As I was walking home, Max texted.
Are you free Sunday? Madison suggested this great brunch place in Potrero Hill.
I cringed. I was still feeling weird at the thought of meeting Max’s girlfriend. Was this truly about being supportive, or even ripping the Band-Aid of awkwardness off? Or did she just want to size me up? Make sure I didn’t have designs on her man? Max said she wanted to “help,” but … it wasn’t like there was anything she could do to helpgrowthe baby.
I finally texted back:I’m actually heading to my mom’s Sunday morning. OK if we just do coffee?Brunch sounded long and intimidating. Coffee would be short and sweet.
After a moment, Max replied,Sure, no problem. Coffee Bean again? 9:30?
Sure.
I reached my apartment building. The main door always stuck a little, but after some extra jiggling I managed to wrestle it open and entered the small lobby, which was just big enough to house a row of four small mailboxes built into the wall on my right, and a single staircase to the two second-floor apartments on my left. I trudged up the stairs.
In my mad dash to get out the door that morning, I’d left my apartment even messier than usual. My blackened tea kettle still sat on the stove, the smell of burnt metal lingering in my kitchen, where the setting sun that snuck in between the slats of the blinds over my sink illuminated floating specks of dirt and dust swirling around in the air. Dirty dishes, takeout containers, and junk mail littered the counter and table. As I dropped my work bag onto the couch and dragged my tired body into thebedroom, I was greeted by the sight of dirty laundry covering the floor and bed.
For a brief moment, I imagined a crib holding a sleeping baby in the corner, amongst all the detritus.
Get it together, Savannah. You can’t raise a baby in a pigsty like this. It’s time to get your life organized—and you only have a little over six months to do it.
An hour and a half later, I flopped down on the couch with a weary sigh, listening to the quiet whir of my dishwasher and breathing in the sweet smell of a clean apartment and the vanilla candle I’d lit. The timer on my phone dinged, letting me know it was time to head down to the ground floor laundry room and switch my clothes from the washer to the dryer. I popped back up with a groan. All the cleaning had exhausted me. Now it was time to scarf down some leftovers, take a hot bath, grab my laundry from the dryer once it was done, and then head to bed.
As I reached to open the fridge door, I stopped suddenly, an uneasy feeling spreading through my body.
Something was wrong.
Something was missing.
I stood absolutely still for a moment, my eyes scanning my surroundings, until it hit me—the empty space right in front of me.
Every morning for the past couple of weeks, as I waited for the kettle to whistle for my morning cup of herbal tea, I’d gaze at it in wonder where it hung on my refrigerator, held in place with an old pizza delivery magnet, right at eye level.
Only now it wasn’t there.
The printout of my ultrasound was gone.
CHAPTER3
IT WAS BARELYnine-fifteen when I walked into the coffee shop Sunday. I’d gotten there early on purpose. My strategy was to be the first to arrive—thenI’dget to watchthemastheywalked in, like they were the ones on display, rather than me.
I ordered a decaf latte and sat down. As I waited, competing voices in my head talked over each other.
Max says she wants to help—isn’t that a good thing?
Who cares what she thinks of you, anyway?
You don’t want to be with Max, and you don’t need to be her friend. So just meet her and get it over with and be on your way.
I didn’t have to wait long—a couple of minutes later, an attractive couple entered the Coffee Bean. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for whatever was about to happen.
First came Max, holding the door open for his girlfriend.
Whoa.I’d never seen him so dressed up. He wore a pair of pressed khakis, dark brown dress shoes, a blue and white checkered button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, and a navy blue tie. His hair was slightly wet and combed flat and neat, and he wore a pair of stylish aviator sunglasses. What looked like a brand-new, very expensive silver watch gleamed on his wrist, catching the sun.
His girlfriend sashayed in past him. She appeared charming and put-together, dressed in a bright floral sundress and a white cardigan. Her chocolate-brown hair hung in curly waves down past her shoulders, held back with a thin headband. Was that a diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist? And a Birkin bag on her arm? She looked up at him with an adoring smile as the door closed behind them.
Jesus, could she look any more the part of a Stepford wife?
I looked down at my yoga pants, hoodie, and sneakers, and brushed a lock of unwashed hair that had escaped my ponytail out of my eyes, swallowing a bit of regret.This isn’t a competition, I reminded myself.It doesn’t matter what they think of you!
