“Well, as I said, I think you need to go away and figure it out.”
“I can’t just go away, Nolan,” I say, my hands on my hips. “What about Harper?”
“I told you. I can handle things here.”
I look at him, thinking that he doesn’t have the first clue about how to run the washing machine, let alone handle the myriad details of Harper’s daily routine. I think about the last time I went on a work trip and how he didn’t even get the mail for three days. “What about my job? Can you handle my job, too?” I say.
He shrugs. “Take a leave of absence. People do it all the time. Or just quit. You hate it. What’s the point of doing something you hate?”
“I don’t hate it,” I say, thinking that his oversimplification of everything is part of the problem.
“Yes, you do,” he says. “You despise it. You wish you had stayed in New York and become a famous actress.”
I open my mouth to correct him, as I never desired fame. I just wanted to be a working stage actress. At most I dreamed about a Tony—and how many Tony Award–winning actresses are household names? But this seems rather beside the point.
“Instead you’re an attorney in Atlanta. Married to me. Huge, huge mistake,” he says.
“Nolan,” I say, my voice beginning to rise. “Would you please stop with this crap? I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, but you think it,” he says. “Don’t you?”
My mind races for a response, as I realize that he is partially right. And maybe, but for Harper, completely right.
“And you know what?” he continues. “There’s nothing stopping you from getting a do-over.”
I pretend we’re both talking about my job, and not a divorce, wondering how long it will be before one of us utters the word aloud. “I’m too old to change careers,” I say.
“No, you’re not,” he says. “Isn’t acting like riding a bike? Surely it’s all still there….Just…go to some auditions….”
I swallow, a huge lump in my throat. “It’s not that easy,” I say. “And besides. We can’t leave Atlanta.”
“Yes, you can,” he says. “You can do anything you want to do, Meredith.”
I turn away from him, looking out the window over the kitchen sink, just like in Harper’s drawing, and I feel myself tremble with the tantalizing, terrifying thought that he might be right.
chapter nineteen
JOSIE
On Monday morning, I take a giant leap forward and call the office of Dr. Susan Lazarus. According to my research, Dr. Lazarus is the leading fertility specialist in Atlanta, known for both in vitro fertilization and intrauterine insemination. My heart sinks when her receptionist briskly informs me that her first available appointment is nearly two months away. I tell her that I’ll take it, then ask if she can please put me on a waiting list.
“If there’s any cancellation…I’ll drop everything and come in at a moment’s notice. I’m pushing forty and a little bit panicked here….”
“I feel you,” she says with a little chuckle, dropping her professional persona. “I turn forty next week. Ugh.”
“Do you have kids?” I ask.
“Yes. Ten-month twins, thanks to Dr. Lazarus.”
“Wow. Congrats,” I say, feeling bolstered by the anecdote, though the mere thought that I could somehow end up with twins fills me with pure terror. “Boys or girls?”
“One of each,” she says.
I congratulate her again as she suddenly informs me that I’m in luck, she just noticed a cancellation on the calendar for this coming Friday at eleven, confirming my belief that sometimes small talk can really pay off.
“I’ll take it,” I say.
—
I GIVE SYDNEY my entire update at recess that day, the two of us taking our usual supervisory spots on a bench overlooking the playground. As I watch Edie hanging upside down on the monkey bars, her arms dangling, her tiny torso swinging, and her face turning red, I fill Sydney in on Pete, as well as my upcoming appointment with Dr. Lazarus.
“I’m so proud of you, Josie,” she says, turning to give me a sideways hug. “And a little jealous.”
“Hey, why don’t you do it with me?” I say excitedly.
She laughs. “Matching cars and kids?”
“I’m serious! Would you ever consider it?” I ask, as I hear Meredith scoffing in my head, proffering my suggestion as further proof that I’m not taking motherhood seriously.
Sydney shakes her head and gives me an adamant, animated hell no. “I’m seriously impressed that you’re doing this…but personally? If I had to choose just one, I’d rather have a husband than a baby. But definitely in that order.”
I nod, thinking that although I want both, too, the baby part of the equation has always been more important to me—at least since Will and I broke up. And if I’m honest, I think I might have even felt that way then. I loved him, yes, but he also felt like a prerequisite for motherhood. The means to an end.
She gives me a thoughtful look, then says, “Are you scared?”