twenty
I hope that my thirty-fifth birthday will stop the tide of baby talk, and the people in my life will give me that much as a gift. Instead, in the days leading up to the big benchmark, Daphne leaves messages on my voice mail, like, “Sure would be great to get those eggs soon. We could avoid amnio if we get them now!”
She, of course, is referring to the fact that most doctors recommend amniocentesis for mothers older than thirty-five, and although she pretends to be joking, I can tell she’s serious. Even though I’m very freaked out by the whole concept of giving her one of my eggs, I am leaning toward telling her yes. Mostly because I just want to end my sister’s pain, but also because I don’t see that I have any real choice in the matter. I just can’t fathom how I would tell her no.
I make the mistake of running the dilemma by Jess. The worst of her grief subsided after her doctor’s visit when he confirmed that miscarriages are terribly common. He also checked her hormones and determined that everything was normal. He said there was no reason to anticipate future problems. Still, Jess’s hypochondria commingles with Daphne’s news and propels her into a frenzied state of high alert. She begins this crazy chatter about freezing her eggs and spends huge chunks of time at work forwarding me links on cutting-edge reproductive technology.
At one point, I e-mail her back and say that I have never heard so much conversation about eggs in my life, including Easter or Sunday brunch. As soon as I hit send, I worry that the joke was in bad taste or will offend her, but she shoots me back a good-natured “lol,” takes the not-so-subtle hint and shifts her attention to my birthday plans. I make it very clear to her (and my sisters) that I don’t want a party, surprise or otherwise. I tell her I’d just like a nice dinner out with a small group. I give her the usual names, minus Ben, plus Richard.
When Jess asks where I’d like to go, I tell her Babbo, even though it was one of my favorite spots with Ben. I am over worrying about where Ben and I went together. I want to reclaim my city. So Jess sends an e-mail out to Maura and Scott, Daphne and Tony, Annie and Ray, Richard and Michael (who, other than an elevator ride one morning, have yet to be together in my company). Everyone e-mails back that they can make it, except Ray. His excuse is that they can’t find a babysitter. I don’t believe him, there are plenty of babysitters in Manhattan, but am secretly happy that he won’t be in attendance. I’d rather have Annie as a solo friend. I do not want to make the awkward “couple friends” transition.
Meanwhile, Richard is planning our three-day getaway to an undisclosed location. I don’t even know whether we are going to a warm or cool climate as he has employed Jess to pack my suitcase for me. I press Jess to give me the scoop, but she holds firm in the same paternalistic way that she refuses to tell me whether a movie has a happy or sad ending. I like to be prepared when I watch a movie, in a proper frame of mind. I was so pissed after we watched Out of Africa together, a movie she had seen before.
“You should have told me he dies,” I told Jess.
“It would have ruined it!” she said.
“But if I want to know, it’s not ruining anything,” I retorted.
Jess didn’t see it my way. People who like surprises want you to like surprises, too.
So all Jess will tell me about the trip is that Richard is taking me “somewhere really good.”
“Have I been there?” I ask.
She says no. Then she says that if I had to give up Ben, at least I had replaced him with someone like Richard.
“Nobody’s replacing Ben,” I say.
Jess gives me a look that tells me she’s not so sure. “He sounds hot. I love his deep voice.” Then she tries to imitate him, saying, “And Jess, uhhh, please pack her vibrator!”
“Grow up,” I say.
“You,” she says, her favorite comeback since college.
Only one of us wants to be a mother , I think.
The night of our group dinner, Richard offers to pick Jess and me up. I tell him thanks, but we’ll just meet him there. He says fine and then takes my first drink order over the phone, which I think is a nice touch.
A few hours later, Jess and I are decked out in little black dresses. I am wearing my birthday shoes again. We take a cab downtown and are dropped off at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place. It is a cool September night, and I regret not bringing a wrap as we walk the half block to Babbo.
“It’s colder than I thought,” I say, shivering.
“Are you nervous ?” Jess asks in a teasing tone. She knows that I always get cold when I’m nervous. “About Richard meeting everyone?”
“Maybe a little,” I admit. “I want you, Maura, and Daphne to like him.”