Yes! That is such a good idea. You need to get back out there.’ She nodded sagely, as if seven months back on the market had made her an expert.
I shook my head, flipping my boob out of my bra and trying to get Pip to latch. ‘No, thanks.’ Pip squirmed and scrunched up her tiny face. Sometimes I swear she was looking at my boob as if to say, ‘Really? Milk again? Is that all you have?’
‘What happened to that Colin guy?’ Ellie asked.
I held the back of Pip’s head and manoeuvred her into position. Finally, she found my nipple – as if I had been hiding it from her – and let out a sigh of relief as she started to feed. I sighed too. Breastfeeding had started to become painful, since Pip wouldn’t feed as often. I pumped twice a day at work, reading emails and taking calls over the wheezing push-pull of the manual pump, telling anyone who asked that there was construction going on outside. What I really needed was an electric pump, but every time I thought of buying one online, I’d be interrupted by some work crisis that needed sorting immediately, and then I’d forget. By 4 pm, my boobs were hard and full and bloody painful. I had to wear two sets of nursing pads as insurance against leaks. I was over it, but I knew I wouldn’t give up feeding. Good mums breastfeed their babies. They don’t give up because it hurts.
‘Colin?’ I shrugged. ‘It just fizzled out.’ I had met Colin when I was pregnant with Pip and, despite my gestative state, we had made plans for a date. Owing to a commitment I couldn’t really get out of (labour), I had to cancel. We’d texted a few times after I had Pip, but one day he just stopped replying. That was that.
‘Right. Time to find a new one!’ Nina said, grinning.
I shook my head again. ‘Seriously, guys, I really don’t need a boyfriend.’
Men were the furthest thing from my mind. How would I ever find time to date someone? I didn’t have time to masturbate, let alone have actual sex with another person.
‘It’s not a boyfriend,’ Nina said. ‘It’s a date. And you need a date. It’ll be fun, come on!’
I grimaced.
‘No. I don’t think so.’
Nina tut-tutted. ‘Anyone at work you want to date?’
‘Like I said, I don’t want to date anyone. And the only guy at work is Neil.’
‘Ooh!’ they both sang simultaneously. ‘Neil!’
‘No.’
‘Who’s Neil?’ Ellie demanded.
I rolled my eyes. ‘The food writer.’
‘Ooh!’ Nina said again. ‘What a cool job.’
Ugh. It was not a cool job. Or at least, it might have been, but Neil was not a cool person. Neil the Fucking Food Writer, as I had taken to calling him (so far, only to myself) was cute, in a scruffy facial hair sort of way, but pretentious in the extreme. He scoffed at my pronunciation of pho, forbade anyone from touching the Aeropress coffee maker on his desk and told me he was going to write a five-part series on offal, which I put a swift stop to.
‘No. Not Neil.’
Nina wasn’t discouraged. ‘Come on, George. Think about it. When was the last time you did something fun? Something just for you?’
I thought about it. For too long. I couldn’t remember.
Nina and Ellie both shot me knowing smirks.
Maybe it would be kind of fun to go on a date. I could go to a restaurant. Drink a glass of wine. Maybe two.
‘Who’s going to look after Pip?’
Nina put her hand up. ‘OK, so obviously I will, but let’s find the date first. We’ll cross that bridge later.’
Ellie leaned over and grabbed my phone from my bag.
‘Hey!’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Who’s Meredith?’
‘Can I have my phone back please? What are you doing?’
‘Getting you a date. Who’s Meredith? You’ve got seven missed calls from her.’
‘What?’ My phone had been on silent. Actually, my phone had been on silent since the day I brought Pip home from hospital.
I reached over and Ellie handed it back, with some reluctance.
Urgent. Call me pls.
It was 11.30 on a Saturday. What could be so urgent? A copy of The Weekend lay on the table next to us. I grabbed it and took a quick look before I dialled Meredith’s number. It looked fine to me.
‘Hello?’
‘Meredith?’
‘George?’
‘Yeah, hi. What’s up? Is everything alright?’
My mind raced over the possibilities. A defamation suit? Disgruntled advertiser? Staff resignation?
Meredith sighed. ‘Not really. I think we should fire Celeste.’
Celesete was The Weekend’s beauty editor. She was quiet and got her work done: everything I wanted in an employee.
‘Oh my god. Why?’
‘Mmm . . . she’s just not really working out.’ I heard the low hum of muzac in the background. She was shopping. Alone, probably. I couldn’t conceive of a time when I’d be able to do that in the next, say, eighteen years.
‘Why? I think she’s great.’ I also thought it was supremely odd to call someone seven times on a Saturday to talk about firing an employee for no specific reason. Couldn’t this wait until Monday?
‘Well, the thing is, I had a friend of mine come in and do some aura readings the other week, and . . . Celeste’s aura is showing a lot of green.’
Ellie and Nina stared at me. I waved them off. What on earth was Meredith talking about?
‘Uh. OK. Look, I think Celeste is really good. And don’t you have to give people warnings before you fire them? Has Celeste done anything wrong? I mean . . . apart from her . . . aura?’
Nina started to laugh. I put my finger to my mouth to silence her, but she kept going.
‘Well, not technically, no. But a green aura . . . it’s not good. Celeste has a tendency to be jealous. She lacks personal responsibility. Very insecure.’
‘Oh. Well . . . do you really believe in all that?’
‘Yes! Of course I do. You can’t get by in business without having a developed sense of spirituality, George. Everyone knows that. That’s what Martha says, anyway.’
‘Martha?’
‘Martha Stewart. She’s a friend.’
‘Oh. Of course. But Meredith . . . do you think Celeste really is irresponsible? Has she done anything to make you think that? Or is it . . . the aura?’
Meredith huffed. I heard the click of clothes hangers being pushed along a rack. ‘The point is, Celeste is not working out.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Right. OK. Look, Meredith, I’m sure we can work th
is out. Can we talk on Monday?’
‘Is now not a good time?’
I paused, trying to decide how to respond.
‘Uh . . . well, no, not really. I’m with my . . . friends.’ And my baby, I thought. My baby, who I have hardly seen all week.
Meredith didn’t say anything.
‘So, um, enjoy your weekend, and I’ll talk to you on Monday.’
‘Email me with some ideas for a new beauty editor, OK? Once you’re done with your . . . friends.’
‘Uh . . . as in, today?’
‘Yes! We’ll need to get started on hiring right away. Thank you, George,’ she said, in the clipped tone she used to signal that a conversation was over. She hung up.
‘Who the fuck was that?’ Nina asked, as Ellie shot her a look. ‘Sorry!’ she said, glancing at Lucas. ‘I mean, George, who was that?’
‘Meredith. My new boss, remember?’
I had, of course, told Neen all about Meredith, but it seemed listening was optional for her these days.
‘Why is she calling you on a Saturday?’
‘I have no idea. It’s weird, right?’
Nina and Ellie nodded.
‘Right, can we get back to finding you a date, please?’ Nina asked, brightening again. She snatched my phone and the two of them got to work while I simultaneously breastfed Pip and played ‘Round and Round the Garden’ with Lucas.
Nina looked over Ellie’s shoulder and giggled, nodding. I tried to see what they were doing but I was tethered to Pip and could only lean so far.
‘Guys. What are you doing?’ Nina looked up and giggled.
‘Here you go.’
Ellie handed my phone back, fresh with a new Tinder profile.
‘Are you kidding? How did you do that so quickly? I didn’t even have the app.’
Nina rolled her eyes. ‘It’s easy. Now pick someone.’
I looked at my profile. They’d chosen a photo from four New Year’s Eves ago, when I’d been skinny and had time to blow-dry my hair into submission and wore clothes that were actually purchased in the same year I was wearing them.
‘Isn’t this a bit . . . misleading?’
Nina and Ellie shook their heads in unison. ‘No!’ Ellie said. ‘You still look great.’ That’s what friends are for – blatantly lying to you when you need it most.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Mmm. Yeah, I feel like –’
Nina cut me off. ‘Can you just choose a guy please? Come on! Get to the fun part!’
I swiped to the first round of guys.
‘How are you meant to find a date based only on their age and face?’
Nina looked at me like I’d asked her why the sun was hot. ‘That’s all you need. Just choose. Come on!’
Jordan, thirty. Blonde hair. Strumming a guitar. No.
Steve, twenty-four. Which of the two guys in the photo was Steve – the one administering the headlock, or the one receiving it? No.
Jonathan, forty. Hair greying at the temples. Wearing a wetsuit, standing beside a surfboard. Too much pressure. No.
Alfie, twenty-one. No.
Alex, thirty-eight. Wearing a business suit. Smiling. Looks relatively normal. Bingo.
‘How about this guy?’ I showed them my phone, feeling Pip drift off to sleep on my boob.
Nina scrunched up her face. ‘He looks a bit –’
‘He looks great!’ said Ellie. She snatched my phone from me and swiped right.
‘Hey!’
Ellie shrugged. ‘You have to make a move. Don’t worry, you’re not marrying the guy.’
‘Since when did you get so fast and loose with my love life?’
She smiled. ‘Since I decided you could do with having one.’ Suddenly she spied Lucas making off again, zooming his toy train along the garden bed and running after it. ‘Lucas! Lucas, get back here! I’m counting to –’ Ellie ran after him.
I sighed. The idea of having a love life again was completely weird. How would I tell a date I had a kid? What was the right moment? Before dinner? While we were paying the bill? Just before we got married? ‘Oh, PS, I know someone who’d make a great flower girl!’
‘So what do I do now?’
‘Wait,’ said Nina gravely, hands up like a stop sign. ‘You wait for him to swipe right on you, and then don’t say anything until he messages you, OK? Don’t be too eager. Let him work for you.’
‘OK, OK.’
‘And in the meantime,’ she said, ‘you should find some more guys.’ She wiggled her eyebrows at me.
‘For what?’
‘For dates. Keep your options open. Who knows what this Alex is like? He could be a serial killer.’
‘Aren’t you trying to encourage this?’
She threw her hands up. ‘I’m joking,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Get out there, George. Life is short. What’s the worst that could happen?’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Uh, he could be a serial killer.’
Nina smiled. ‘Well, I’ll really miss you if he is. And I promise to take care of Pip.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief, thank you so much.’
‘Go on, George. I never thought I’d be single at thirty-five, but here I am. And you know what? It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.’
‘What, dating?’ I looked down at Pip. I certainly never thought I’d be single at thirty-five . . . with a baby.
‘Yeah, the whole thing. I thought I would have a breakdown last year, I really did. When you got pregnant and I didn’t . . . I told Matt I thought I was going crazy. I would wake up in the middle of the night and lie awake for hours. It got to the point where I didn’t trust myself to drive, because I just wasn’t there, you know? I couldn’t focus on anything.’
Holding Pip in the crook of one arm, I leaned over and grabbed Nina’s hand. ‘You never told me that.’
She smiled wryly. ‘It’s OK. I’m OK. Look, George, I know what you think about Jed and . . . everything else.’
I started to protest but Nina cut me off.
‘It’s OK. I get it. But I chased this thing for years. It was my whole life. And now . . . I have to work on accepting that it’s not going to happen.’ She bit her lip and stared in the distance, not quite looking at me. ‘I’m not there yet but I’m really trying. I like Jed. I want to take a year off. I need to figure out who I am now.’
‘Can’t you figure out who you are in Sydney? Why do you have to quit your job and go travelling?’
Nina sighed. ‘I don’t know. I just do. I have to do something different, you know? I can’t keep doing the things Married Nina would do. I’m not her anymore.’
I laughed a little, but Nina’s expression was serious. ‘I’m not, George,’ she said, quietly. ‘And you’re not the old George, either. It’s time for you to figure out what you want, too.’
I started to laugh at her earnestness again, before I cut myself off. What did Nina mean? Hadn’t I already figured out what I wanted?
And if I hadn’t, how the bloody hell was I supposed to?
Chapter 5
Not a morning person? No problem! Instead of hauling yourself out of bed at 5 am every day, why not do a Power Prep the night before? Laura, thirty-six, drives to her local cafe just before closing time to grab her favourite cold brew. ‘I put it in the fridge,’ says Laura, ‘so it’s there when I wake up in the morning. It saves so much time.’ Yvette, twenty-nine, drafts important emails for clients just before she heads to bed. ‘I have clients all over the world,’ she says, ‘so I need to stay on top of things. By drafting emails just before bed, all I need to do is quickly skim them and hit “send” in the morning. I’m not lying when I say this has revolutionised the way I work.’
I’d become obsessed with organisation. Before I had Pip, and certainly even before I went back to work, ‘organised’ meant ‘I can probably find the iron if I need to’. It didn’t mean buying my cold-pressed coffee the night before so it was ready when I woke up at 6 am. It didn’t mean drafting emails at 11 pm. And y
et, I was seriously contemplating these things now. I had so much to do.
‘Knock, knock,’ came a voice at the door, accompanied by two sharp raps.
I looked up. Neil.
I forced a smile. Neil and I hadn’t exactly got off to a flying start. I could tell he preferred Lee’s style – he’d made several quips about her and I definitely got the sense that she was missed around the office. I was trying not to let it get to me – I had too much to do – but it stung nonetheless.
‘Hi, Neil. What’s up?’
‘Just checking on the review this week. You want me to do McCool’s?’
I screwed up my face and flicked through the stack of papers on my desk. ‘Which one is that again?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Hot dogs, burgers, cheap American beer served, for some inexplicable reason, in school mugs they found at an estate auction.’
‘Which school?’
He smirked. ‘Shore.’
‘The private boys’ school?’
He nodded. ‘That’s the one.’
‘So who goes to this McCool’s place?’ I asked.
‘Who do you think? Private school boys, I’d say.’
‘Former.’
He shrugged. ‘Do they ever really leave?’
I couldn’t help it; I smiled. ‘Right. Well, what do you think, should we review it?’
He squinted at me and cocked his head. ‘Um . . . well, normally you would tell me what to review.’
‘Oh. Is that what Lee did?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s the way Meredith wants it. I think Meredith chooses the places; Lee just filters it through to me.’
‘Oh.’ I paused for a second. Why would I tell Neil which restaurant to review? He was the food editor – surely it was up to him. ‘Look, I trust your judgement. Just find one that’s right for our readers – sounds like McCool’s isn’t – and go there. And stick to the budget, OK? I saw that bill for Gigli. No more lobster.’
He smirked again.
‘I mean it. Don’t take the piss.’
Neil held up his hands in defeat. ‘OK, OK. The lobster’s their signature dish, so –’
I glanced up from my raft of papers. ‘It’s not, actually. I checked, when I got the $600 bill. The Moreton Bay bug ravioli is their specialty. Like I said, don’t take the piss.’