“Ooh, snap!” she replied. “When’s your birthday?”
“December thirteenth,” I replied with a grin.
“Okay. No. Way,” she said, both hands to her chest. “Me too.”
“No way,” I replied, and we both stared at each other, incredulous.
She opened a bottle of wine, then another, and we ended up lying on the floor listening to the highly underrated soundtrack fromSleepless in Seattle. I told her the universe brought us together, she agreed it wasreally fucking weird we had the same birthdayand that she thought I was hilarious, and so I moved in right away. We were inseparable. People remarked on it. Charlie was the first person who enjoyed my musical movie nights. Who read me my horoscope over scrambled eggs and Earl Grey tea before work. My first real best friend. The kind you read about. She is mine and I am hers.
Her new house is a real work in progress, though she’s done agreat job of making it cozy. I spy her huge teapot, a relic from our London days, and some of the mismatched pottery on the open shelves. But my goodness, since Sophie came along it has become chaotic.
I try not to stare at the laundry piled high on one side of the cream sofa with its new darkened round milk stains, the pile of semi-broomed-up muck from the kitchen floor that hasn’t made it to the bin yet.
“Don’t look, for God’s sake,” Charlie says. “I’ve become a slob, Mara. There is no time to do anything except run around after this adorable little monster until eight p.m. Then after that all I can be fucked to do is sit on that couch and eat.”
I laugh at this. “I can help?” I say, toying with the top of the wooden broom. “Let me at least do this.”
“No. Alex’s finally caved and got a cleaner, and he’s coming tomorrow. I just want to sit with you and try to summon the feeling of Charlie from two years ago, please? I love the mothers’ group and baby yoga and all the things I do with the local parents, but God I’ve missed the old me.”
She puts Sophie down on the floor and she immediately crawls off at quite a pace. Charlie kicks shut a child gate on the door and rolls her eyes. “Alex will be back soon,” she says. “What do you want to drink? Are you still partial to an old-fashioned?”
“No,” I say, “my old-fashioned phase has been replaced by red wine and Celine Dion. Just likeBridget Jones.” I sing “All by Myself” weakly, pretending to sob into my hands.
“You’re not there yet, Mara. You’re not Bridget Jones. She was thirty-two,” she says, laughing.
“Then I have about six months,” I reply. “Don’t make me decide. I don’t have time to consult my horoscope. Choose something for me.”
“Same old Mara,” she says, giggling. “I do actually have red wine. Alex opened it last night.”
“Excellent.”
“Oh, how is the new flatmate?” she says. I eye the fact that she’s pouringoneglass and not two. Not like Charlie.
“Ash? Oh, he’s quite nice. He made me a goulash as a welcome home from Hungary,” I say, raising both eyebrows.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she says.
“Yeah, it was,” I admit.
“Anything else? Is he cute?”
“Er? I guess? I haven’t really thought about it,” I say, pushing the vision of Ash and his bare thighs out of my mind. “I’ve been kind of sidetracked with mytrip, as you know.” I beam at her. I just want to get on to Joe.
“So that’s all? Who is he?”
I sigh. “Oh, just some local guy. A painter-decorator like my dad. I mean, he’s nice. He seems easygoing. I have barely seen him all week.” I want to move on from Ash.
“O-kay,” she says in a singsong voice, now raising both her eyebrows at me. “Oh, Mara” she says, quickly, “I’m so glad to see you. To see another adult whose life isn’t all about children. You’re just up the road, but it feels like you may as well be in London. I mean, it’s twenty minutes away and look at us, catching up for the third time in six months.... It’s hopeless.”
“Forget it. You’re a mum now. And I’ve been busy too. Not to mention us Sagittarians are feeling the effects of Mercury retrograde on our close relationships,” I say, although I want to tell her that I wish she was more available too.
“That might explain my home life,” she says wistfully. I want to pounce on the comment but suspect she won’t want to talk aboutit. “Now, tell me all about Budapest,” she says, grinning. “I’m so sorry, once again, for pulling out. Believe me, no one wants a weekend off all this more than me.”
“It’s okay, Charlie. Really,” I say. “And in a way, maybe it was meant to happen. I mean, if you’d come, I don’t think I would have methim.”
“Oh yes. Go on. The man?”
“Yes. The man, Charlie. Theone,” I say. She smirks at me and briefly rolls her eyes.
