Momfriends (16 page)

“Hey, Liz,” I say as brightly as possible.

“Oh, Ruthie, how are you? I was worried you had been sucked into some militant Brooklyn mom’s circle never to be seen or heard from again.”

“No, just been a little busy.”

“Oh, God, I can imagine,” she says, though I doubt it. There was no way to imagine. It was something you had to be in and experience to understand and even then you didn’t understand. “How is Abe? You have to send some more pictures. Everyone at the work is dying to see him.”

Liz and I came up as production assistants together on
Good Morning Boston
. It was our first job out of school. We worked together for seven years, and she even moved into my apartment building when I saw that there was a studio for rent. We were super tight. She was one of my bridesmaids, but talking to her now I felt as though there was no way to ever download everything I had been through to her. She was talking to me like everything was normal. I wondered for a minute if I would ever see her again.

“By the end of the day, when I want to hop on the computer and upload photos I am exhausted,” I offer as an excuse.

“Yeah, I noticed you haven’t been responding to any of my emails. I was hoping that maybe I can see him in person soon,” she says. I immediately start to panic. Is she coming to New York? I haven’t worn anything with a zipper months. I don’t think I could bear to be seen this way.

“Really, when?” I ask keeping my voice calm or trying.

“Well, I have been trying to call you and I’ve emailed, but you haven’t gotten back to me. I thought I would try one last time to invite you to my thirtieth birthday blowout this weekend.”

“Oh, wow, this weekend. I totally forgot it was your birthday.” I wish I hadn’t said that. This is awful. I planned her twenty-fifth surprise party. I took her out for her birthday every year. Her birthday is like Steve’s; it’s one of the days I know off hand. But I have a good excuse, I think. I decide to be honest. “I don’t even know what day today is.”

She giggles, thinking I’m kidding.

“Well, you guys are welcome to crash with us. I would love for you to be there.” I imagine all of the stuff I would have to bring to Mike and Liz’s one-bedroom apartment in Southie.

“I wish I had seen the email, Liz, but this weekend is such short notice for us and Abe isn’t really on a great schedule yet. I think he might ruin the party.”

“Well, I thought you guys might want a weekend away, you know. Maybe, your mom could watch Abe and you guys could come up here and get a break.”

The idea is delightful and disturbing at once. I can’t believe Liz is really serious about leaving such a young kid alone and part of me really wishes there was a way that I could ditch it all for a weekend, Steve included. I wouldn’t even need to go to the party. It would be nice to just lay in someone else’s bed and sleep.

But, there is no way. And Liz even thinking there might be a way makes me feel as though we are on such completely different paths that our friendship is doomed. I should never have answered the phone.

“I would love to be there, Liz, but I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I mean, I’m only turning thirty once and I would love to have you there. “

“I’ll talk to Steve,” I say. I am not going to. And then it occurs to me that he—like Liz and her boyfriend, Mike—in his warped view of our responsibilities, might think that we could make it work. Asking him would be a test. I am not sure I want to know the result.

“Please do, I miss you guys,” she says.

“We miss you too,” I say. That had been true when I first moved to New York for my new job, and when I was feeling nostalgic for the times we went out drinking when I was stuck home and pregnant, but I haven’t thought about Liz at all in so long. I am completely self-absorbed.

“I think Mike might propose.”

“Really? What are you going to say?”

“Ruth,” she gasps. “Yes, of course. Motherhood really is affecting your brain. I have wanted this for three years. “

I stop myself from asking why. It all led to such a bleak path. Maybe I need therapy.

“Well, I will call you and let you know.” I don’t know why I am keeping up the charade. I will call her when I know I am going to get her answering machine and tell her I can’t make it.

We get off the phone, and I look down at the woman painting my toes a burgundy color called After Sex that I picked because it looked fun and the name made me smile. Now I think it looks as though I am trying too hard, and besides I never have any sex anymore.

“You like color?” the beautician asks, gesturing to my toes.

“Very nice, very pretty,” I say. I refuse to let myself cry at the nail place. It isn’t that I am above crying in public, because at this point I’m not. But, in this massage chair with my toes only just started, I am a captive audience. If I cry, I am going to have explaining to do and people are going to take pity on my and offer me words of encouragement or maybe they won’t speak English and I will have to try to figure out what they are saying. It is all way too exhausting.

In the back of my head is the idea that I am going to have to start looking for a nanny soon. I know I am going back to work in six weeks and I need child care. This is not a subject I feel that I can even address with Steve. I think I want to keep putting it off. I keep reading ads for people’s nannies or nanny shares on the moms Listserv I belong to. There are tons of supposedly loving nannies that families are dying to get rid of. I don’t know how I am supposed to find the perfect person. And I’m not sure I really want the person to be perfect. What if they do it better than me? That would mean that it was me who was the defective mother model all along.

I lie back against the massage chair and close my eyes. The roller on the back of the massage chair is working the knots in my neck, but the knots are stronger. They will prevail. I wish I could shut everything off for a few minutes, for a few hours, maybe longer.

I pay for my pedicure and hop on the subway back to Prospect Heights. The train isn’t full. I have a whole row of three seats to myself. Lately, all I do is calculate how comfortable places might be to lie down and sleep and how long I could get away with it. I figure I can get to Coney Island before anyone says anything to me.

But I don’t lie down. I get off at my stop. I so don’t want to go home yet. I probably have another hour before Abe will really need me. I feel guilty for all of this. I should want to see my son. I should miss him. I walk swiftly down my street. And then right before my house I stop to sit on a stoop. I am sweating and breathing heavily. My breasts are full and starting to ache. This is Claudia, the BobCut’s house. But she never gets home before six, hustling her children up the stairs like they don’t have a moment to spare. I will be long gone by then.

When am I going to feel normal again? Every time I thought I was close to being myself it kept eluding me. Talking to Liz today was a big highlighter to the fact that I am never going to be the same.

I glance down at my newly pedicured toes. Damn! They are already messed up. It never fails. The paint on my left big toe is puckered and wrinkled. I can see the white of my nail beneath. Why did I even bother trying to beautify myself? It is the one nice thing I have done to try and feel pretty, and it is futile.

“Is everything ok?” The voice startles me. I turn around and see Claudia peeking out her screen door at me. I stand up, losing my balance. I reach down to steady myself on her step. Not exactly graceful.

“Yes, everything is fine. I was taking a break.”

“Is the baby ok?” Claudia looks quite concerned.

“I think so,” I say, glancing at my apartment. “I mean, yes, he is.”

She comes out of the house swiftly, moving toward me like I am on fire. “Did you leave him in the house?”

“No, he is with my mother-in-law,” I say. I can’t believe I seemed that bad the last time that she actually thinks I might abandon my child. For some reason, I start to impersonate Daniel Day Lewis in
There Will Be Blood
.

“I’ve abandoned my child, I’ve abandoned my boy,” I shout. Then I laugh. I crack myself up, but Claudia isn’t laughing. I try to explain I was quoting. “You know that movie
There Will Be Blood
?”

“No, I never saw it. I heard it was good. I haven’t seen a movie since
Chicago
. The baby is really with your mother-in-law?”

“Yes,” I say, starting to get pissed off. Claudia backs off a little.

“It’s funny you’re here. I just made you a quiche, and some beef stew that I was going to bring over this afternoon,” she says this almost as if she was accusing me.

“I swear I didn’t know,” I say as if under oath.

“Well, I guess how could you have?” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, anyway I can give it to you now.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t you come in?”

“No. I mean, if it’s not a good time. I don’t want to just show up, I mean even though I guess I did. You probably weren’t expecting guests. I don’t want to impose.” I really don’t want to go in her house. She kind of scares me.

“Nonsense, the house is always ready for visitors.” Now I was really afraid. But I am on her stoop, and she apparently made me food, which means no takeout, which might make me feel better about myself, which I need after the whole toe incident.

“Ok,” I say. Plus it will delay my dealings with Pam. She likes to catch the 5:37 train from Penn. The later I get back, the less time I will have to spend justifying my various life choices to Pam.

She wasn’t kidding about the house being visitor-ready. It is immaculate. There is not a bit of clutter.

“Do you have a cleaning person?”

“No, I just try to be organized.”

“Seems like it works.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, water.”

It takes her a little while to get the water, so I glance around her apartment. It’s really big and spacious, but a little bit stiff. When she returns from the kitchen, she is carrying a snack tray with brie, crackers, sliced pear, and a goblet of water. She sets it on the coffee table and sits in the love seat across from me.

“This is nice. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. So I made you my toasted pine nut quiche and my three-meat stew.”

“Thank you,” I say. “This is the best part of having a baby. All the food you get. Kirsten’s potpie was amazing.”

Claudia pauses as she is about to cut into the brie. “Kirsten made you a potpie?”

I’m not quite sure how to respond. She seems annoyed, as though Kirsten was pissing her off somehow by cooking. “Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“Yeah, it even had a fresh homemade crust.” I’m not quite sure why I volunteer that last part. Claudia takes a small bite of her cracker and dabs her mouth. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs at the ankle.

“Well, you will have to let me know what you think of this stew. It has lamb, beef and bison. I also put some chanterelles in there.”

“Sounds delicious. Thanks again.” Suddenly it occurs to me that she is competing with Kirsten

Claudia doesn’t say anything and I’m not sure what to say to her. The only thing we might possibly have in common is the fact that we are moms. I cut off a piece of cheese and smear it on a cracker. When I take a bite, the crumbs fall everywhere. Claudia’s eyes follow them down onto her immaculate couch.

“Sorry,” I say. Claudia waves her hand away as if it is no big deal. But I see her glance down at the floor. This is anything but relaxing. Pam is almost preferable to this. Maybe I can take my food and go. Is that rude? It is. She has put out such a nice cheese plate. I can’t let it go to waste. I take another cracker with cheese. Claudia pretends she isn’t looking at me as I take a bite, cupping my palm beneath the cracker. Most of the crumbs land in my hand. It is ridiculous, as if I have never been out of the house before. I am so aware of what a mess I am. What am I supposed to do with all these crumbs? I place them on my napkin on the coffee table.

“So how are the twins?”

“They’re fine, thanks. It can be challenging. Well, you know how it is. Having a newborn is hard. Imagine two newborns.”

“I can’t. I really can’t imagine.” Is this also a competition? Because she wins, hands down. I can’t imagine having anything more than I have. And I can’t imagine having all that and a place this clean. She nods pleased with her victory in that round. There is a long awkward pause.

“So did you have the day off?” I ask.

“Oh, no, well, I mean, yes, I am home today, but even though it’s a day off, I am working from home. You know I can never really have the day off. But I wanted a little more quiet. Some time to collect my thoughts.” She looks away. There is a tremble beneath her skin, but only for a moment and then she is composed.

“Do you work?”

“Yeah, well, I mean, I did, I’m on leave. I am a producer for this show about NYC real estate. It’s called
Open House
. It’s on the Gotham Network. Do you get that?” She nods.

“I think so. We have so much TV, but I never get to watch. I’m in the business, too. I work for Chester Media.”

I nod, but I don’t know that company. I think Claudia expects me to. The next time I get online, I will google it. She can tell I don’t know what she is talking about.

“We do
Dragon Circle
among other more traditional soaps.”

“
Dragon Circle
, the vampire one?” She nods. I was forever channel surfing through that and it looked pretty cool. “What do you do?”

“I’m the vice president of production accounting.”

“Fancy,” I say, but I immediately feel like putting my foot in my mouth. Claudia doesn’t really seem to have any sense of humor. I eat another cracker. On the plus side, I am minimizing my crumbs.

“When do you go back?” Claudia asks. I look at my watch.

“I should probably go soon. My mother-in-law is going to want to catch her train soon. She is super regimented,” I say. Again I want to insert my poorly pedicured foot, because from all appearances Claudia is super regimented too.