“She cuts to the chase,” I say.
“What’s that mean?” Zoe says.
“You ask very good questions,” I say.
“Oh,” Zoe says, and then returns her expectant gaze to Jess.
“Yeah,” Jess says. “I do love him.”
“Why?” Zoe says.
“Well. He’s smart. And nice. And funny. And very, very handsome.”
Zoe’s pale brow furrows as she processes this data. Then she asks the question we all have wondered. “Are you going to marry him?”
Jess finally looks stumped. “Hmm. Well, Zoe, I don’t know. We’ll see.”
“When will we see?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”
“Why is it hard to tell?”
“Well, because sometimes you love someone but they might not be the right person for you. That takes some time to figure out,” Jess explains, much better than I could have.
“I hope you marry your boyfriend,” Zoe says. “That would be really romantic.”
“That would be romantic,” Jess says. “Let’s make a wish for a happy ending.”
Zoe closes her eyes and makes a silent wish. When she opens them, she is solemn. “Uncle Ben and Aunt Claudia got a dee-vorce,” she says as if I’m not in the room.
“I know,” Jess says, without looking at me.
“But she loved Uncle Ben,” Zoe says and then looks at me. “Right, Aunt Claudia?”
“Right,” I say. Then I go out on a questionable limb and say, “And I always will.”
Zoe brightens. “So maybe you’ll marry him again ?”
There it is , I think. My one great hope unearthed and put out there by a child. I consider my responses. I consider saying that it’s a possibility. That I want that very much. That I miss Ben with my whole heart and believe that I made a huge mistake in not considering having a baby with him. That I was too stubborn and rigid and vindictive and proud for my own good. That I hope I’m not too late.
But I am afraid to say any of this out loud. I don’t want to jinx myself. Instead I just offer up a vague and halfhearted, “Well, Zoe, I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one.”
Always literal, Zoe inhales dramatically and holds her breath, her cheeks puffing out and her face turning red.
” Breathe!” ! say, laughing.
She shakes her head, a smile straining at the corners of her mouth.
“Zoe! Breathe !” I say again, tickling her until she releases the air in fits of laughter. When she finally gains her composure, she says, “Aunt Claudia?”
“Yeah, Zoe?”
“If you do marry Uncle Ben again, I hope you do it soon. You know why?”
I watch her anxiously, concentrating on an itch in the small of my back. Surely the child doesn’t know about aging eggs. Surely she doesn’t know that I am going to have to offer Ben a child for the mere hope of getting him back. I finally say, “Why’s that, Zoe?”
” ‘Cause. If you wait too long, I’ll be too old to be your flower girl.”
I smile with relief. “Hmm. That’s a really good point, Zoe. You are getting up there in years.”
“So don’t wait too long,” she says. “And don’t ‘lope this time.”
“E-lope,” I say.
“E-lope,” she repeats.
“Ohh, right. Hmm. Well. We’ll see about all that,” I say, wondering how long Zoe can keep up her barrage of questions. If I’m not careful, she might have me talking about my e-mail exchange with Ben, our lunch date, and my earnest hope that my ex-husband hasn’t fallen madly in love with a girl named Tucker.
I brace myself for her next inquiry, which turns out to be blessedly innocuous: “Can we try on shoes now?” she asks me.
“Absolutely,” I say, relieved that I don’t have to tell my niece about Tucker, the fast-running, pretty-haired, fertile doctor who can’t possibly love Ben like I do.
* * *
twenty-eight
The next morning I awaken to the sight of Zoe in her lavender polka-dot nightgown, standing on her tiptoes with her nose and palms pressed against my bedroom window. I study her earnest profile and the way a patch of her hair is spiked with static electricity.
I finally break her concentration and say, “What’s so interesting out there, Zoe?”
She turns, runs over to the bed, and says, “It’s snowing, Aunt Claudia!”
“Really?” I say.
“Yeah! Come look,” she says.
I follow her over to the window, remembering how thrilling snowfalls were as a child. Now snow simply signals inconvenience, particularly in a city that quickly turns into a dirty, slushy, slow-moving mess. But I forget all of this as I look outside with my niece. I even feel a twinge of disappointment when I see only a few scattered flurries and no accumulation on the ground.