I grab the hand midair and clutch it tightly, make sure she’s looking at me. “Your life isn’t a joke, Chrissy. Your life is fucking beautiful. Your marriage, your children, are beautiful.”
She pulls her hand back gently. “Thank you. I think so, too. And speaking of!” She gestures to me. “Am I allowed to ask?”
I raise both eyebrows at her, tilt my face like I’m waiting to hear her offer.
“Can I ask the hard questions?” She shimmies her shoulders, ducking and weaving. “If you’re not ready to talk about this, tell me to fuck off and shut my face, and we’ll move on.”
“Go for it.” I bite my lower lip between my teeth, not sure if I’m ready for this, but willing to try.
“I mean…” She starts off, hemming and hawing. “There’s obviously a reason you turned David’s proposal down…” Her head bounces back and forth, her whole torso moving with it.
I don’t fill in the blanks for her. “Yeah…”
“Do you want to get married? Kids?” She pops the questions out with a face that says not to hate her, she doesn’t really care what my answers are, just wants to hear my thoughts on the matter.
I know some women get irritated by the questions about the “normal” path we’re supposed to take in life. Personally, I don’t mind, and especially not when it’s coming from her.
First of all, I like having a partner in life. Sure, I’m complete on my own—there’s something to be said for being happy with yourself alone before there’s hope for you to be happy with someone else—but there’s something special about having someone who fulfills you in a way that only a partner can, to share your joys and triumphs with, who holds you and helps you through the harder times, and vice versa.
I love my family (most of the time) and my best friend, but there’s a hole that only the right person can fill, and no I’m not making a dirty joke (but if I were I’d say there’s two, maybe even three of those, ayyy-oh). I’m not opposed to finding my person, obviously, I hope I do. As for kids…I think that ship may have sailed for me.
But honestly, Christina never thought she’d settle down and have kids, but when she metherperson, her wild side was balanced by his chill one, and they made the perfect match. She’s never been happier, and they’ve been married for ages now, and made four little ones together. If the girl I grew up with can be a poster child of a mom…it gives me confidence I might not be so bad at it myself, that it could be something I’d grow into, like she did.
I breathe out a heavy breath, try to put it all into words for her. Maybe for me, too. “It’s not that I didn’t want to get married. I guess I had enough uncertainty about David and I wasn’t willing to say yes if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that we were going to make it. And as good as I thought I had it, it never felt quite right to me. So I still hope to find the person that I have that certainty with.” I purse my lips, chew on one for a minute. She waits, watches, listens. “That’s the only way I would get married, I think. If I knew we truly brought out the best in each other and that we could weather just about anything together. Was sure that we belonged together.”
She nods at me, mouth turned down in that way the godfather did, but it’s smiling, too. “That’s solid, boo.” She thinks for a few seconds, we thank the server as they drop off our food, and we both dig in. After she swallows a bite, she keeps talking.
“I feel like I always thought you had to, I dunno, feel sparks every time you touched, or think fucking rainbows shot out of their ass to get married to someone.” She takes another bite, letting the thought marinate between us before continuing. “But for me it ended up being kind of what you said. This, like, deep-rooted certainty that he was who I wanted to build my life with. That whatever life threw at me, it would be okay if he was the one by my side. And I know you know we went through some shit since then. It’s not like it’s all sparkle tits—” she ignores the laugh that almost spews eggs out of my nose and leaves me hacking into my napkin, “—when you’re with someone for ages. We had a rough patch and we still have tough moments, but we got our groove back and it’s so fucking worth it and just, I don’t know—” she grasps at the air around her with her eyes, searching for the right words, “—rewarding, to have that man with me through whatever the fuck life is gonna bring for us. But I have to say, I don’t think we’ve been hornier in fucking years since fixing what was going on between us. I thought shit was supposed to get boring as we got old? But it’s been so,” she does a soft clap, “fucking,” another clap, “hot,” claps again, “with us lately.” She fans her face dramatically. “Did I tell you what he did two nights ago? He grabbed me from behind and I swear to Louis Vuitton, he—”
I drop my fork and interrupt her before her words can penetrate my ears the way I’m sure her husband penetrated her. “LA LA LA LA LA! I can’t hear you!” I pull the classic move of a sophisticated five-year-old. It’s timeless because it’s effective, and I don’t wanna hear about it.
I pull my fingers free from my ears and look at her pointedly. “I don’t want to know anything that’s going to make me blush in our morning meeting. Please keep this story PG, Chrissy. Please. He’s my top sales guy. Don’t make it weird for me.” She pouts at me sullenly, comically, so I amend, “But I am really happy for you and your vagina.”
“Fine. But I could give you ideas on how to keep that shit hot, keep that in mind.” She points a finger at me and bounces it up and down. “On second thought,” she scrunches her nose adorably, “if your next man doesn’t treat you like a goddess, if he can’t keep you satisfied, ditch him quicker if he doesn’t pick up what you’re laying down. He needs to be able to break your back on the regular and leave you wanting more.”
I giggle and nod my agreement, popping a shoulder. “That’s fair.”
“So back to answering questions then, missy. What about kids?”
“I really don’t know. If I was gonna have kids, I always wanted it to be as a young mom. I don’t want to be, like, too old to chase after them and, I dunno, like, hold them back from being kids and playing,” my hands tumble over one another, doing my best to show how little kids roll around, “and running around because my knees are old and I’d rather sit on the couch or something.” I affect my best Leslie Knope, not as Leslie Knope, voice and say, “I wanted to be a young mom, a cool mom,” I toss my hair back with a flourish, but get more serious to deliver the rest of the thought. “Like I wanted to be able to have one of those relationships that transcends a parental bond, where we could share shit and be friends as well as me being the hardass when I need to be, you know? And I’m pretty sure I’m past that point now. I can’t imagine being ready to date anytime soon, much less find that person who is everything it would take for me to feel sure about having a future together and really want to start a family with.” I gesture with my fork for emphasis. “Plus with my five and even ten-year plan with the companies, I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me anymore.” I give a shrug, maybe a little sorrowful, but my life doesn’t suck, and there’s plenty for me to love about it. “And that’s gotta be okay for me. I would’ve loved to have kids, but I’ve got plenty of other things going for me that I love, too.”
“Damn right you do,” she says with a wink. “So let me tell you about my Spanish lover, Ricardo, and what he did the other night.”
FIFTEEN
ELLIE
“FORE!” Chance’s yell splits across the formerly peaceful Friday afternoon.
For once, it’s not hotter than the devil’s ball sack out here in Tampa Bay. Not for once, Chance is taking any given chance to be a total, hammed-up idiot.
“I don’t think you have to say that here, man,” Asher tells him, a devilish smirk on his face.
The three of us have our own bay at TopGolf, the unwanted leftovers on the sign-up sheet.
Half of the company is now staring over at Chance. We’re in the last bay on the top level, and he seems inspired by Happy Gilmore today. A Lightning hockey jersey overtop khaki cargo pants and his trusty dad sneakers. He runs a hand through his buzzed, graying hair, over his dad bod in the middle there, then holds it up to wave at all the faces pointed our way.
“My bad!” He calls out to them. “Tell ya what, drinks are on me!”
