“And why’d you decide that?” Pete asks.
I clear my throat, then say, “Well. As you know from my Match profile, I’m thirty-seven. Almost thirty-eight. So I think it’s time to throw in the towel on the whole dating and trying to find a husband routine. On top of that,” I say, now on a roll, “my ex-boyfriend’s six-year-old daughter is in my class. A painful daily reminder that I am way behind and seriously running out of time. So unless you end up being ‘The One’ and then the father of my children, this is my final date before I go secure the sperm of a stranger. Or, alternatively, move to Africa and devote my life to the poor.” I smile. “No pressure or anything.”
—
TWO AND A half hours later, our date is over and we are both standing by the valet, waiting for our cars. Although the evening was more fun than I expected—a solid seven—neither of us mentions Barnes & Noble.
“So?” Pete says. “Was this your last date, after all?”
I smile, then say, “Yeah. I think so.”
“So I shouldn’t call you?”
“Did you want to call me?”
“Only if you want me to?”
I carefully consider his question, then tell the truth. “I don’t know…Maybe…”
He laughs. “Can you give me a little more guidance?”
“Well,” I say. “I enjoyed the evening, and I like you, but I don’t think we have that…spark….”
Pete nods and says, “So…does this mean you’re headed to Africa?”
“Or a sperm bank,” I say, as I catch the valet giving me a double take before getting out of my car, the engine running.
“Well, good luck with that,” Pete says.
“Thanks,” I say, handing the valet four singles, then getting in my car. I can feel Pete looking at me, so I open my window and say, “By the way, the cleft in your chin is cute.”
Pete smiles. “Is it enough to get me a second date, even without a spark?”
“You can try,” I say, hedging my bets, though I’m really not going to hold my breath. I wave goodbye, then drive back down Peachtree, not even waiting to get home before giving Gabe the update.
He answers on the first ring. “How did it go?”
“The seed of solo motherhood has officially been planted,” I say. “Pun intended.”
chapter six
MEREDITH
After Daniel’s funeral, I was secretly relieved to go back to college and escape the unbearable suffering in Atlanta. I called my parents as often as I could make myself, as I knew how much they worried about me, more vulnerable to parental fears than ever. Yet I also tried to push Daniel from my mind, throwing myself into my classes and auditions, anything to stay busy and distracted. Fortunately, my crush on Nolan quickly faded, replaced by a bigger crush on a guy named Lewis Fisher.
Lewis and I met in our stage diction class that semester, and were then cast as Mitch and Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire. A brilliant actor from Brooklyn, he captivated me with his talent, though I also loved his quirkiness and urban sophistication. One night after rehearsal, we lingered backstage long after the rest of the cast and crew had departed, discovering that we had something much bigger in common than acting: we had both lost siblings. I told him about Daniel’s accident, and he shared that his only sister, Ruthie, had jumped onto the subway tracks in the path of an oncoming N train a week shy of her sixteenth birthday.
We stayed up half the night talking, analyzing the two tragedies with a brutal frankness. We concluded that although Ruthie’s death was more emotionally complicated and troubling, in some ways it felt more unfair to lose Daniel—someone who had been so happy and productive. Lewis had a larger burden of guilt for not saving his sister—whereas my guilt came in the form of being the one who had lived. It was not only cathartic to talk about our losses but also deeply intimate. Our bond felt intense, and our chemistry unmistakable. After crying together, we hugged, then kissed.