Not Ready for Mom Jeans (23 page)

“Give Elizabeth Berkley a break. It must’ve been hard to peak theatrically as a teenager on
Saved by the Bell.
” I flopped down next to him and hugged my pillow.

“Fine. Jessie Spano aside, I thought only drag queens like
Showgirls.
”

“OK, fine. You caught me. I’m secretly a gay man. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No, I wanted to show you this.” He swiveled our laptop around on his lap and pointed to the screen.

“Who’s buying a house?” I said as I studied the cute English Tudor with amazing cherry cabinets in the kitchen.

“Well, I thought we might.”

My adoration stopped. Cruel joke.

“Jake. We can’t ever afford that house. You’re hilarious,” I said as I started to hoist myself up.

He grabbed my wrist. “You don’t like it?”

“I love it. Why are you torturing me by showing me houses we will never be able to afford?”

“I think we might be able to afford something like this.” His finger tapped the computer screen.

“Uh, OK,” I said, and rolled my eyes.

“No, really. We might be able to do it, especially with my promotion. No matter—no matter what you end up deciding about work. Besides, we’ll have another kid at some …” He trailed off.

My lips formed a thin smile. “Did you seriously just say another kid? Um, hi. Our daughter is like six months old. You’re thinking about another kid?”

“Not tomorrow.” He shrugged.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t even bring up the issue of having other kids.” The notion of another nine months of puking and then another three of zero sleep doesn’t exactly appeal to me right now.

“OK, but what about the fact that we could have so much more space?”

“I don’t know, it’s such a huge step. I mean, we’d have to pack up all our stuff, we’d have to find the right place, we’d have to—”

“This one has a whirlpool tub,” he interrupted.

“We should totally buy a house.”

Monday, July 21

Jake and I spent the weekend molesting our laptop while marveling over real estate. So, naturally, I planned on continuing the practice today.

I stopped in the bathroom before I walked into my office this morning. As I stood at the sink, washing my hands, Mule Face trounced in, wearing what I’ve dubbed the “couch jacket” since it closely resembles the upholstery of my grandparents’ couch, and practically threw herself into a stall. Now, it’s embarrassing and uncomfortable enough to share a bathroom with coworkers. I always feel somewhat awkward when I see Christina in the bathroom, like it’s too personal or something. Of course, I had no problem regaling her with graphic details of Sara’s birth, but to be within twenty feet of her when I’m peeing? Awkward.

Anyway, Mule Face is clearly sick today. Yes. It was not good. It was also not good when she started moaning and grunting. I mean, it’s bad enough that I had to be witness to her, um, issues, let alone with vocalization.

I scurried out of the bathroom faster than Butterscotch to the gay pride parade.

I regained my composure by drooling over real estate online. I quickly became bored with the houses we could actually afford and moved on to the houses we would never be able to afford unless Jake and I decide to peddle Internet porn. Of course, it was so much harder to go back to the “regular” houses after I’d seen houses with media rooms, lake views, and wine cellars.

I didn’t have much time to dream about what I could afford with my porno empire, as I interviewed candidates for my assistant position this afternoon. Three interviews were scheduled, back-to-back. At first, I felt slightly guilty, as I wasn’t sure if I would choose to stay home with Sara in the near future and leave this assistant most likely working for Mule Face, but my cards are still firmly resting against my chest.

The first candidate was a woman in her mid-fifties, a former stay-at-home mom who was looking to get back into the workforce. She seemed qualified for the position until she told me she’d have to leave by three o’clock every day to pick up her kids at school. Now, I’m a mom myself, but I no way expect my employer to let me off the hook a couple of hours early every day yet still pay me for full-time.

The next was a recent college graduate, who continually interrupted me to ask ridiculous questions like, “Would I have to start right
at
eight thirty? Is that set in stone?” I took that to mean she would probably be hungover most days and not able to function until sometime after ten. Now, I was fresh out of college not too long ago, but I didn’t announce to my prospective employer I planned on getting trashed every night. I did, of course. I just didn’t tell them straight out. (I’m sure it was noted, though, since I spent a good part of Friday mornings chugging soda, wolfing down cheese and egg sandwiches, and running to the bathroom.)

The final interview was a woman who seemed normal enough. She had a good résumé and excellent references. During the interview, I mentally hired her and she immediately organized my office, politely screened my calls, and became my new lunch buddy. I opened my mouth to ask a question about her previous position when Mule Face appeared at my door, holding a stack of saltine crackers and clutching her stomach.

“Ooohhh, I still don’t feel well,” she said, and crammed three crackers into her mouth.

“Er, uh, sorry to hear that,” I said, and shifted in my chair. “Annie, I’d like you to meet—”

“Annie! Hi!” candidate number three said.

“Oh my God! I had no idea you were interviewing for this position!” Mule Face turned to me. “We worked together about three years ago.” She turned back to Number Three and whispered, “You don’t want to work with Clare, she’s a drag.” Mule Face turned to me. “Kidding!”

Kidding or not, I knew there was no way I was going to hire a personal friend of Mule Face. I can just picture their daily lunch sessions where they’d draw mean pictures of me and try to tape kick me signs on my back.

“How’s Big D?” Number Three asked.

“Oh, you know, the same. He’s been out of work now for a few months after his company got bought out, so I’ve really had to make up the extra money with my mail-order cosmetics.”

“You must love having a cosmetics consultant in your office!” Number Three said, turning to me.

“Clare? Not a chance! She’s never bought anything from me. I don’t know why, my cosmetics are amazing!”

Yes. The oozing, scabby rash on your face was truly amazing,
I thought.

“You have to try our new sea kelp facial toner. It gets rid of all those fine lines!”

Mule Face and Number Three chatted for another ten minutes until interrupted by my cell phone.

I pulled my phone out of my bag and saw the number was Sara’s day-care. “Excuse me, I have to take this,” I said as I flipped my phone open. Mule Face and number three watched as my mouth dropped open and I hastily stood up after I closed my phone.

“I have to leave. There’s an emergency at my daughter’s day-care!” I said as I shoved my planner into my bag and shut down my computer.

“Is everything OK?” Mule Face asked.

“Yes! Yes! I just have to go pick her up because … er … because.” I finished my sentence and ran out the door. I chose not to tell them that Sara’s day care had requested I pick her up because some kid
bit her
and she was hysterical.

As I drove to pick up Sara, I kept calm about my assistant prospects by reasoning that I had another few weeks to find a candidate until I got an e-mail just now from Christina. She said I needed to hire someone as soon as possible thanks to our budget. And she didn’t seem too thrilled that I had to leave in the middle of the day just because some obnoxious kid went all T. rex on my daughter.

So, great.

Thursday, July 31

Sky?

Any candidates you’d like to drop upon me? Please?

Because, if God listens to my repeated prayers, I’m going to be busier than the prophylactic vending machine during a porn convention. Since I think I’ve found my next client.

Today, I met Julie at a wine bar in the city after work. Jake picked up Sara up from day-care and gave me a reprieve.

I got there first, as Julie got hung up at the hospital due to a packed ER. The place was filled with stereotypical businessmen in pinstripe suits, Lincoln Park Trixies looking to pick up one of the aforementioned businessmen, and groups of drunken coworkers loudly bashing their bosses. After I had been standing awhile with my wine, two blondes fell off their bar stools and I was able to snag them since the blondes were too drunk to notice they were on the floor.

I settled in and played with a cocktail napkin until I heard, “Sorry, I’m so late. Sorry!”

I whirled around on my bar stool. “I’ve been waiting forever. I wasn’t sure if you were going to show.”

Julie was still dressed in her hospital scrubs. Pale blue V-neck top with lavender and yellow swirls all over it, drawstring pants, and bright yellow Crocs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next drink’s on me.” Julie waved at the bartender and pointed to my drink. “Same,” she yelled across the bar. “So, what’s going on?” she said.

“Nothing, but I think your outfit is attracting some attention,” I said, and pointed to a group of perfectly coiffed, anorexic-thin, bitchy women now staring at us.

Julie looked down at her hospital scrubs and rolled her eyes. “Grow up! This isn’t high school,” she called over to the
Sex and the City
fembots. They quickly looked away, concentrating on catching the interest of the wasted businessmen at the next table.

“Nice,” I said. “I think you look good. You could be the hot new nurse on
ER
who isn’t afraid to keep everyone in line.”

“Always. God, this wine is good,” she said as she took a long sip.

“Work busy?”

“It’s a full moon tonight, which translates to a packed ER and exhausted Julie.”

“I thought that was always just a myth.”

“Nope. We get packed and the psych ward goes crazy. Pun intended. Labor and Delivery always gets slammed, too.”

“Yeah, well, thank God it’s someone else in Labor and Delivery.”

“You had the easiest delivery ever, get over it,” she said. “So anything new with Gregory?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Haven’t talked to him since the kickoff. But I’m meeting with him again soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Have fun.” She paused and her expression changed. She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re not thinking of …” She trailed off.

I reached out and gave her a light tap on the shoulder. “Julie! No!”

“OK, OK! Relax! Just checking.”

I shook my head. “Not at all.”

“Good, because you were always so goddamn insecure around him. All ‘Whatever you want, Greg. Your wish is my command’ bullshit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.” I fiddled with my engagement ring. “But like I said, no way. We’re just working together.” I grabbed my drink and took a long swig.

“Ah, Greg. What a douche bag.” She laughed and swirled the wine around in her glass. Her lips curled downward and her expression softened. “So how’s Mama?” she asked quietly.

I shrugged as I felt the fear in my stomach begin to bubble up again. “Tired. Sick.”

“Yeah, but she’s just gotta get through this. She’s still going to be fine.” Julie nodded her head firmly, her eyes soft.

“I know, I know.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and rubbed my forehead. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Wanna hear about my last Internet date?” Julie offered.

“Yes! Please!” I clapped my hands together, grateful for the distraction.

“OK, so. This new guy that I went out with the other night. Again, seemed totally normal, right? Well, we go out for Mexican.” She grabbed my forearm and leaned in. “His suggestion! So, anyway. Great dinner, fine conversation. Seems like it might go somewhere. Until we get back in his car and …” Julie paused and leaned in a bit closer. “He started totally farting.”

“What? Ew!” I leaned back in horror.

“That’s not even the worst part. He kept blaming his car. Said it was his catalytic converter or something.” Julie wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “What a loser.”

“No kidding! That’ll be such a great recap for the bl—”