When you surf or skateboard or snowboard, your stance is either “regular,” with your left foot in front making your right foot your main source of balance, or “goofy,” with your right foot in front making your left foot your main source of balance. If you ask a person who has never done one of these sports before if they are regular or goofy, they won’t be able to answer. It’s not something you can determine intellectually. The way to tell what you are is to have someone give you a push from behind. Whichever foot automatically steps forward to block your fall is the foot that determines the answer. Your body knows when your mind does not.
I was in love with Jason, there was no question, but had someone asked me if I actively wanted to get married, and many of my friends did, I would hem and haw and overanalyze the institution of marriage and try to reason out the pros and cons. Jason and I hadn’t once discussed marriage; we were both happy to date for two years and then move in together. I gave up my cute lavender apartment, and Jason kept his condo as a rental property. We wanted to start our lives joined in a new place, making fresh memories and mingling our books together on shelves. At first Mr. Cat had his doubts about our new, large three-bedroom apartment, but after a week, he got a feel for the place, figured out how to get his little paws into the cabinet latches, and only threw up on our new king-sized bed in protest twice.
I knew the divorce rate was 50 percent, and getting married didn’t solve any relationship problems or necessarily mean forever. I had many clients who had been divorced, or were in the middle of divorces, or on the cusp of storming home and demanding a divorce. Also I noticed many people, women especially, thought of marriage as a goal. Something to attain, like getting a promotion. But in order to get that promotion, one has to be attentive and good at the job they have. In terms of a relationship, that entry-level position is dating. And if you don’t concentrate on the day-to-day of getting to know someone, and instead keep imagining and longing for the bigger corner office of marriage, you are not going to perform as well at the task at hand. Which is to spend time with your significant other and decide if they bring out the best in you, challenge you in positive ways, but unconditionally love you and support you when you need them to have your back. Wanting to get married for the sake of the title is shortsighted and ends in getting fired. It was important that Jason and I silently agreed on this fact.
Then, one sunset a year into living together, Jason asked if I wanted to go for a walk on the beach. I was exhausted from a full day of clients, but I knew the sight of the ocean and the reds and pinks in the sky would be good for me. I threw on my sneakers and we headed out. Once we were there, Jason got on one knee and proposed. “Ruby Simon, will you marry me?” I looked at him, in a confused daze. It was a scene I had seen so often in movies, it was surreal that it was happening to me. I then noticed a picnic blanket set out, Champagne at the ready. My brain couldn’t catch up to the information being funneled in. His question was like a push, and my body reacted with a clear and resounding Yes! I didn’t have to think about it for a second. I just knew it was the right answer.
Jason put a gorgeous emerald-cut ruby engagement ring with pavé diamonds on my finger. It was so beautiful, so perfectly me. I looked down at him, still on his one knee, in wonderment. Then I stared at my ring again. The vivid red sunset caught the reds of the precious gem. I got down on my knees too and looked into his sky blue eyes that I saw so often I now sometimes took them for granted. The deep blue of the ocean made them look even brighter. In that moment the ocean was like one of his blue shirts, seemingly placed there for the sole purpose of making him shine.
I kissed him, and was filled with love and possibilities and connection. Maybe there was something magic about that piece of paper legally binding us. It was a public expression of commitment. A promise. Maybe I was a romantic after all.
As we sat on the blanket, drank Champagne, and looked at each other through a new, crisper engaged lens, I pictured our wedding. I was well aware that many people put way too much importance on the one specific day and not on the actual marriage. I wasn’t naive to this phenomenon and didn’t want to become one of those brides-to-be, but now that I’d said “yes,” planning our wedding was going to be the most fun and exciting syllabus I’d ever had.
But first Jason wanted to tell his mother he was engaged. He asked me to go with him to Fort Lauderdale and deliver the happy news. To please trust him and give her another chance. I did trust him. Fully. But I did not trust her. I knew that either decision, to go or not to go, would have unpleasant consequences.
CHAPTER 27
KICK
Ellie was pregnant. I was going to be an aunt! To a little girl! I couldn’t wait to shower her with love and kindness and patience and glittery headbands, if she liked that sort of thing. Ellie had ended up staying in New York City, where she worked as a fundraising consultant for nonprofits. She was great at her job. As organized and efficient as I, but with a relentless yet light touch needed to gracefully and constantly ask people for money. She married Spencer Jack, a chef who catered one of her charity events. They bonded over their love of sourdough bread. Spencer was a little bit freaked out about being a good dad. But I told him it was no different from being a good chef. I said, “Raising a kid is just like cooking. There isn’t always an exact recipe. You only need two ingredients for sure. Love and structure. And the rest is to taste. The kid is becoming bratty? Take away a toy and add a chore. The kid is lonely and misunderstood? Add in some more hugs and words of support.” Of course I was saying this only having studied parental psychology. I had zero boots-on-the-ground experience raising a child.
While I was FaceTiming with Ellie, having my morning coffee as Jason had his morning Diet Coke, Ellie doubled over in pain. Spencer rushed into the frame, worried. But when she looked up, I could see she wasn’t afraid. She was inspired.
Ellie smiled. “I just felt the baby kick! For the first time. Holy shit, she is strong!”
Even though babies kick billions of times every day inside millions of mothers-to-be, it was like a miracle to all four of us. I got off FaceTime and turned to Jason. The idea of Ellie’s kicking baby sucked me into a centrifuge of love, momentarily spun out all my raggedy baggage and left my center filled with tenderness. Even though all my training taught me that cobras couldn’t be changed, I wanted to try and repair my relationship with Gertrude. To claw my way out of the horrible cliché of not getting along with my soon-to-be mother-in-law. So I told Jason I would go with him to tell Gertrude that we were engaged.
The first five minutes of our visit seemed to go well enough. Gertrude’s subdivision house was exactly as I had pictured. A small two-story, built in the early nineties, with a manicured lawn, which, aside from her many ceramic frog decorations, had an exterior that looked exactly like every other dwelling in the area, including a doormat that cheerily read, “Welcome.” Inside was neat and tidy, with frog figurines thoughtfully perched on every surface from the side tables to the windowsills. There must have been over a thousand frogs of one sort or another in there. The frog lamp Jason had given his mother was prominently displayed in the breakfast nook.
Bland prints of Anne Geddes babies in flowerbeds and Thomas Kinkade cottages lined the beige walls of the downstairs areas. I lingered too long at one of the baby pictures, thinking about all the conservative male politicians who rail against homosexuals and then get caught having sex with men in bathrooms. Those who feel guilty about their own behavior are often the ones who protest the loudest about that same behavior in others. Like this woman who abandoned her own toddler but now had a house full of photos of happy boisterous babies in Easter baskets.
Evil people are often very intelligent. It’s how they survive and thrive in society undetected. Gertrude watched me as I stared at the large print of the smiling baby boy surrounded by pastel-dyed eggs, like she was reading my thoughts. The irony being she didn’t want her own thoughts to be read.