Driving Lessons: A Novel (16 page)

I raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

“Promise. Okay. Here goes.” She took a deep breath. “So, Ben and I finally had sex the other night. Our first time since Franklin was born.” The waiter delivered a basket of warm bread and I greedily plunged my hand inside of it as Kate ordered the charcuterie plate to start.

“So, my vagina,” she continued, not missing a beat as he walked away. “I had a vaginal birth, which is all well and good, and I wouldn’t change it for anything, believe me. But.” Her eyes widened. “My vagina is just not the same.”

“Well of course it’s not, Kate! Give the ole girl a break.”

“Now, when I have an orgasm”—she lowered her voice to an almost undetectable decibel level so that I was forced to lean across the table to hear her—“it sounds like my vagina is eating fried chicken.”

“What?” Water shot out of my nose and I covered it with my napkin.

She nodded somberly. “I’m not exaggerating. Not even a little.”

I threw my head back and laughed uproariously as she cracked a small smile. “Are you serious?” I wheezed. “Fried chicken?”

“Start doing your Kegels now is all I’m saying. Now, pass that bread basket over here, I am fucking starving.”

“I don’t think I’ll be ordering the chicken tonight,” I said as she bit into her slice.

“Seriously. Man, that feels good to get off of my chest. I’ve been dying to tell someone about it.”

“Could Ben hear it? Did he say anything?”

“Are you kidding? He was so grateful to be having sex that a humpback whale could have swum out of there and he wouldn’t have said a word. Anyway, let’s change the subject, shall we?” She paused to chew. “How’s Mona?”

“Her attitude is incredible.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, she’s fully faced the reality of her situation, she’s admitted to being pissed off about its unfairness, and at the same time she’s trying her best to be mindful of her luck.”

“What luck?”

“They caught it early, and she doesn’t have to endure chemo or radiation. To her, that’s lucky.”

“Wait, what about this boyfriend who’s totally in the dark? That doesn’t sound like facing the reality of her situation to me.”

“True.” The waiter deposited our platter of cheese and meat on the table and Kate clapped her hands appreciatively. “That’s the only glitch.”

“It’s a pretty big glitch,” said Kate as she wrapped a piece of prosciutto around a hunk of Gruyère. “Although I can understand her position.”

“You can? I think she’s nuts. He really cares about her.”

“I’m sure he does, but does he care enough about her to handle not only her cancer but a hysterectomy to boot? That’s pretty heavy for a new relationship if you ask me.”

“Right, but what’s heavier is lying and telling him that you’re going to Paris. That’s a relationship ender in my book.
‘Oh, how was Paris, Mona?’ ‘How was where?’
You know?”

“Wait, she told him she’s off to Paris instead of telling him the truth?” asked Kate.

“Yeah, for work. It’s her way of explaining being gone for two weeks.”

“Wow. That’s pretty creative. He buys it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. You know, I wasn’t a huge fan of his at first, but he’s grown on me. And I know for a fact that he’s crazy about her. I think he would really be there for her if he knew. She deserves that kind of support.”

“Well, what can you do? You can’t force her to tell him. Maybe it will all just work itself out on its own.”

“How often does that happen?” I asked.

“Less often the older we get, it seems.”

“Exactly.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. Josh. “Hey, Kate, do you mind if I step out for a second? It’s Josh.”

She waved me away. “Of course not, go on. I’ll just finish this platter.” She smiled devilishly, her lips purple from the wine.

“Hey,” I answered, moving as quickly as I could through the mass of hipsters in tiny peacoats and oversize glasses crowding the bar.

“Hi. Sorry it took me so long to call you back. Hectic day. How are you?”

“Good, good.” Out in the fresh air at last, I shivered. I had left my own jacket inside.

“You with Mona?”

“No, actually. She’s with Nate tonight. I’m having dinner with Kate.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yeah. She was desperate for a little girls’ time.”

“Nice! Good for you guys. How’s she doing? Ben says she’s—”

“Josh.”

“Yeah?”

“Josh, I’m pregnant,” I whispered, my heart racing.

“Wait, what?” His voice cracked. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Yeah.” My eyes welled for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

“Oh my God, Sarah! Wha— Are you sure? Of course you’re sure, what am I talking about? Sarah! We’re having a baby?”

“Looks like it.” My smile was so wide that my face hurt.

“How do you feel about it? Are you okay?”

“I’m surprisingly happy. Happy and terrified, but not one bit remorseful.”

“Sarah, I am overjoyed. I really am. God, I can’t believe we’re not together to celebrate this!”

“I know, it’s ridiculous.”

“Do you feel okay? Are you taking care of yourself? Are you getting enough rest?” His questions came at me rapid-fire.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I laughed. “Not even that nauseous, really. Just stunned.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“Mona.”

“Oh God, that must have been hard.”

“It was. I’ll call you later, Josh. I should get back to Kate.”

“Does she know?”

“No, no idea. I’d like to keep it to ourselves for a little bit, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Sarah. I love you so much. I know you weren’t exactly prepared for this, but I think you’re gonna be great at it.”

“I love you, too. And thanks. I think you’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

“Dad!” He laughed. “Oh wow.”

“Bye.”

As I pushed back through the crowd to my table, I placed my hand over the lower part of my stomach, no longer protecting just myself, but us.

16

I
crept out of Kate and Ben’s apartment in the morning, careful not to wake them. Brooklyn was quiet save for the click-clack of early-bird work heels, the soft thuds of runners’ feet, and the garbage trucks rumbling by like disgruntled rhinoceroses.

Mona and I had not even discussed the possibility of something going wrong with her operation. I knew the odds of that happening were slim, of course, but what if? What if they found more cancer? I willed myself out of that negative spiral and vowed to only focus on Mona’s wellness.

On the train, I sat down and closed my eyes, visualizing a smiling, cancer-free Mona floating in a swimming pool come summer.
But wait, Mona really isn’t a fan of getting her hair wet. How about the roof of the MoMA sipping wine? Okay, much better. What about a demure Mona hand in hand with Nate in Prospect Park? Nice, although will Nate still be around, all things considered? For my purposes I’ll assume that he will be.

At her stop, I climbed the subway stairs to the street. I shivered slightly, thinking of how much I missed the curl of Josh’s body around mine, even the way he would get heavier and heavier as he fell asleep, until at last, feeling like a giant boulder had collapsed on top of me, I shoved him—sometimes gently and sometimes not—off.

I buzzed Mona’s apartment and took a deep breath. Would she be pretending that everything was the same as always, that this wasn’t the day they were going to remove much of her insides, or would she be facing it head-on? I had no way of knowing, but whatever mood she was in, I would match it.

She buzzed me in and I ascended the stairs slowly. Her door was ajar, and I pushed it open tentatively to find her suitcase splayed open the way, well, the way I imagined she would be in about six hours.

“Do you think I need more than one pair of pajama pants?” she asked, walking out of the bedroom and holding up two to show me.

“How long will you be there?”

“They say I should be in and out in twenty-four hours.”

“One is probably fine then. And something to go home in.” She draped one pair over the couch and folded the other with careful precision. “And won’t you be in one of those hospital gowns for most of your visit anyway?”

“You’re right. I hope not, though. What about shoes? Do you think I need to bring another pair?”

“Other than the ones you’re wearing?” I glanced down at her black flats. Like everything she owned, they looked expensive. Not garishly expensive, but the kind of expensive that good taste and a well-paying job afforded. “Those are nice, by the way.”

“Thanks. I got them on sale.”

“Remember that time you let me borrow your Prada loafers?” I asked, smiling.

“Oh my God, I had forgotten about that. I came out of the bathroom and you were wearing them with white ankle socks!” She shook her head, laughing. “The horror!”

“You almost had a heart attack,” I said.

“Who wouldn’t? People should go to jail for that sort of fashion offense.”

“I was worried about blisters! Anyway, I’m better now. No socks with flats.”

“I’m so proud. And to answer your question, yes, these are comfortable. I don’t need another pair. I’ll just bring these.”

“Hey, Mona, you haven’t stopped moving since I arrived. You okay?”

“I’m scared, Sarah. What can I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I replied softly. “Just let me know how I can help you.” I walked over and hugged her, and she rigidly returned my embrace. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Will you make some coffee? Oh wait, I keep forgetting that I can’t eat or drink anything.”

“You can’t? Will you hate me if I have some?”

“Can you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can pregnant ladies drink caffeine? I think that’s a no-no.”

“You’re kidding.” No soft cheese, no raw sushi, no wine, and now no coffee? I slumped against the wall dejectedly.

“I guess it depends on your doctor?”

“Well, I’ll just make a weak cup, then. Wait, should I? Never mind. Forget it. What time did Nate leave?” I asked.

“Around two this morning, I guess. He didn’t want to, but I insisted. I just needed some time alone to process what’s happening today.”

“Instead of pretend to be excited about Paris, you mean?”

“Exactly. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think about Paris the same way. It will always be a code word for ‘hysterectomy’ now.”

“We should use the word ‘Paris’ as a stand-in for everything shitty we have to endure from here on out,” I suggested.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Idiot bosses, for example. Instead of saying your boss was riding you about something insignificant, you could say that she was sending you to Paris.”

“I like that. Or when you go away for a weekend, have a great time, and somehow manage to gain three pounds, you could say that the doughnuts you inhaled gave you the Paris.”

“Or when your man is irritating the crap out of you, you can say that you’re sending his ass to Paris.”

“I’m sending this doctor to Paris if he screws up.”

“With a six-hour layover in Frankfurt.”

“Okay, I think I’m all packed,” Mona announced.

“Let’s sit down then. Take a load off.” I made myself comfortable on the couch while Mona perched on the edge of it nervously.

“What time do you think we should leave?” she asked, fidgeting with her waistband.

“You have to be there at eleven?”

She nodded.

“We’re taking a cab?”

“Well, I thought about driving, but since I probably won’t be able to drive back, I decided against it.” Mona had inherited her mother’s 1984 BMW. She used it for menial tasks like going to the grocery store or traveling upstate whenever she had an itch for greenery. She called it Gus.

“I can drive Gus!” I shrieked, my heart immediately racing at the thought. “I can drive now, thank you very much.”

“Virginia back roads are one thing, Sarah, but New York City is quite another. Let’s be real about this.”

“Mona, I can drive, damn it. Whatever you need, I can do. I have Ray on speed dial in case I need any guidance.”

“Sarah, that’s very sweet of you. I’ll take you up on it next time. For now though, let’s just take a cab.”

Thank you, Jesus,
I uttered in my head to the rug. Why I had railed so passionately in my own driving defense I had no idea. What would I have done if she had accepted my offer? “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“So let’s leave at ten, just to be safe,” said Mona, settling back against the cushion at last. “We’ll leave at ten,” she repeated.

“Sounds like a plan,” I replied uselessly.

“Have you started on Ray’s campaign yet?” she asked.

“Yes. Well, no. I haven’t yet.”

“Sarah! Come on! This is a great starting point for you.” She scowled at me.

“I know, Mona! Geez. I’m planning on working on it while you’re in surgery.”

“Okay, good.” She looked at her watch. “Shit, it’s nine forty-five. How did that happen? Maybe we should leave now, just to be safe.”

She looked at me with an expression of panic on her face. As she got up, I closed my eyes and uttered a silent prayer.
Please, God, let this operation go smoothly.
It wasn’t much, but it was all I had as insurance. I turned to Mona, who was rummaging through her wallet.

“You ready?” I asked, trying my best to sound calm.

“I guess so,” she whispered. “I wanted to be all tough today, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

“Who do you need to be tough for?” I asked.

“You.”

“Me? Are you kidding? I’m the biggest wimp on the planet. I practically crapped my pants a moment ago just thinking about driving a car.”

“Maybe I wanted to be tough for me,” she said, reconsidering.

“Mona, you are the strongest person I know, hands down, no contest.”

“I am?”

“The way you’ve handled this—the way you handle everything—you are incredible. To be nervous about this operation does not make you weak. If anything, it makes you stronger.”

“How’s that?” She closed her wallet and pulled her shirt hem down over her waistband.

“Embracing vulnerability is strength, I think. Not feeling like you have to apologize for it is strength.”

She reached down to help me up from the couch. “I like that,” she said. “Thanks.”

T
he waiting room smelled like pepperoni. I crossed my legs and my foot shook against my will. A teacher had reprimanded me loudly once in middle school, in front of the entire class, for my endlessly vibrating appendage, and the embarrassment stayed with me still. I stood up to stop myself, and the man sprawled out on the couch across from me opened one eye in annoyance. Fidgeting was not encouraged here either, apparently.

I glanced at my watch. The doctor had told us that Mona’s laparoscopic hysterectomy should take about forty minutes, which blew my mind. You could get a manicure and pedicure in forty minutes, commute to work in midtown in forty minutes, wait in line for brunch on a weekend in Manhattan for just forty minutes if you were lucky. It seemed like an impossibly short amount of time to enter someone through an incision the size of a keyhole, scoop out some vital organs, and close her again. Impossibly short in that context, but impossibly long for the person waiting on the other side.

I ambled over to the wall directory, curious where the nursery was. I’d never seen one in real life, only on television. All of those freshly scrubbed pink babies wrapped in their blanket burritos with those tiny paper bracelets circling their wrists. It was on the third floor. On second thought, it seemed unfair to Mona, to go look at babies while she was having her chance to have one removed. I would stay put. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a number that I recognized, but I couldn’t remember from where.

“Hello?” I asked tentatively.

“Sarah?”

Oh, that voice. That unmistakable, nicotine-edged, blunt voice. The kind of voice that would ask you if that was what you were wearing when you had already commuted in to work and were tucking into breakfast at your desk. It was Meghan.

“Oh, hi! Meghan, how are you?” I began to perspire despite the fact that the hospital’s temperature rivaled that of a meat locker.

“Oh God, this Petals launch is officially dead in the water. Five years of blood, sweat, and tears and sayonara. Utter bullshit.”

Petals was a tween makeup line that the company had been trying to launch for what felt like forever. Every time we had been ready to unveil our plan, either the celebrity spokesgirl ended up in rehab or a focus group of twelve-year-olds ripped our packaging ideas to shreds with their tiny manicured nails. It had been the bane of my existence while I worked there.

“Good riddance, I say.” I walked outside into the fresh air. The smell of pastries from a nearby coffee cart tickled my nostrils. My eyes lit up as I realized that I could have one, minus the guilt. Point one for pregnancy.

“I suppose. Although, at the moment we’re focusing on men’s makeup. Kill me now.”

“Men’s makeup?”

“Oh yes, it’s all the rage, didn’t you know? The bastards lose weight at ten times our speed, look better as they age, and now can pat a little concealer onto their under-eye circles to salt the wound even further.”

“What on earth are you calling the line?”

“Not a clue.”

“What about Bastard Balm? For the lip balm, at least. Assuming there is one.”

“That’s actually not bad.” A pen scribbled furiously in the background. “Listen, I got your e-mail. Of course we can grab lunch. What’s your week like?”

“This week is out, but next week works. Are you free on Tuesday?” I heard the
tap-tap-tap
of her keyboard.

“It’s a miracle, I’m free. How about one o’clock at that sushi place around the corner?”

“Around the block from work?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Sushi Den. See you then.”

“Okay, see you then. And, Meghan, thanks a lot, I really appreciate it.”

“As long as you aren’t begging for your job back. You aren’t, are you? I’m just about to hire someone remotely acceptable and can’t deal with any more setbacks on that front. You should have seen the candidates I had to interview. One woman came in with her thong hanging out of her pants, for chrissake. It was all I could do not to kick her out of my office. Anyway, I have to run. See you next week.”

“See—”

Click.

M
ona looked so fragile in her hospital bed, as though her vigor had been surgically removed as well. Her arms, once brown and strong, now appeared almost twiglike to me, and gray, like the bark of a birch tree. Her hair had not lost its luster, however. It spread across the pillow like a sea of dark chocolate. She blinked against the glare of the fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” I said quietly.

“Hey,” she replied hoarsely.

“Want some water?” I stood up too quickly, and my asleep foot shot pins and needles of pain up my leg.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, no problem, you got it.” I dragged my foot with me to the small kitchen that I was already a frequenter of. I didn’t even like Gatorade, but there were three bottles of it in my bag. If it was free and not nailed down, I was taking it. I filled her glass with ice and shook my foot in an attempt to speed up its recovery.