Driving Lessons: A Novel (14 page)

“Oh no, I didn’t roll over,” I lied. “I’m bleeding?”

He looked at me curiously. I shrugged my shoulders, grazing my chin with a few of the needles in the process. He sighed loudly and mumbled something in Chinese under his breath as he began extracting them. When he was finished, he hovered over my face.

“Thank you,” I said. He nodded and left the room. I sat up and gathered my things as quickly as possible.
Only me.
Outside, I rejoined Mona, who was sitting in the center of the couch and staring into the depths of the giant fish tank.

“Remember when fish tanks were the thing?” she asked. I sat down next to her.

“Yeah, like in elementary school?”

“The eighties, man.”

“Seriously.” We watched a small school of angelfish dart into a plastic castle. “How was your session?” I asked.

“He knew,” she replied quietly.

“He knew what?”

“About the cancer. He knew.” She continued to stare into the tank.

“He did?” I put my hand over hers. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘You sick. In uterus, you sick.’ ”

I gasped. “Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“What did you say?”

“I cried, of course.”

“Was he sympathetic?”

“He patted my shoulder and then jabbed my pelvis with about thirty thousand needles.” She wiped her cheek. “Maybe he cured me.”

“He could have.”

She turned to face me and rolled her eyes. “Sarah, I think I’ll continue with the surgery. You know, just in case.”

“I turned over like an asshole,” I said. He hadn’t said anything to me about being pregnant. I was surprised to feel deflated.

“What do you mean?” Mona asked.

“I rolled over onto my needles.”

“Oh my God, why would you do that?”

“I thought he was telling me to turn over, but it turned out he was talking to a client on the other side of the curtain.”

Mona put her hand to her mouth. “Poor Sarah. Did it hurt?”

“Hell yes, it hurt. Thankfully, I realized that he had not, in fact, been addressing me, about ten seconds in.”

“Did he know? When he came back?”

“Yes. He asked me if I had turned over, so I lied and told him no. I was mortified. He was kind enough not to press the issue, but I think I heard him murmur ‘What an idiot’ under his breath in Chinese.”

“You know Chinese?”

“No, but what else would he be saying? ‘This girl should be in Mensa’?”

Mona giggled. “Pretty classic move, Sar.”

“Tell me about it. Remind me again why you won’t tell Nate about what’s happening?”

“Why does he need to know?”

“Mona, come on. He’s crazy about you. He’s going to be really upset, and rightfully so, when he finds out that you didn’t tell him about something as major as this.”

“I didn’t realize that you were so concerned about Nate’s best interest,” she replied drily.

“I’m looking out for your best interest!” My voice rose.

“Shhhh,” Mona warned. “You can hear a pin drop in here.”

“No pun intended.”

“Hardy har har, Sarah.” She smiled before continuing. “Like I told you, I don’t want anyone giving me a pity party, and I don’t want advice. I just want to go in and get it over with. Maybe I’ll tell him afterward.”

“Have you talked about kids or anything?”

“Oh God, no. We’ve only been hanging out for what, two months? I haven’t even pooped with him in the vicinity.”

“Josh likes to leave the door open when he poops,” I replied. “It’s awful.”

“That is awful. Why?”

“ ‘Why not?’ is what he would say. ‘What’s the big deal?’ ”

“Ugh, so much about that is a big deal.”

“I miss him.”

“What’s he doing down there without you?”

“Not too much. Pining for me twenty-four/seven.”

“Naturally. And taking open-door craps with abandon.”

“And watching porn.”

“Pining, Porn, and Poops: The Josh Simon Story.”

“Are men really that simple?” I asked.

Just then, Nate emerged from the back. As soon as he noticed Mona on the couch, he smiled broadly. My breath caught a little watching it happen. I snuck a glance at Mona, whose cheeks were now rosy with delight, and smiled.

“Yes, but thank goodness,” she whispered back.

15

If your accelerator becomes stuck, you should shift back to neutral, apply the brakes, and look for an alternate route.

T
oday is Mona day,” I announced, strolling into her bedroom with the bagel I had just procured for her on a tray. Her favorite, pumpernickel with veggie cream cheese and tomato, lay open-faced on a white plate, a mug of coffee steaming beside it.

“Ergh,” she moaned from underneath her gray-and-white-striped comforter.

“Breakfast in bed, my friend.”

She sat up, her mass of dark hair falling like curtains on both sides of her face. “Well, well, well. You don’t see this every day.”

“No you do not.” I set the tray down in front of her proudly.

“My favorite!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands and beaming up at me gratefully. “But where’s yours?”

“In the kitchen. I didn’t want to crowd the tray.”

“Look at you, Little Miss Homemaker!”

“Let me go grab my bagel and we can eat together.” I dashed into the kitchen.

“So what do you want to do today?” I asked, returning with my mouth half full. Mona finished chewing.

“On this, my last day with my uterus?” She looked down. “Uterus, what would you like to do today? What’s that?” She cocked her head and held her ear as close to her lower abdomen as she could. “Uterus would like to go to Barneys, please.”

“Done,” I replied. As far as my own uterus went, I had just bought a pregnancy test on my way back from the bagel shop. With trembling hands, I had placed it on the drugstore counter, along with a Twix and a box of Tic Tacs as a hopeful means of distraction. Now it burned a hole in my purse, which I had carefully placed upright in the corner of the living room, as though tilting it would affect the test’s eventual accuracy. Mona took a sip of her coffee.

“And oh, I want to go to Jane’s and read the paper.” Jane’s was our favorite coffee shop. Quaint and homey, it smelled of books and cinnamon.

“Okay. I’ll bring my laptop. Do some soul searching.”
And not think about the pregnancy test.

“Career-wise, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s that coming?”

I shrugged. “I’m making some headway.”

“That’s terrific! Want to tell me about it?”

“Not yet. Besides, I don’t want to bore your uterus on her special day.”

“She wouldn’t be bored, but I understand. And this is the last I’ll speak about it until you’re ready to unveil your plan, but I was thinking that you’re completely dismissing your own arsenal of talent by jumping out of the marketing game altogether. You were in that business for what, ten years?”

“Great minds think alike.”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled broadly. “Cool.”

“Did I tell you that I ran into Emily on the street the other day?”

“Emily?”

“The chip chewer?”

“Oh God, her?” Mona made a face. “What did she have to say for herself? Or rather, what did she ask you and then answer herself?”

“She told me that Meghan still hasn’t hired anyone to replace me.”

“Get out.”

“It’s true. Weird, right?”

“Not really. I always told you that Meghan liked you more than you thought she did.”

“That you did. Maybe I’ll e-mail her. Ask her to lunch or something.”

“Good idea. You can pick her brain.”

“As long as you’re okay, though. My nursing duties come first.”

“Right. Now, let’s get back to my uterus, shall we?” asked Mona. “She says that she would like to buy me an overpriced cashmere cardigan as her parting gift.”

I
swung my legs like a little kid as I perched on a stool overlooking the Brooklyn street. A Tuesday in Brooklyn, and you would never know it. The percentage of freelancers-cum-writers-cum-sculptors-cum-whatevers in this borough was incredibly high, and they were all loping lackadaisically somewhere, looking more important than they were.

My laptop glowed beside me as I judged everyone who strolled past. Mona was curled up in an armchair toward the back of the shop, reading her paper with a look of utter contentment on her bespectacled face. The longer I stayed in New York, the less I missed it, which was a good thing. A
Been here, done this
feeling overrode most of my experience here now. I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Josh just that.

I swiveled to face my laptop and checked my e-mail.
Ray!
I immediately panicked, thinking that I had forgotten to pay him.

Hey Sarah,

How’s it going in the big city? Miss you on the road here. Done any driving up there? Remember to check those blind spots.

Listen, the promotional ideas you had were awesome. Looks like me and That Pet Place are a match. I’d love more advice. Can you help me, oh marketing guru?

Of course I would pay you for your time. Not New York money, but not Farmwood money either. Just a good rate. Did that make sense? I was trying to be funny, but Vanessa says that whenever I do that I end up being not funny.

Anyway, let me know what you think.

Best,

Ray

I smiled. Sweet Ray. “
Best.
”

I took a sip of my now-lukewarm coffee. The timing here was uncanny. Of course I would help Ray. I e-mailed him back, asking for specifics. With each question, my confidence grew. Maybe this consulting thing did have legs.

I would e-mail Meghan about lunch. Worst-case scenario, she’d never respond, and best case, she’d dispense some helpful advice. I painstakingly composed what I hoped was the perfect paragraph. As I was reading it over for the twelfth time, Mona approached.

“You’re mouthing the words you’re reading,” she informed me.

“Well, I’m concentrating really hard. ‘
Thank you so much for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you, Sincerely, Sarah,
’ ” I said aloud as I read over my closing. I nodded to Mona and pressed send. “What’s up, Mo?”

“I’m ready to go,” she replied. “Part two of Mona day is now complete.”

“Two?”

“Yes, part one was that delicious bagel you brought me.”

I smiled as I twisted imaginary dimples into my cheeks with my forefingers. “Hey, so does Nate think you’re actually in Paris now?” I asked, standing up.

“He thinks I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Ah.” I turned my computer off. “Oh wait, so does this mean I have to make myself scarce tonight?”

“Indeed.” I pouted. “Please?”

“Of course, no problem. I get it. It’s her last hurrah.”

“Literally.”

“I’ll call Kate. Maybe she and Ben will want another date night or something.” I zipped my bag, slipped it over my shoulder, and followed Mona out of the shop while dialing my phone.

“Sarah!” yelled Kate. Franklin howled in the background.

“Hey, Kate, how’s it going?”

“I’m losing my mind. No, I’m not losing my mind, he’s a good baby, but well, yeah, I am losing my mind just a little. How are you? Did Mona have her surgery yet?”

“Tomorrow, actually.” I glanced at her walking beside me. Tomorrow a robot was going to remove the majority of her reproductive system and today we were going to Barneys. Was it okay to be so blasé about all this? Was Mona’s joke-cracking just following my lead, or was it her preferred method of dealing with the situation? She stared straight ahead, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Kate and I were obviously talking about her. I continued. “I was wondering if you might be in the mood for a houseguest tonight.”

“Oh my God, I would love it. Wait! You know what?” The howling abated. “By the way, I’m breast-feeding as we speak. In public, no less. Is that multitasking or what?”

“The ultimate. What?”

“I want us to go out, just me and you and a giant bottle of wine. Maybe some food, too. What do you think?”
I think I may be pregnant, Kate, so on second thought, let’s get burgers and shakes.

“I’d love to do that,” I replied instead.

“Good. I’ll tell Ben now.”

“Okay. I’ll be by in the early evening, all right?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

I hung up. “Mission accomplished.”

“Thanks, Sarah. I know it’s been a pain in the ass for you to schlep your stuff around like a nomad.”

“It hasn’t been so bad, really. I swear. It’s been nice to get to know Kate outside of Josh.” We scampered halfway down the subway stairs together before Mona stopped abruptly.

“Fuck this. My uterus wants to take a cab into the city,” she declared.

“Are you serious? That’s, like, what rich people do.”

“Well, anywhere but New York I’d probably be almost rich. We’re doing it.” She trotted back up the stairs.

“No arguments here.”

In the cab, Mona continued the conversation. “So Kate is cool?”

“She is. I like her. Motherhood has made her more human, somehow.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to gather them like Easter eggs and stuff them back inside. “I’m sorry.”

“What, because you mentioned motherhood? Sarah, we can’t tiptoe around the concept for the rest of our lives.”

“I know, but it seems awfully insensitive to bring it up now.”

Mona looked out her window as she spoke. “Well, it sucks, you know? No arguments here. But it’s not the end of the world, and all things considered, I’m pretty lucky.” She turned around to face me. “Even if I don’t feel so lucky. Sometimes I think if I say it enough times, I will actually feel that way.”

“Mona, is it okay that we’re joking around so much about all of this? This whole uterus-day thing? The last thing I want to do is undermine the gravity of what’s happening here.”

“No, Sarah, it’s good. It’s good to have you here and be joking around. It’s exactly what I need, I promise. It might not be what other people in my position would want, but it’s definitely what I want.”

“Okay.”

“And the motherhood thing. You have to be okay with saying that word in front of me, you know? Because you’re going to have kids, and—” She paused. “Wait, why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

“That face you make when you’re uncomfortable.”

“And what face is that?” I could see the red awnings of Barneys in the near distance. I had only been to this store twice in my life, both times with Mona.

“Your constipated face.”

“Well, I happen to be constipated, so that’s not a surprise.”

“No, you did. You made the face.”

“Near or far corner?” asked the cabbie from the front seat.

“Far,” answered Mona. “Sarah, what’s the story?” She swiped her card through the credit card machine on the seat back and we got out.

“Really, Mona, is this something you want to talk about now?”

“Shut up. You’re pregnant?” I didn’t reply. “Sarah! Holy shit!”

“I don’t know, Mona! I mean, I’m not sure. I may be, but I’m not sure.”

“Oh my God.” Behind her smile I could see her sadness, like thunderclouds in the distance on a summer afternoon.

“Mona, my timing here is terrible. Let’s not talk about it until there’s even something to talk about. If there’s even anything to talk about. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, right! Hello, are you nuts?” shrieked Mona as I held the door to Barneys open for her. The sweet perfume of wealth—sun-toasted cashmere, champagne, and tuberose—poured out into the street.

“I agree that your timing is shit, but it’s not like you have anything to apologize for, Sarah. You’re thirty-six years old and married. If you weren’t trying to get pregnant, you would be, like, one in a zillion. How late are you?”

“Five days,” I whispered as we made our way to the escalator.

“Five days!” She hopped on in front of me and I followed. I looked up at her guiltily. “And you haven’t taken a test yet? Hasn’t the suspense been killing you?”

“Not really. I’m just ambivalent about the whole thing, really. Or maybe just scared. At least I thought I was until it became a very real possibility that I might be.”

“So now that you may very well be pregnant, you’re more into the idea?” We disembarked and she led the way to a rack of sleek black.

“Yeah. At least I think so. Also, hanging with Franklin has sort of tipped the scale a bit. He’s a cool kid.”

“Well, that’s an interesting development. And very good news if indeed you are with child.” She held what looked like a pair of opaque panty hose on a hanger against her chest.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A shirt.”

“Seems a little insubstantial, no?”

“Sarah, that’s the look.”

“Fine, whatever.” I approached a black-and-white-patterned dress and sighed in appreciation. “Mona, this conversation is making me very uncomfortable. I hate talking to you about this when you’re in the position you’re in.”

“Why, because I don’t have the choice to be indifferent about kids?”

“Yes.” I rubbed a pair of black leather pants with my thumb and forefinger.

“Well, obviously I think you’re nuts not to want to have kids.”

I opened my mouth to protest. “Sorry, not to not want to have kids, but to be ambivalent about the whole idea. Pretty soon, if this time turns out to be a false alarm, you’re going to have to shit or get off the pot, as my grandmother used to say.”

“What a lovely euphemism.”