“So what, do you know how many randoms I hook up with on the regular?” She giggles into the phone again. “And seriously, you thought that was Heath? Heath is gay, didn’t you know that?”
If I knew that thenI wouldn’t have tried to seduce him and ended up sleeping with the wrong guy!I don’t yell, instead I say, “No,” quietly. “I didn’t know that at all.” I look down at myself, I’m lying on my bed, still in the same pajamas from three days ago, and there’s tortilla chip crumbs sprinkled all over my chest. I’m pathetic. Maybe it isn’t such a big deal about Dex.
“Anyway,” she singsongs, “I was wondering if you could look after Luna this weekend.”
“Who’s Luna?”
“She’s the adorable new cat Nate adopted for me. We’re driving out to the Hamptons for the weekend. A little romantic getaway, you know? And I just want to make sure she gets enough water and food.”
He gave her a cat? A little romantic getaway? That’s why she called me?
“I’m sorry Julia, I can’t. I’m going to be here for a few more days.” Spreading more crumbs across my clothing. “You should knock on Ms. Kinsey’s door and ask her, she loves cats.” She’s also the owner’s grandmother and we’re not allowed to have pets in the building, so there’s always that.
I hang up with Julia to walk out of my bedroom and overhear my mother tell someone on the phone she thought I was having a mid-life crisis. “Terry, it’s just awful. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since the day she got here.”Terry?Terry Meyers is the neighbor from across the street and my ex-boyfriend Adam’s mother. Why is she telling her any of my business? There are a few soft murmurs and silence like she’s listening to a response. “Yes, yes exactly. What did you do?”
Sounds like Adam may have had a few problems himself.
I put my ear up against my door and cup my hands around it. It really doesn’t help much. I still have to strain to hear her words. “…so disappointing…”
I push away from the door with an ache across my chest. Disappointing? She can’t still be talking about me. I haven’t disappointed anyone. I’m living on my own. I never ask my parents for money. I have a fantastic career. The only thing I’m missing is a partner, and honestly, I don’tneedone. I’ve gotten along just fine all these years without being part of a relationship. Why should that matter to anyone? Why should that disappoint her?
I throw myself back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.
My mother always had a specific plan for me. She called it herLittle Mouse’s Life Planand she actually scrapbooked the shit out of it when I graduated college.
She had worked onthe planfor some time when she first showed it to me—a thick book made with bits of material and paper imagery—and the color palette of rose gold, sage green and a color called antique purple. This was somehow an integral part ofthe plan.
It involved a whirlwind romance, a grand wedding, a Victorian house with wraparound porch, and three gorgeous babies, each exactly two years apart in age. Two boys first, then a little girl. She even cut out a little scrap of a cat, which she named Mr. Fluff-enough-a-cus.
I open the closet and there it is, the scrapbook, sandwiched between the nebulizer and a board game. Standing on my tippy toes, I slide it out of its hiding spot, amazed with the absence of dust on its cover. She must take it out often.
The bedroom door softly creaks open behind me, and her slippers flap noisily over the carpet and into the room. “Maybe that scrapbook was too idealistic on my part.” Her tone is sad and I wonder suddenly if she really is disappointed in me. The springs on the bed move and I know she must be sitting on its edge, waiting for me to talk to her, to tell her I’ll be okay.
I caress a hand over the pretty exterior of the scrapbook and open it up. “No mom, I just think that you collected all the things that you may have wanted, not the things I did.”
“But, Janie. Don’t you want to find someone? Don’t you want to get married and build a family?”
“Mom, come on,” I grumble, folding my arms over my chest. I haven’t bothered to shower since I arrived and even I can smell how ripe I am. “You’re making this harder for me.” I throw myself back on the bed, ungraciously. “I want all that. I just…I just haven’t found anyone who wants that withme.”
She sighs and pats my feet that I’ve managed to wedge under piles of blankets. “Maybe you need a plan that’s less romantic, something a little more singular.”
“What kind of crazy are you talking about now?”
“How about just skipping over the love and marriage part and come back home, and have a baby!” She claps her hands and clasps them in front of her chest as if this is the most brilliant idea in the world.
“Come back home? And have a baby?” I repeat, just to be clear.
“Yes, what do you think?” She’s serious. My mother is serious.
“What do I think about what? Is there a 1-800 number that delivers babies to you on Long Island? That sounds pretty illegal to me.”
“Oh, now stop teasing me, Janie. Nowadays, women can get pregnant and raise babies all on their own. I know a few of my friends have daughters who are using their eggs before it’s too late and they age.”
“Jesus, are you really telling me to get knocked up?”
She smiled wickedly at me.
“Mom, I’m only thirty-two. My eggs are not rotting away or drying up, or shriveling like little tiny raisins. I still have time, and seriously, having children isn’t the most important thing in my life right now—”
