“Yeah. I guess we both have a passion for children,” she says. “Gabe tells me you’re a teacher?”
“Yes. I teach the first grade,” I say, wondering why I suddenly feel that my work is so pedestrian. I remind myself that there is nothing more important than good teachers—except maybe doctors. But even doctors needed good teachers along the way.
“That’s awesome,” she says a little too exuberantly, which only heightens my insecurity.
“Thanks,” I say. “I love my job….So where’s Pixar based?”
“Emeryville, California,” she says. “Between Oakland and Berkeley.”
“So you’re moving there soon?” I ask, wondering why I want her gone already.
“Not until next summer,” she says. “After I graduate.”
I smile and nod, quickly running out of things to ask her. “Okay. Well. I’ll leave you two to game six,” I say, pointing to the deck of cards as I stand and walk toward the door. “Good luck, Leslie. I’m rooting for you.”
—
I DON’T SEE Gabe again until two days later, when we run into each other in the driveway. I’m on my way to the gym, and he’s all gussied up, at least for him.
“Where’ve you been the last few days?”
“At Leslie’s,” he says, putting on his sunglasses.
“What’s the deal there? Are you, like, in love already?”
“Please. I’ve known her less than a week.”
“Okay. But have you not just spent three nights in a row with her?” I ask, puzzled as to why this is so annoying to me when Gabe has had plenty of girlfriends and flings over the years.
He grins and shrugs.
“God,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So you’ve already had sex with her?”
“That’s none of your business,” he says, an unprecedented reply that means not only yes but that he really likes her. Usually he tells me these things.
“How old is she?” I ask. “Or is that top secret information, too?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six?” I say, although I’m pretty sure his last girlfriend was younger than that. “Lemme guess—she’s very mature for her age?”
“Well, she is,” he says. “She’s smart and talented and driven, too. Do you know how hard it is to land a job at Pixar?”
“How hard?” I say.
“Very,” he says.
I cross my arms and say, “Well, anyway…Do you realize you’ve ignored my last three texts?”
“Did not,” he says. “I wrote you back.”
“Hardly,” I say, thinking that writing only three words—He’s a loser—in response to my text I talked to Will on the phone was not only unsatisfying but downright neglectful.
“Don’t you want to know what Will had to say?” I ask.
“What did he have to say?” Gabe asks, now looking down at his phone and texting someone. By the expression on his face, I’m guessing it’s Leslie.
“Never mind,” I say with a loud sigh.
Gabe looks up. “Why are you being this way?”
“I just feel like you don’t care lately,” I say, my voice sounding whiny. “About what I’m going through.”
“Did I miss something?” he asks. “What, exactly, are you going through, again?”
“Oh, nothing major,” I say. “Just teaching my ex-boyfriend’s child, not speaking to my family, and gearing up to have a baby alone. No biggie.”
“Josie,” he says, sliding down his sunglasses to look me directly in the eyes. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Yes,” I say, staring back at him. “But I’m your pain in the ass. And don’t forget it.”
chapter sixteen
MEREDITH
It takes an emergency session with Amy, in which she tells me, more or less, that this has been a long time coming, and another few heart-to-hearts with Ellen, before I build up enough courage to even make a plan to talk to Nolan. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to say, or where I’m going to say it, only that I have to say something. I give myself a deadline, vowing that the conversation must take place on or before our swiftly approaching seven-year wedding anniversary.
Naturally, after several years of pretty much ignoring our anniversary or, at most, only going to dinner and exchanging cards, this is the year that Nolan decides we need a romantic getaway.
“We haven’t gone away, just the two of us, in years,” he says one night as he comes in from a long run, removing his earbuds and toweling off his sweat in the kitchen. On my list of pet peeves, it is minor, but I have told him before that I wish he’d cool down outside—or at least in a room other than the kitchen.
“What about Napa?” I say, trying to resist the macaroni and cheese that Harper didn’t finish, reminding myself that her leftovers aren’t free calories.