Balancing Acts (15 page)

Naomi laughed, moved by her mother's breathless questions and inevitable invitation. “Mom, I'm fine. A little moody this morning, that's all. Noah's off with Gene for their play date.” Her mother's silence followed. She and her father had been outraged by Gene's reentry into their lives, and still had a hard time accepting Naomi's decision. It had been a bone of contention between them, but eventually her parents had surrendered to her explanation of his child support and Noah's need for a male role model in his life.

“Gene might be an asshole, but he's Noah's father,” she had explained. “He's back and he's grown up a lot. He wants to be involved. As long as we keep his presence to a minimum, I really don't see what the problem is. It would be unfair to deny Noah this happiness.”

Her father had shaken his head in frustration. “He's not a good man,” he had said to Naomi. “I don't like it, but what can I do? This is your child and your life. Please just promise that you won't forget what he did to you. Don't get caught up in his bullshit.” He had paused and taken Naomi's hand in his own. “And if he misses a payment, you tell me, and I will kill him.”

Naomi had laughed at the thought of her sweet father taking a hit on anything besides a tennis ball. One look into his eyes had shut her up though. He was serious. In that moment, Naomi understood the gravity of their sacrifice for her so many years before. Although they had never been anything but accommodating, it had strained them beyond belief. And now, looking at the wrinkles and creases in her father's kind face, she could see that it had aged them as well.

“Okay, Dad,” she had replied. “Okay.”

“Oh,” Naomi's mom finally replied. “I hope they have their jackets and hats on. It is freezing out!”

“Yes, they do. Everyone is bundled into their little igloos, don't worry. Hey Mom, have you ever gotten a migraine?”

“Noooo, thank goodness. I rarely get headaches, knock on wood. Why?”

“I got this horrible headache last night. It was awful. Felt like a sumo wrestler was sitting on the right side of my head.”

“Baby, that doesn't sound good. You don't normally get headaches do you?”

“Well no, except this is my second one in like, a week,” answered Naomi. Her voice trembled a bit from the sudden frog in her throat.
I'm scared,
she thought.

“Oh honey, that sounds painful. Do you have your period?”

“No, Mom,” answered Naomi, laughing at the predictability of her question. Ovulation or menstruation was the answer to almost all of her physical ailments according to her mother.

“You're not pregnant, are you?” her mom asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

As if on cue, her father picked up the other phone. “What's all this whispering?” he asked.

“I am definitely not pregnant,” answered Naomi. “Unless I am giving birth to the next messiah.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” answered her mother. Naomi rolled her eyes. Technically, Noah was an “accident,” but it wasn't as though she hadn't been involved with his father at the time. Nevertheless, her mother seemed convinced that Naomi had never seen a condom or a package of birth control pills, which annoyed Naomi to no end.

“Ruth, of course she's not pregnant, come on now,” her father interjected. “What's the problem, Nay? You feeling okay?”

Naomi teared up again, despite herself. What was it with her inability to accept concern? “I've been having these crazy headaches,” she explained. “And my body has been feeling a bit off lately.”

“What do you mean, off?” asked her mother. “You didn't mention that before.”

“Give her a break, Ruth,” said her father. “She's telling us now. Go on, Nay.”

“Well, in yoga the other day my limbs just felt really heavy. Just to stretch my arms above my head seemed to take a ridiculous amount of effort.”

“Maybe you're just out of shape,” said her father.

“Maybe,” answered Naomi. “I thought about that. But it feels different from just being out of shape. I can't explain it. And then, a couple of times, on and off, my legs have gotten this weird tingling sensation. Not too extreme or anything, just this slight vibration for what seems like no reason.”
Wow, it feels good to say this out loud.
Without meaning to, Naomi had kept all of this to herself. It was as though she were ashamed by her physical limitations.
God forbid I need help.

“Mom, Dad—hello? You're not saying anything! What?!”

“I don't know, Nay, this sounds kind of serious. Tingling is never normal in my book, especially if it's accompanied by painful headaches. Have you called your doctor?”

“No, not yet,” answered Naomi. There it was, the lump in her throat again.
Why am I so scared of the doctor? I gave birth for chrissake! A physical should be a cakewalk.
Even as she tried to reason with her fear, she knew why she was so disinclined to go. Instinctively, whatever it was that was going on inside of her felt serious. Something that would require more than one doctor appointment serious.

“Why not?” asked her mom, slightly panicked. “How can somebody not call her doctor when her body is vibrating?”

“Mom, please, take it easy. I just haven't had time.”

“You don't take care of yourself like you should.” She paused before continuing. “Nay, I'm sorry. I'm just worried. The last thing I should be doing is yelling at you.”

“Listen, my friend Bill is a neurologist at Mount Sinai,” said her father. “I want you to see him. I'll set it up. He owes me a favor.”

“Whoa Dad, take it easy! Shouldn't I see my GP first?”
A neurologist? What?

“Honey, your father is right. The headaches and the tingling sound like brain stuff to me. Your GP will just send you to one anyway, once you describe your symptoms. This will make your life easier.”

“And Bill is a nice guy,” added her dad. “Don't worry. You know what, I'm going to call him now to set it up.”

“But Dad, I—”

“Nay, it's not such a big deal. Don't worry. He's a good doctor who can tell you what, if anything, is going on. We love you, honey.”

Naomi sighed deeply. Ten minutes ago she was just someone who had a bad headache last night. Now she was going to see a neurologist. “Okay, guys. Thank you. I love you, too.”

“I'll call you back as soon as I set it up,” said her father.

“Nay, go lie down,” her mother added. “With Noah out of the house, you should get some rest.”

“Okay, I will. Bye. Talk soon.”

She hung up the phone and put her head in her hands.
What's going on in there?
she asked her body. The idea of her brain being in trouble made her want to cry. A sick brain was never a good thing.

Feeling the need to be with someone, Naomi decided to pop down to see Cecilia. She brushed her teeth and searched for something to bring down to her. Her eyes rested on a tube of styling cream that Felicity had given her. Naomi knew it would sit in her bathroom cabinet, unused, for months on end, despite her best intentions to try it out. She grabbed it, closed her door, and bounded down the stairs.

She knocked on Cecilia's door and realized that just getting out of her apartment after the heaviness of her conversation with her parents made her feel better.
Normal.

The door opened and a frazzled Cecilia poked her head around its edges. Upon seeing Naomi, she smiled and then, immediately, blushed—her snow white skin enveloped by a pink cloud. If Naomi didn't know any better, she would think she had a fever. Wait, maybe she did.

“Hey Cee! Are you sick?” she instinctively put the backside of her hand against Cecilia's forehead.

“No, no, not sick.” She pulled the door closed behind her.

“Can I come in, then?” asked Naomi, oblivious to her awkwardness. “I brought you a present!” She waved the tube in front of Cecilia's face.

“Uh, actually, no,” answered Cecilia. She smiled coyly. Understanding struck Naomi like a lightning bolt.

“You have a man in there!” she whispered excitedly.

Cecilia nodded in response, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh my God! Okay, when he's gone, you come tell me everything!” She kissed Cecilia on the cheek and raced back up the stairs—her energy rejuvenated by Cecilia's conquest.

Back in her apartment, she collapsed on her bed, her heart racing. She was so happy for Cee! She was having sex! What a wonderful, unexpected turn of events on an otherwise dark day.

Sex. Sweet, wondrous sex. Naomi thought back, happy for the distraction.
How long has it been for me?
She cocked her head, pondering her libido or lack thereof in her pajamas.
Oh shit, I can't even remember!

It couldn't have been. . .Wait, was it? Gene!?!? Have I really not had sex in eight years?
She considered Noah's birthday.
What!? Have I not had sex IN ALMOST A DECADE!?
She raked her hands through her hair in amazed frustration.
Oh wait, that guy! Thank God. What was his name?! Michael? Mark? Mark!
She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, remembering him.

Her parents' friend, Cindy Carpstein, had set her up on a blind date with Mark when Noah was almost two. Naomi had seen her at a party and she, a single mother herself—two kids in college—
Lauren at Wesleyan and Andy at Prince ton, thank you very much
—had insisted that Naomi return to the dating world.

“With this face,” she had said, touching her cheek, “ya can't sit inside all day watching
Sesame Street
. I have someone for you.” She had nodded wisely and brushed off Naomi's attempted refusal. “He's my friend Shelia's son.” She paused here for emphasis and whispered, “A doctor.” With that, she had sauntered off to refill her wine spritzer at the bar. A week later, true to her word, Cindy had come through.

Mark, clearly used to being set up by everyone his mother came in contact with, had called Naomi to ask her out, and Naomi had begrudgingly agreed. They had gone to the River Café in Brooklyn and Mark had been perfectly acceptable—for someone who wasn't Naomi. Relatively funny, well-mannered, a good conversationalist, with nice eyes and a receding hairline. Naomi drank three glasses of Riesling on an empty stomach and then, seized by the moment, she had gone home with him to his ridiculously spare bachelor's loft in TriBeCa. The sex was forgettable as a result of her wine fog and Mark's less than skillful technique, but she was determined to reclaim her vagina as something other than a birthing canal. She doubted that that was Cindy's intention when she set her up, but that's what the blind date had meant for Naomi. A reclaiming.

She had snuck out of Mark's apartment under the cover of night, satiated only by the fact that she had done what she needed to do, and returned to her asexual existence with great fervor.

Naomi rolled onto her belly. She flexed her fingers and toes. Maybe her body was just telling her to slow down, to take it easy for a change. Her anxiety about Mini-Noah was silly. What was there to worry about? It was a paper doll. And if Gene screwed up, so what?! It was time for her to release her grip on things that were out of her control. To be kinder to herself.

Do I buy that?
she wondered, as she closed her eyes and burrowed beneath her blankets.
That the tingling and the headaches are just wake-up calls from my body and nothing else? I want to believe it. More than anything. But I don't think I do.

S
abine sat at the bar, halfheartedly attempting to edit a manuscript about a female werewolf with a raging libido. How this was a bestselling series, she had no idea, but fans had gobbled up the two previous novels with gusto. The writing was fine, but the premise. . .well, what could she say? What seemed ridiculous to her was obviously a winner with the book-buying public.

She rubbed her temples and wondered, for what had to be the eleventh time that day, why she couldn't just bite the bullet and pen her own novel about some sort of skin-puncturing, horny half mammal. She certainly knew the winning formula by now, after years of finessing manuscripts.

Sabine knew the answer went far beyond the obstacle of her own taste. She just didn't have the drive. Novels like this one might make her eyes roll in constant frustration and disbelief, but she had to hand it to the authors—their commitment to their craft was impressive. Sabine considered her own lack of follow-through and shook her head in disgust. She just didn't want it badly enough.

“That bad, huh?” a voice offered from behind her left shoulder. She turned to see Bess.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, jumping off her stool to give her a hug. “How are you?”

“Good. Just another day at the mines, shoveling salt.” Bess pointed to Sabine's heavily marked-up manuscript on the bar. “Looks like you're having the same kind of day.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It's pretty bad.”

“At least I can leave my salt at the office,” Bess said. “You have to bring this mess home, huh?”

“Most of the time. I just don't have time to do any actual editing at the office, you know? Between all of the other stuff going on, there aren't enough hours in the day.”

“Isn't it ironic that the one thing that concretely fits your job description is the very thing that you don't actually do at your job?”

“Indeed,” answered Sabine. She shuffled the papers together and collected them in a rubber band.

“What kind of manuscript is that? I saw you shaking your head in frustration when I walked in.” Bess hoped that she was successfully masking her nervousness. She had secured her tape recorder tightly around her rib cage, feeling like an inept James Bond in the process. Her previous attempts at remembering verbatim what Sabine, Charlie, and Naomi revealed were only mildly successful at best. Tonight she had to kick it up a notch. Relying on her memory was not an option at this point.

“Oh, it's a werewolf romance, what else?”

“Oy,” replied Bess, commiserating. “That sounds fun.” Bess settled herself on the stool beside Sabine. “Could you ever write a romance?” she asked Sabine. “I mean, I know that's probably not your bag on a personal level, but you could probably do it with your eyes closed, huh?”

“I don't know if I could write anything anymore.” Sabine sighed heavily before continuing. “I mean, the other day, I was finally inspired—after months of dormancy—and when I got home to write it down, I couldn't even get past the first paragraph without being distracted.”

“Distracted by a guy?”

“Guilty as charged.” Sabine laughed. “But regardless, it's so weird. I mean, do I even want to be writing anymore?” asked Sabine. “Or do I just think I do?”

Bess gazed at her thoughtfully. “I know what you mean. It's hard to know. I try to sniff out leads for interesting stories that have nothing to do with the idiotic monotony of my day job, but my follow-through is pathetic,” she confessed.

She thought about her article. This time was different, obviously, but it also came with a hefty price tag—the cost of her blossoming friendships with three pretty amazing women. On the flip side, it didn't have to be a scathing exposé about the passive state of the female drive.

Even as she tried to reason her way out of her guilt, Bess knew that she was betraying these women on a personal level. She was invading their privacy without their permission and then, adding fuel to the fire, judging them cold-heartedly. Bess cringed a bit at the thought, although she hoped not visibly.

“It's reassuring to hear that I'm not the only one struggling,” said Sabine. “Most of the time I'm beating myself up for being such a slacker, but I guess it's hard for anyone trying to hold down a nine-to-five, you know? I mean, could you imagine if we had families right now? Taking care of babies and trying to juggle the day job with the other stuff? I have no idea how Naomi does it.”

Bess nodded. “I know. I can't imagine, either. Speaking of, she and Charlie are coming, right?”

“Yeah, they are. I'm glad we finally found a time for all of us to get together, outside of class.”

“A group adventure is perfect. I thought maybe Naomi would be busy with Noah and Charlie would be teaching.” Initially, Bess had thought that she would like to get one-on-ones with all of them, but Sabine was right actually—there was something about the group dynamic that encouraged full disclosure. And with their class time almost halfway over, Bess was all too aware that her access to all of them was limited.

“Hello, ladies!” they heard behind them. They pivoted on their stools to find Naomi and Charlie, beaming brightly.

“We just ran into each other walking in,” Naomi explained. “Perfect timing.”

They all moved to greet each other with warm hugs.

“Should we get a table?” asked Charlie. She was a bit nervous to be hanging out with Sabine, Bess, and Naomi outside of the studio. It was hard not to adopt the teacher role, despite her best intentions. She thought of her conversation with Sasha. This was as good a time as any to practice blurring her carefully constructed lines. Why couldn't she show a little vulnerability? Just thinking about it made her tense. She hoped the women wouldn't pick up on her discomfort. She needed a drink.

“Sure,” answered Sabine. “There's one over there in the corner.” She and Bess gathered their things, and they all made their way to the table.

“Winter is such a drag!” moaned Sabine after they had all struggled out of their jackets and stowed them on the various hooks behind them. “I cannot wait for no-jacket weather.”

“Seriously,” agreed Charlie. “Just to walk freely, without these gigantic down prisons on top of us.”

The waitress approached the table. “What do you guys want to drink?” asked Naomi.

“Red wine sounds good to me,” answered Bess.

“Me, too,” agreed Charlie.

“Sabine, is that cool with you?” asked Naomi.

“Oh yeah, of course,” she answered. Naomi picked a bottle for the table and the waitress retreated. “I hope you guys are all okay with a Syrah,” said Naomi. “I figured it was safe. And it's one of the cheapest bottles on the menu,” she added.

“Now you're talking,” said Bess. “Isn't the markup nuts?” she asked. “You can get the same thirty-dollar bottle here for, like, eleven ninety-nine at the store.”

“I know,” agreed Charlie. “Have any of you guys bought milk lately, by the way?” she asked in mock horror. “The price is insane!”

“This economy is in the shitter in a really scary way,” added Naomi. “Buying food for two these days is killing me. With what I spend every month, I could take a weeklong trip to Tahiti.”

“How's Noah?” asked Sabine.

Naomi smiled. “Oh, he's great. He is really great. We had a long talk about how sometimes it's okay for me to go out by myself at night. He had a tough time with it at first, but then he reluctantly saw the light. After pouting for a half hour or so, he gave me a big squeeze before I left and told me I looked pretty. He's perfect.”

“Isn't it crazy how little men change?” Sabine asked. “I think I dated that guy a year ago, except leave out the telling me I'm pretty part.”

Bess laughed. “Seriously. It's not too hard to see the little boys they once were, is it?”

“Not at all,” Charlie said. “Especially if they are denied something they really want. I've seen some man tantrums in my time, believe me.”

“Charlie, do you have a boyfriend?” asked Naomi.

Charlie shook her head. “Noooo. I honestly don't think I would have time for one right now, even if it was an option.” As the words came out of her mouth, Charlie wondered if that was even true. She looked at the women surrounding her and thought about opening up about Neil and her inability to move past him. Surely they could commiserate and offer advice. She just couldn't step over the line, though. There was too much to lose—namely, their respect. To find out that their together yoga teacher was a mess? Unthinkable.

“How are things at the studio?” asked Bess. Getting Charlie to open up was like prying steel bars apart. The woman was a vault. Subtly, Bess adjusted the tape recorder. The band was digging into her ribs.

“Oh, the usual. The classes and the people are terrific, but the day-to-day bullshit is a drag.”

“Like what?” asked Naomi.

“Oh you know, bills, money, plumbing, blah blah blah. All of the unglamorous stuff behind the scenes.”

The waitress returned with their bottle, pausing to display the label before uncorking and pouring a splash for Naomi to taste. Naomi took a sip and nodded appreciatively.

“How did you decide to open your own studio?” asked Bess, when their glasses were filled. This was the money question.

Charlie blinked rapidly, a nervous twitch she'd always had. Should she reveal the way she came to such a monumental decision or should she give her usual answer? She decided to play it safe.

“I got into yoga about five years ago, and it just changed my life,” she explained. “I started to lose any sense of fulfillment at my finance job, you know?” The women nodded in response. “I had worked so hard for what felt like forever at something that provided minimal enjoyment. It was time for a change, and thankfully, the timing was right. I met Julian and Felicity and we decided to pool our resources. Voilà—Prana Yoga.” Charlie smiled. This wasn't a complete lie. In fact, it was almost completely true, except for a vital detail or two.

“Weren't you scared to do it?” asked Naomi. “What if the studio had tanked and you had lost all your money?”

“Well, never say never,” said Charlie, taking a big gulp of her wine. “That could still happen. I just figured that I had to take that chance. Worst case scenario, we do tank, I can always go back to Big Brother and work for some giant money machine. I have the skills.”

Bess nodded. “True,” she added. “But still, it's impossible not to respect your ballsiness and commitment to your dream.” She really liked the direction this conversation had organically taken. Maybe the article wasn't dead in the water after all. She surveyed the table, waiting for one of the other women to expound on her point. As if reading her mind, Naomi spoke.

“I agree with Bess,” she said. “And don't forget the points you get for even knowing what it is you want to do. Most days I feel like I've completely forgotten why I ended up doing what I do.”

“How so?” asked Sabine.

“Well, obviously I ended up designing websites somehow,” answered Naomi. “It just didn't fall in my lap randomly. I used to take pictures, you know? That was my great passion. And when that wasn't working out the way I had always envisioned it would, I left it behind to focus on a more lucrative venture. I mean, photography and web design are related, sure, but there's a lack of passion and interest in what I do now that I can't ignore.”

“But you had to pursue something that paid more money on a more regular basis,” said Sabine. “You're a single mom in New York. Talk about bills—yours must be astronomical.”

“Very true. And I would never take back Noah. He has made my life one hundred percent better in ways that I would never have the time to explain. But even when I take photos of him, just for us, there's a hesitancy on my part that I never experienced while I was photographing full time. It's like I'm scared of taking pictures now. A couple of clicks, the joy returns, and then what? I can't quit my day job.” She paused and took a sip of her wine. “Ugh, listen to me, going on and on.” She felt so comfortable with these women.
Should I tell them about the tingling?
she wondered.
Maybe they could help. Or maybe they'll ask too many questions and freak me out.
She had already made the mistake of Googling her symptoms. What she had found online was terrifying. She decided not to say anything. Speaking about whatever it was that was happening to her made it real—too real for a drinks night with her yoga friends.

“No, I get what you're saying,” said Bess. “I mean, obviously I don't have a child, but Sabine and I were talking about exactly this before you guys joined us. Even though I know rationally that I could make the time to cover the sort of stories I want to cover, I always think of a million reasons why I can't. You know, I have to go to the gym, I have to go to the grocery store or pick up my dry cleaning, I have to hang out with Dan. Sure, I do have to do all of these things, but I could find the time to pursue my dreams if I really wanted to. The question is, do I really want to, or do I just think I do?” Bess thought of the tape recorder strapped to her rib cage. Did she want to do this? What a hypocrite she was. These women were just like her.

“Wait, hold up, who's Dan?” asked Charlie. “You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend, Little Miss Secret!”

Bess suddenly felt trapped beneath the expectant stares of Charlie, Naomi, and Sabine. Should she open up? Would that further her betrayal by really making them feel like her friends? She decided to go for it, hoping that she could volunteer just a little more to open up the conversation even further. They hadn't even touched on men yet.

“Dan is my boyfriend, yes,” replied Bess, suddenly timid. She could feel a blush spreading over her cheeks.

“Who is he? What does he do?” asked Naomi excitedly. “How did you meet?”