four
The sole benefit of leaving your husband in the small hours of the morning is that it only takes a nanosecond to get a cab. In fact, I have my choice of two, both converging upon me at the corner of Seventy-third and Columbus. The cabbies undoubtedly spot my suitcase and think that they’re getting a good airport fare, so as I climb into one, I say, “Hi, there. Sorry. I’m only going to lower Fifth.” Then I blurt out, “I just had a big fight with my husband. I think we’re getting a divorce.”
It has always amused Ben how much I chat with cab drivers. He says it is a very touristy thing to do, and that it is unlike me to be so candid with strangers. He’s right on both counts, but for some reason, I can’t help myself in a taxi.
My driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. I can only see his eyes, which is unfortunate, because I have always thought a person’s mouth reveals more of what he’s thinking. The driver either doesn’t have a firm grasp of English or he is colossally deficient in the empathy department, because he says nothing except, “Where on Fifth?”
“Twelfth. East side,” I say, as my eyes drift down to read his name on the seatback. It is Mohammed Muhammed. I have to fight back tears as I think of how Ben once told me, on about our fourth date, that getting a cabbie named Mohammed or Muhammed, whether as a first or last name, is akin to a coin toss, a fifty-fifty proposition. Obviously it was a gross exaggeration, but ever since that night, we always check the medallion, and smile when we get a hit. It seems to happen at least once a week, but this is my first-ever double. I suddenly have the strongest urge to turn around and go home. Touch Ben’s face, kiss his cheekbones and eyelids, and tell him that surely this man’s medallion is a sign that we must fix things, somehow move forward together.
Instead, I rifle through my purse for my phone so that I can let Jess know that I’m on my way over. I remember that I left it in its charger in the kitchen. I whisper shit , realizing that she might not hear her doorman buzzing her. This could be a problem because Jess is a very sound sleeper. I fleetingly consider heading straight for a midtown hotel, but I’m afraid I’ll completely fall apart if I’m alone. So I stay on course.
Fortunately, Jess hears her buzzer, and within minutes of being dropped off, I am curled up on her couch, rehashing my fight with Ben while she makes us cinnamon toast and a big pot of coffee the extent of her expertise (and mine) in the kitchen. She brings us each a cup, mine black, hers loaded with sugar, and says that it is time for a serious talk.
Then she hesitates before adding, “And the topic of this conversation is ‘Why Claudia doesn’t want kids’?” She shoots me a sheepish look.
“Aw, c’mon. Not you, too ,” I say.
She nods like a stern schoolteacher and says, “I just want to review your reasons.”
“You already know my reasons.”
“Well, I want to hear them again. Pretend I’m your therapist.” She sits up straight, crosses her legs, and holds her mug with pinky and thumb out, Kelly Ripa-style. “And this is our first session.”
“So now I need to see a therapist just because I don’t want kids?” I feel myself slipping into my defensive mode, an all too familiar emotion lately.
Jess shakes her head. “No. Not because you don’t want kids. But because your marriage is in trouble. Now. Let’s go. Your reasons, ma’am?”
“Why do I need to have reasons’ ? When someone decides to have a baby, people don’t go around asking what her reasons are.”
“True,” Jess says. “But that is a whole nother topic about women’s role in society.”
In my mind, I hear Ben ranting about people saying a whole nother instead of another whole. “C’mon, people ! Nother is not a word) . “And just like I did when I saw Mohammed Muhammed’s name in the cab, I feel myself tearing up, thinking how much I am going to miss him and his quirky observations.
“Don’t cry, hon,” Jess says, patting my leg.
I blink back my tears, take a deep breath, and then say, “I’m just so sick of everyone assuming that you have to have kids to be happy. I thought Ben was different, but he’s just like everyone else. He totally bait and switched me.”
“It must feel like that.”
I notice that Jess is not exactly agreeing with me, so I say, “You’re on his side, aren’t you? You think I should just suck it up and have a baby.”
“I’m not judging your feelings about not wanting kids. I’m the last one who should be judging anyone’s life choices, right?”
I shrug and she continues, “I think your decision on this is a perfectly legitimate choice. It’s the right choice for a lot of women I think, in many ways, it’s a very brave choice But I do think we should talk it over. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
“About not having kids or about losing Ben?”