Not Ready for Mom Jeans (20 page)

“What do you mean, ‘just’? It’s great!” she said.

“I figured you didn’t have any boy clothes, and I didn’t want to get you another toy that made noise since, yeah, we already had that conversation.” I shrugged.

“Good call. Thanks, I love it,” she said.

We sat silent for a minute as I looked down at my pink wrap. I rubbed my index finger against the soft stitching. I looked at Matt and Reese’s wedding photo on the end table next to me. “So, what’s going on with Matt?” I said quietly, without looking up.

She took in a long breath and exhaled slowly. She looked down at Baby Brendan and rocked him back and forth for a second.

“I think I’m going to ask him to move out,” she said quietly.

“Really?” I said evenly.

“It’s not working. I mean, I don’t want to take care of two kids on my own, but it’s harder to have him around, you know?” She didn’t look up from her newborn son, quietly sighing as though he could sense the sadness around him.

I nodded mutely. “Are you still going to start graduate school in the fall?”

“Planning on it.” She looked at me quickly and nodded.

“That’s great. You haven’t done something just for yourself in forever.” I briefly covered her hand with mine and patted it.

She smiled.

I wanted to ask her so many things, like would she be OK financially, how she was going to tell Grace, was she going to ask for a divorce.

But I just said, “Is there anything I can do?”

She smiled. “Just that helps.”

I leaned over and put my arm around her, which was somewhat awkward considering her boob was exposed with her baby attached to it. Her sorrow was palpable as we sat there silently.

As I hugged Reese, I felt terrible for the words popping into my brain:
I never want to be like this. I never want to build my life only for someone else. I never want to lose myself like Reese did.

I threw my arms around Jake the second he got home today. He started to pull away after a second, but I held him close, one arm wrapped around him, the other around Sara. I closed my eyes and listened to Jake’s heart beat in his chest against my ear and Sara’s coos in my other ear and my shell of sadness began to crack.

I felt comforted by the presence of my husband and daughter, a safety that exists only when all three of us are separated only by inches. But it wasn’t just their presence, it was the knowledge that while I don’t ever want to lose myself in my marriage or child—to forget about my own identity and dreams—it is here, with them, that I feel most like me.

Saturday, June 7

“Piece of cake.”

That’s how my mom described her lumpectomy yesterday.

Of course, she wouldn’t tell me if it had gone otherwise, but she did sound surprisingly OK when I talked to her last night. My dad took her home after the surgery and she has strict instructions to take it easy. Which, to her, normally means only working on her laptop for eight hours a day, only doing four loads of laundry, and cooking a “light” meal of braised lamb with mint aioli sauce. But my dad’s given her instructions to do nothing but lie around, watch television, read magazines, and nap. We’ll see how long that lasts, considering I think the last time my mother took a nap was 1976.

After I hung up with my dad, I called Mark to see how he was handling everything, and also to get the scoop on his new woman.

“-ello?” he screamed into the phone. It sounded like he was inside Mötley Crüe’s tour bus.

“IT’S CLARE!” I shouted.

“CLARE?” he screamed back.

“CLARE!” I said again.

“HOLD ON, LET ME GO OUTSIDE.” After a minute, the deafening music was silenced. “There. Can you hear me?”

“Much better. Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m at Duffy’s. Happy hour drinks are only two dollars for beer and three dollars for well drinks. You should come.” He said it so casually.

“You’re at a bar when Mom just had surgery?” I asked, incredulous.

“I talked to Dad. He said she’s fine,” Mark said. “Besides, I stopped at—”

“Hey, Mark! Is Shitface inside?” some guy said on the other end.

“Yeah, he’s sitting at the bar. Sorry, anyway,” Mark said, talking to me, “I stopped at a church earlier and said a prayer.”

“Who’s Shitface? Never mind, forget it. I just wanted to make sure you were OK.”

“I’m great. You know, still freaked out, but good.” I could practically hear him shrugging.

“Good. How’s Casey?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said.

“So what’s the flaw?” I asked quickly.

“Uh, nothing. She’s a really cool girl.” He sounded confused.

“I like her a lot. I’m just curious as to why someone so normal would date you,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, I gotta go, some of my friends just got here.” I could hear raucous yelling in the background.

“Just don’t screw it up!” I yelled into the phone before I hung up.

“SCREW WHAT UP?” Mule Face yelled from down the hall.

Wednesday, June 11

I think I got about four hours of sleep last night. Between getting home sometime near midnight and waking up every half hour or so thanks to Sara’s Night of No Sleeping Ever, stumbling through the haze that is my new normal. I think there was once a time in my life when I got eight hours of sleep, but I really can’t be sure.

Thankfully, I can slack off a little today at work since the golf outing kickoff party went smoothly. I just wish that translated into a free day off.

I broke down and purchased a new outfit for the cocktail party, since my ego wouldn’t allow me to wear the Miss Piggy pants.

So, armed with a cute new black wrap dress, still two sizes larger than pre-Sara, and a pair of killer heels, I arrived at the club about an hour before the party was supposed to begin. Since there really wasn’t much to do, I sat out on the balcony overlooking the golf course and sipped a glass of lemon water.

“Can I bring you anything else, Ms. Finnegan?” A white-gloved waiter appeared next to me.

“No thanks, I’m good.” I smiled at him and leaned back against the white wicker chair. A few golfers were still teeing off on the last hole and I could hear their booze-soaked conversation floating across the green.

I exhaled and sipped my water, thankful for a few moments of silence.

Wouldn’t it be great if this were my life?

What if I had a life where people brought me hot towels and lemon water? Where I could play golf, after I learn how to play, all afternoon and end the day with a cocktail on this balcony?

But you can have more time each afternoon. With Sara.

I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face as it started to move west.

“Sleeping?” a voice said, startling me.

“Oh, hi! No, just relaxed.” I smiled at Greg. “What are you doing here so early?”

His freshly pressed khaki pants and crisp white polo shirt offset his deep caramel tan. “Just finished a round. Didn’t make sense to go home and come all the way back.”

I nodded. “Want anything to drink?”

He shook his head. “I’m OK.” He sat down next to me and exhaled. He laced his fingers behind his head and stretched. “Beautiful day, huh?”

“Absolutely. Should only help our numbers tonight. Rain always tends to screw things up a little for these kinds of things.”

He nodded and we sat silently, next to one another on the balcony. The irony of the situation slapped me across the face. Greg and I here, at the golf club, together on the balcony. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, as I once thought we would always. In college, this was the life I thought I would have, the life I thought I wanted. A childless career woman, married to Greg.

I was so certain an engagement ring would be the next present I received from him, rather than a bucketful of tears and a public breakup.

“I think I should head inside. People will be here soon.” I stood up, drink in hand.

“I’m right behind you,” Greg said, and followed me inside the club.

I only had time for a quick check of the waitstaff, bar setup, and cocktail tables before people began to rush it. People arrived seemingly all at once, in a blue-blooded herd, racing to the bar like
The Biggest Loser
contestants to a dessert buffet.

I wandered around the party, making sure everything was running accordingly. Events like this one are my favorite—they basically run themselves and everyone usually has a good time. As I was walking through the crowd, I felt a tap on my arm. I turned around and it took a few moments to register whom I was standing next to.

Ethan and Nate—Greg’s two best friends from college, whom I haven’t seen in close to 8 million years and who, if memory serves, intimidated me in college.

“Hey! Oh, hi! How are you?” I said quickly.

Ethan and Nate, both dressed in waffle-weave polo shirts and khakis, nodded at me, their faces unsmiling.

“Hey, Clare.” Ethan nodded, his spiky black hair radiating from his head like shooting stars.

“Hi,” Nate said curtly. He brought his drink up to his lips and the huge silver watch on his wrist nearly blinded me.

“Nice to see you guys,” I said briskly. I cleared my throat and stood up a little straighter.

“What are you doing here? Are you a member?” Ethan said, his eyes darting around the room.

I shook my head. “I’m the event coordinator. I worked with Greg and the committee to pull this off.”

“Oh,” Ethan said. He and Nate exchanged a quick glance.

I looked at both of them, appearing exactly the same as they did in college. And for a moment, I was brought right back. To standing in front of them, feeling inadequate. Feeling insecure. Feeling like they knew I didn’t deserve to be Greg’s girlfriend.

But then almost ten years of distance reminded me of something else: that they’re assholes.

I cleared my throat. “It’s a great job. Careerwise things are excellent.”

“Huh. And I heard you have a kid now?” Nate said. I swear, he couldn’t have seemed less interested in my answer. But the voice inflection that would’ve left me cowering many years ago today fueled my confidence for some strange reason.

“Jake and I have a daughter, Sara.” I nodded and smiled at both of them, who looked startled.

Probably because that was the longest they’d ever heard me speak. Other than “Hey,” “Hi,” and “What’s up?”

“Nice to see you both. Take care,” I said to Ethan and Nate. I walked away, feeling their gaze still on me. Feeling their slight bewilderment at the quiet girl who suddenly had a voice.

As I said good-bye to Greg at the end of the night, he said, “Nate and Ethan said to tell you it was a great party.”

I smiled, looking straight ahead across the club’s lawn, as we waited outside for the valet to bring Greg’s car.

“What?” he said.

I turned to look at him. “Nothing. It was great to see them and catch up.”

The valet pulled Greg’s car up in front of us and got out.

“Well, thanks for everything, Clare. Great party,” Greg said as the valet outstretched his arm and handed him the keys.

“Thanks. No problem.” I smiled at Greg through the dark night.

Friday, June 13

The kickoff party behind me, I figured the rest of the week would be pretty slow at work. And it has been, except for the fact that my e-mail in-box is dinging every five seconds with another pointless e-mail.