Super Mum (she has three sprogs and only feeds them homemade, organic produce and makes sure everyone knows about it) chimed in with, ‘God, I don’t know what I’d do without my babies.’
‘You’ll be next, Adaline,’ said Helicopter Mum. (She hovers constantly around her child, not letting him do anything until she’s mentally run through a risk-assessment.) Then, gently, she added, ‘How are you doing, anyway?’
I felt everyone’s eyes on me because the way she said it, slowly and laden with sympathy, meant she was asking about you. I felt panicked. If I lied and said I was fine, I’d be a heartless bitch. If I was honest and said I was tired and anxious all the time, I’d pollute the mood.
‘Shall we do presents?’ asked Ruby quickly.
I mouthed, ‘Thank you’ as the guests descended on her. No one even glanced at me as Ruby unwrapped breast pumps and babygrows and more dummies than you could shake a stick at.
‘Let me help,’ said Jennifer, collecting the last couple of empty glasses and following me into the kitchen. ‘You’re Ruby’s cousin, Adaline?’
‘Ada,’ I said, popping the glasses into the sink, ‘and yes I am.’
‘She talks about you a lot.’
‘How do you know Ruby?’
‘I did the flowers for her and Tom’s wedding.’
‘Lovely. Peonies and wild daisies?’
She looked impressed. ‘That’s right, excellent memory. Thank you.’
I glanced at her left hand. No diamond. It surprised me. All my friends are married or engaged or have children, and Jennifer was a few years older than me. ‘How about you? Are you married?’
‘Divorced.’
‘Oh.’ I thought of you. You’d reach out and touch her hand or do that thing you do with your face which makes people instantly trust you and open up. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not.’
It wasn’t said with malice, just stated like a fact. And, in a gesture which was much more you than me, I moved a little closer to her, letting her know I was there to listen.
‘It was a few years ago, and I’m much better off now he’s out of my life.’
‘That bad?’
‘Simon was a lovely guy. Everyone got along with him. He had two girls from a previous marriage – their mother wasn’t in the picture anymore – so I stepped into that role. It was hard some days. Raising children, especially when they’re not yours, can be difficult, but I loved those girls.’ She closed her eyes for longer than a blink before looking at me again. ‘We were coming back from a family trip to Florida, the plane was busy, our seats were split. Three and one – almost complete opposite ends of the plane. I offered to take the seat with the girls so Simon could get some rest. Only … he didn’t rest. He spent the entire nine-hour flight talking to the woman he was sat beside. Kelly. They exchanged emails or phone numbers and within six months, he’d left me, taken the girls, and was planning a new life with Kelly in America.’
The anger was like heartburn. I didn’t even know Simon and I hated him. She raised his children. ‘What an arsehole.’
She laughed. ‘That’s generous.’
I threw back the champagne and topped up our glasses. Giddy laughter from the living room seeped beneath the kitchen door but I wasn’t ready to go back in yet. I decided I liked Jennifer. Liked the way she carried herself, liked her white T-shirt with an outline drawing of a pair of breasts and her light-wash dungarees. She’s one of those women who is just effortlessly cool.
‘It worked out for the best,’ she said. ‘I’m with someone incredible now. I’d never have found Lucas if Simon hadn’t left.’
‘Does Lucas have kids?’ I asked, remembering she’d told Pushy Mum she didn’t want any children.
‘No, he doesn’t. I told him when we met I didn’t want any. After Simon took the girls, I realised that chapter in my life was closed. I never planned on being a mother; I was thrown into it. I was good at it. But the girls are gone and I don’t need to replace them with children of my own.’
‘And Lucas is okay with that?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled, happiness coming off her like a rosy glow from a fire on a cold night. ‘He told me I’m the only person in the world he can imagine having children with and if he can’t have them with me, he doesn’t want them with anyone.’
Words stuck to the roof of my mouth like seaside toffee because what can you say to the world’s most perfect response to telling your partner you don’t want children? Who doesn’t want to hear that they are more important to their partner than offspring which don’t yet exist? And the way Jennifer offered the information up, she wasn’t bragging or lying. I could feel she was telling the truth.
Sometimes it’s like I’m in a secret competition with my other married friends. A game of ‘Who has the Best, Most Envious Marriage?’ and everyone is either exaggerating or lying to win. Even I do it. Ruby does it. She’ll call me up late at night, crying that Tom has forgotten their anniversary again, then the next day, there will be a post on her feed exclaiming she’s so thankful for her perfect husband, tantrum and late-night call forgotten. What must it be like to be Jennifer, in a relationship with someone who you don’t need to lie for?
‘And you’re married?’ asked Jennifer.
I nodded. ‘Four years.’
‘Children?’
I drained the last of my champagne. It was only my second glass and I could feel the bubbles popping in my head. ‘Nope.’ I realised this was a little blunt and decided to reciprocate her willingness to share. ‘I had a false pregnancy three years ago. My husband – Ethan – was relieved I wasn’t pregnant. He wasn’t ready to be a father then.’
‘And he is now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you ready to be a mother?’
I paused. Then I said it out loud. ‘Absolutely fucking not.’
Out loud to a woman I’d known five minutes. And I felt a stone lighter. Truthfully, I don’t want children. Not anymore.
She raised one eyebrow but not in a snarky way. ‘Think you need another,’ she said, pouring me a third glass of champagne.
I laughed. ‘Think I do.’
‘Does Ethan know you’re not ready to be a parent?’
‘No. I say I want children because you’re meant to want them, aren’t you? If you don’t, who’s going to visit you in the care home when you’re old? I’m still taking the pill and he has no idea.’
Yes, little sister, it’s true. I am. After the false pregnancy, then trying and failing when he was ready, I realised I didn’t want children with him at all.
I waited for the judgement from Jennifer, the horror, the shock. It didn’t come. She just sipped her champagne and motioned for me to continue.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ I told Jennifer. ‘You’re going to tell me to be honest with my husband, and that’s fair, but I’ve tried before, and if I tell him I’m taking precautions when he thinks I’m not, he’ll leave me, and I’ll be thirty-three and all alone. I know I should set him free but—’