twenty-nine
“Hi, Tucker,” I say, taking in her perfectly pressed white doctor’s coat, blue scrubs, and shiny stethoscope. And of course, her long, blond mane pulled into her trademark ponytail. She is prettier than I remembered. But maybe it’s the difference between seeing someone after a run and seeing someone with a bit of makeup. I shudder to think what she might look like fully dressed for dinner. My heart sinks, and I eye the exit door, hoping that our conversation will be short. Despite the very significant thing we have in common, I have nothing to say to her.
“Hi, Claudia,” she says, looking completely at ease.
I remind myself that I’m not supposed to know that she’s a doctor. So I go through the song and dance of feigning surprise. “Are you a doctor?” I say.
“Yeah,” she says with false modesty. “I’m a pediatric surgeon.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.”
“What are you doing here?” she asks, glancing down at Zoe. “Is everything okay?”
Her concern seems genuine, but is still highly irritating. I know it’s irrational, but I feel as if she is judging me. Assessing the magnitude of my negligence. Concluding that I would, indeed, make an unfit, inept mother.
I say, “My niece had a little spill, that’s all. But she’s fine now.”
“Poor thing,” Tucker croons.
Zoe, who has returned to her outgoing self, chimes in, “I got five stitches!”
I panic, wondering what else Zoe will say. I pray that Tucker won’t mention Ben because then the floodgates will open. I can just hear Zoe: How do you know Uncle Ben? Aunt Claudia dee-vorced him because she didn’t want kids. But Aunt Claudia says she’ll always love him. And if they get married again I get to be a flower girl !
Sure enough, Zoe’s comment gives Tucker license to interact with my niece. As if sharing a grave secret, she stoops, winks, and says, “The pink kind?”
Zoe beams. “Uh-huh. The pink kind.”
Tucker tousles Zoe’s hair and gives her a doting smile. Then she stands and says to me, “She’s adorable.”
“Thanks,” I say, although I’m not sure it’s appropriate to accept compliments on behalf of someone else’s child, even if she is my niece. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Then my mind goes blank as I look toward the exit again. I desperately don’t want to segue into other topics, like, say, marathons or Ben. I wonder if Tucker knows about my plans to see her boyfriend. I surmise that she does, as I recall how Ben told me when his ex, Nicole, sent him a birthday present about a year after we began dating. Struggling to sound nonchalant, I remember saying, “Oh. That’s nice What did she give you?”
“A book of poetry,” he said matter-of-factly, as if it meant nothing to him at all.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t think of a more menacingly meaningful gift than a book, let alone a book of poetry , and it took all my willpower not to ask which book, what poems. Instead I just mumbled a cool and oh-so-secure, “Well, that was thoughtful of her.”
Ben said, “Yeah. Whatever. No biggie. Just wanted to tell you in the interest of full disclosure.”
That’s how Ben is, direct and honest. So I’m sure he was very forthright about our lunch date.
Sure enough, Tucker says, “So. How are you doing these days, Claudia?”
Her words are innocent enough, but there is a shade of condescension and pity in her voice. She is also, ever so subtly, laying claim to her man. She is behaving exactly as I would have behaved had I run across Nicole in my early days with Ben. She is pleasant and dignified, but still demonstrating who is in charge.
“Fine. And you?” I say tersely and formally. I am not about to be intimidated. I was married to Ben. Marathon or no marathon, she hasn’t earned the right to be so territorial.
“I’m great,” she throws out comfortably. She might as well add, And so not threatened by you .
My discomfort shifts to resentment as I process her great . There is no doubt about it: great surpasses fine . The bitch just has to outdo me. Any benefit of the doubt I’ve ever given her flies out the hospital door. I want to slap her or throw cold water in her face. Do one of those things that people only do in sitcoms.
And that’s all before her hand darts up to shift that godforsaken ponytail from her left to right shoulder, and I see her ring.
Her diamond ring.
Her diamond ring on her left ring finger.
I can’t say for sure if she flashed it on purpose, but I do know with certainty that she saw me looking at it. So I have no choice but to acknowledge it now. I take a deep breath and recruit every bit of will I have in me to point in the general direction of her hand and say, “Congratulations.”
She smiles triumphantly and glances down at her hand before dipping it into her jacket pocket. Then she blushes and says, “Thank you, Claudia. It happened quickly.”