“It’ll be weird driving again,” my dad elaborates.
As most New Yorkers don’t let their children learn how to drive in the city—talk about trial by fire—I didn’t get my license until I went away to college. “I haven’t driven a car since I rented one last summer when I went to the Hamptons.” That resulted in one fender bender and one slightly more serious run in with a light pole.I swear I put the car in reverse.
“You shouldn’t buy a car,” my mom announces. “You should lease so you can turn it in when you come home.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.” I give her a pointed look to suggest her continued harping on my coming home is starting to wear thin. After all, she’s not a native New Yorker. She knows life exists on the other side of all the bridges leading into Manhattan.
“I’m looking forward to coming to see you,” Vivie says. “It’ll be nice to visit a new state.”
“You’ve never been to Wisconsin, have you?” I ask her.
“Why would she?” our mom demands.
My sister winks. “I hear the cheese is spectacular.” We share a laugh as our mother rolls her eyes.
My family is the only real downside to my not being in New York. Even though we all have busy lives, we get together two or three times a month for a meal, which is a touchstone I’ve always counted on.
I feel a physical pang as I wonder who I’m going to be spending my free time with while living in the Badger State.
CHAPTER THREE
FINLEY
“I can’t believe you’re going to be a mother.” My good friend, Allie, is sitting across the table from me, busily making lists of things she still needs to buy. She and I only met a few months ago, but we really hit it off. Her parents are my regulars, Margaret and Bob.
“I’m having a hard time believing it, too,” she says. “It’s certainly not happening the way I thought it would.” Allie and her ex experienced several miscarriages before he decided to cheat on her and get his mistress pregnant. After their divorce, she moved home to recover. She worked at the bakery for several months before she started teaching at the local high school. That’s where she met Margie Flynn.
Allie gave Margie a place to stay when the girl’s parents kicked her out after she refused to have an abortion. They got to know each other very well, so when Margie decided to put her baby up for adoption, she asked if Allie wanted to do the adopting. Allie jumped at the chance.
“How does Noah feel about you becoming a mom?” Noah Riley is Margie’s childhood crush and current boyfriend.
“He’s excited for me.” Her eyes twinkle when she smiles. “I think he’s excited for him, too. Noah loves kids.”
“Do you think the two of you are going to get married?” My friend’s love story has Hallmark Channel written all over it. Noah moved back to Elk Lake to coach their alma mater’s basketball team. He coaches the boys and Allie coaches the girls. I wish I could star in one of those “going home” love stories. But that would require my moving back to Central Illinois, which is something I will never do.
Allie lifts up her coffee cup but puts it back onto the table without taking a sip. “I’ve loved Noah since we were kids. And while I hope to marry him someday, I don’t want him to ask just because I’m going to be a mom.”
I assure her, “The only reason he’d ask you to marry him is because he loves you as much as you love him.”
Allie’s sigh is long and steady. When it peters out, she says, “I can’t believe how well my life is turning out. After Brett, I thought I’d be alone forever.”
“What a gargoyle,” I hiss. “I hope his legs fall off at the knees. I hope he gets alien abducted and relocated off planet. I hope his new wife leaves him for another woman. I hope …”
Before I can further expand upon the revenge fantasies I have for Allie’s ex, she reminds me, “His wife had quadruplets. Life will be anything but easy for Brett.”
“Good,” I tell her before changing the subject. “Now, if only Noah had a nice friend you could set me up with.” I don’t want to spend my life alone, but the truth is I’ve not had great results dating. Clearly, as I’m still single.
“I made him promise to keep a lookout,” she tells me. Her eyes narrow until it feels like she’s trying to peer inside my soul.“You’re extremely pretty, you know. Quirky girl next door, with a touch of sass.”
“Quirky?” I nearly choke on the word. I work very hard to be normal, and her observation suggests I’m failing.
“Yeah, you know …” She points a finger as I stir my tea three times before tapping the rim of the cup. “You’ve got that tea ritual, for instance.”
My hand stops mid-strike before I can accomplish the final tap. I tell myself not to finish, to be stronger than my compulsion, but I fail.Tap.“Oh, this?” I try to laugh it off. “I guess I’ve always done it this way.”
“Before every sip?” Yeah, clearly she thinks there’s something wrong with me. And while I used to, as well, I’m now much more comfortable being me.
Instead of confirming what she already knows, I ask, “How else am I odd?”
