Driving Lessons: A Novel (17 page)

“Here you go,” I announced breathlessly as I handed her the cup. She turned her head and smiled at me.

“Sarah, take it easy. I’m not going anywhere.”

I sat on the bed. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I’m a spaz. Forgive me. I’m the world’s worst nurse.”

“You’re not my nurse, you’re my friend. And you’re an excellent friend.”

“No, you are.”

“No, you.” Mona’s laugh morphed into a cough.

“You okay?” I asked, panicking.

“Yeah.” She finished coughing. “The doctor told me that everything went really well. I’m just a bit hoarse I guess, from the breathing tube.” She sighed and held the cup on her lap. “I’m sad,” she confessed.

“I’m sure,” I answered, since I had nothing else to say. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“No.” She sat quietly and I began to get up to comfort her. She waved me away. “No, no, please. No hugs or anything right now. I just need to be sad.”

“Do you want me to get lost?” I asked. “I can wander the halls, no problem.”

“No, I want you here. Just don’t speak or anything for a while, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You know, before this, I kept trying to imagine what it would feel like after it was done. Would I feel differently with so much of me gone? Would I be relieved that it was over? Would I look different?” She rubbed her eyes. “Remember the first time you had sex, and afterward you just laid there, wondering if other people would be able to tell just by looking at you that you were someone that had sex?” She looked at me and I nodded. “I remember my first postcoital moment in the mirror so clearly. I was literally examining my face, as though the words ‘just had sex’ might be etched into it somewhere. Of course I looked exactly the same, but to me, I didn’t. I looked older. Wiser. At any rate, that’s the way I feel now. Like I must look different now that so much of me is gone.”

“Want a mirror?” I asked.

“You have one?”

“Sure, a compact.”

“When was the last time you wore the sort of makeup that required a compact, Sarah?”

“That’s beside the point. I carry it for emergencies. You never know in this day and age of reality television when a camera crew might appear on the scene.”

I dug into my bag and reached my arm across the blue blanket to hand it to her. She opened it tentatively, as though she was afraid it might explode.

As she lifted it to her face, I found myself holding my breath. Of course she looked exactly the same, but fact and fiction were often impossible to separate in times of emotional strain. She tilted her face to the left, and the right, and then lifted her chin up and moved it back down before snapping the compact shut.

“Well, I look the same,” she declared. “For better or worse. Definitely tired, though.”

“You always look tired,” I said, teasing.

“Thanks a lot. Who are you, my mom?” She stuck her tongue out at me. “Sarah, I’m never having kids. It’s official.”

“But you know what else you’re not having?” I said.

“What?”

“Cancer.”

“God, I hope you’re right. I really hope you’re right.”

“Okay, honey, time for me to check your vitals,” announced a nurse, wheeling a cart in behind her.

“Want me to pick you up some dinner from the outside?” I asked as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Mona’s arm. “Hillstone?”

“You would do that?” Mona beamed. “For me?” I gave her a thumbs-up and grabbed my jacket. On the street, I headed south as I dialed Josh.

“Sarah,” he answered. His voice sounded like home.

“Josh. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. How’s Mona?”

“The operation went well, but she’s very sad.”

“The doctor says everything looks good? The cancer is out?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the most important part.”

“You’re right, it is. I think the reality of her situation has just really hit her now, though.”

“The not-able-to-have-kids part, you mean?” he asked.

“Yeah. The timing of our situation and hers, it’s just crazy. I feel terrible about it.”

“Tell me about it. What’s it like, both of you knowing that you’re pregnant while she can never be?”

“She’s been incredibly supportive, but I’m sure it’s hard. I’m trying to keep a low profile.”

“You feeling okay? Nauseous or anything? Should I come up there, Sar?”

“Oh God, no! I’ll be home soon enough.”

“Okay. You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“How’s New York treating you, anyway? Are you still feeling over it, or has she got you in her claws again?”

“No, I’m still of the same mind. I can’t imagine having a baby here.” A woman with half of her head shaved wearing a very expensive suit and stiletto heels emerged from a cab in front of me. “I mean, some things I’ll always miss. Sophistication, for one.”

“Sure, that’s a given. The best-looking, most sophisticated people in the country are in New York.”

“They really are.” I entered the restaurant and approached the hostess.

“But think about it this way. In New York, we were invisible, but in Farmwood, we’re at the head of the sophistication-and-attractiveness class. Right?”

“Speak for yourself! I am not invisible here. Hold on a second.” I placed my order and then took a seat at the bar between two balding fraternity guys dressed in identical black suits and blue button-downs, their shined black loafers reflecting the overhead light like mirrors. “Okay, I’m back.”

“No, of course you’re not invisible. My point is that the bigger fish/smaller pond scenario has its advantages.”

“Right. Hold on again.” I motioned to the bartender. “Could I have a seltzer, please? Thanks.”

“A seltzer!” exclaimed Josh. “Never thought I’d see the day when my wife ordered a seltzer from the bar.”

“The day has come.” We sat in silence for a moment as I took a sip.

“I should get going, Sar. I have about a million tests to grade. Please give Mona a hug from me and tell her I’m thinking about her.”

“I will.”

“And you—take it slow.”

“Roger that, doc.”

After the hostess brought me my food, I settled my tab and walked out into the chilly air. Here, my feet knew where to go. I could close my eyes and find my way back to the hospital easily if I wanted to.

Would I ever feel like my internal compass was hardwired accordingly in Farmwood? Could I actually get behind the wheel and know where I was going?

In the distance, the hospital loomed in front of me like a giant honeycomb. I quickened my pace, eager to serve my injured queen.

M
orning, sunshine,” I announced groggily as I pulled back the curtain to greet Mona. She was sitting up, her mouth set in a determined line.

“Oh, Sarah, don’t tell me that you spent the night here.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you that I spent the night in the pepperoni-infused waiting room.” I collapsed onto the foot of her bed.

“There was really no need, my dear. I’m fine.” She smiled unconvincingly.

“Yeah, but the idea of taking the bus to the subway and then going all the way back to Brooklyn just to wake up at dawn and do it again seemed like a miserable one, anyway. What’s one night?”

My explanation was partially true. Yes, the one-two punch of bus and subway transport had been a bear to consider at ten
P.M.
on a Wednesday night, but the real truth was that I was scared for Mona.

She had cried throughout dinner and when pressed, refused to talk about anything. She’d ask me to go, told me that she just wanted to be alone, really and truly, and so I had made myself relatively comfortable two hundred feet away.

“Did the doctor give you the green light?” I asked, shuddering as I caught a whiff of my own breath.

“Yep, all systems go.”

“Did he tell you what to expect? What to be wary of in terms of symptoms?”

She reached over to smooth my furrowed brow. “Yes, Florence.” The nurse wheeled in a breakfast tray.

“What’s on the menu?” I lifted the silver dome to find congealed eggs and damp toast, with what appeared to be beef jerky passing for bacon alongside it. “Ew.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Mona pushed her covers back. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You sure you’re ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She began to stand up and I reached out to help. “My scar is so tiny, Sar. You wouldn’t even know it was there if you weren’t looking.”

“That robot is a hell of a surgeon, huh? Somebody give that guy a promotion.”

Mona smiled. “Ooh, feeling a little woozy.” She stretched slightly and rocked on her toes with her eyes closed.

“Take it easy.” I stood up myself and grabbed her. “You need some help?” I asked, handing her her clothes.

“I didn’t wear this in the hospital bed like I was supposed to!” she exclaimed, unfurling her folded sweater and draping it across the bed. “You called it, though. Who can be bothered when they give you the gown?” She reached around to untie it. “To be honest, this thing is actually dangerously comfortable.”

“Should we steal a few?” As I opened my mouth to forecast my own expanding girth and potential use for them, I thought better of it and snapped it shut.

“Oh my God, Sarah, me wearing these at home as nightgowns would be the end of my libido. Let’s at least pretend I’m going to want to have sex again.”

“What do they say about that, anyway?” I asked. “Can you? Physically, I mean?”

“Physically I should be fine. The doctor said I could even resume sex in a month or so. Emotionally, well, that’s a different story.”

Ten minutes later, Mona’s nurse wheeled her down the hall as I walked beside them. The elevator opened and a new mother cradling her swaddled, tiny infant sat in a wheelchair with her husband and a nurse behind her.

“There’s room, come on in,” said the new dad.

“Oh no, we’ll wait for the next one,” I answered.

“No! No, we’ll get in,” barked Mona. And then quietly, “Thank you very much.”

We got in and I glanced at Mona, expecting to see her staring at some imaginary something on the floor. Instead, she peered down into the bundle, a look of wonder and sadness on her face.

“He’s so sweet,” she whispered.

His mother looked over at her, her eyes bright. “Thank you. We think so.”

His eyes were shut, the delicate pink lids and sparse eyelashes reminding me of a baby bird. Suddenly, his mouth puckered into an O and we all giggled appreciatively. “He’s hungry, I guess,” she announced. “Everything is so new now. I can only guess.”

“We can’t believe they’re letting us take him home,” murmured his dad.

“Believe it,” said the nurse, sounding bored.

“Good luck,” said Mona as we parted ways on the ground floor. The parents smiled graciously before being whisked away. In nine months’ time, that would be me and Josh. I couldn’t believe it.

“What’s that Robert Frost poem?” asked Mona as her nurse deposited her by the door and she stood up.

“Which one is that?”

“Something about the road less traveled?”

I took Mona’s arm and we walked slowly into the crisp air. The sky was as blue as the Caribbean, with not a cloud in sight. “Oh of course, his famous one. ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—’ ”

“ ‘I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference,’ ” finished Mona. “That’s how I feel right now. Sad, but somehow a little optimistic at the same time.” She took a deep breath. “Mostly sad, though.”

“You’re incredible,” I said, grabbing her hand.

“Thanks, Sar. Let’s go home.”

17

No right turn on red in New York City.

I
stared at my blank computer screen. How could I take Minnie’s Driving School to the next level? Did we lose the mouse ears altogether and start from scratch, or did we capitalize on the publicity the cars had already created for themselves? There was something comforting about the fact that no matter what, even the most reserved student could not take himself too seriously behind a furry wheel.

I brainstormed quickly, feeling enlivened by the
click-clack
of the keys. Mona was taking a nap. It was day three of my nursing duty, and really, it wasn’t bad at all. She seemed to be recovering nicely, and for the past two nights we’d eaten ice cream in bed as we watched back episodes of
Mad Men
. It was kind of lovely, actually.

Other than the very occasional wave of nausea, I felt perfectly normal and had even found myself wondering if that pregnancy test had been wrong. Two more tests had disproved that theory, however. It was official, and I was grateful for the—so far at least—easy ride. Mona didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell. We had an unspoken, and smart, in my opinion, agreement not to bring my uterus up again until she had sufficiently mourned the loss of her own.

“Sarah?” she called.

“What’s up?” I asked from her doorway. “How may I assist you, madame?”

“Could you pour me a glass of orange juice?”

“You got it.” I hustled into the kitchen.

“Shake the carton first!” she yelled.

“I did!” I brought the glass to her and she leaned back against her pillows.

“Can you fluff these, please?” she asked, leaning forward immediately.

“You serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. They’re flat. Please, Florence?”

I rolled my eyes and complied. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Just tired.” She closed her eyes. “God, I hope I’m not depressed. That’s the last thing I need.”

“You just had major surgery, Mo. Your body is exhausted.” I sat on the bed and smoothed her comforter.

“I know, but it’s weird to be in bed for this long. Despite my best efforts, my brain is spinning like a hamster wheel.”

“I know what you mean. But try your best to just surrender to your recuperation. In a few days’ time, you’ll be back in the functioning world and wondering why the hell you were so anxious to jump back in.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just brainstorming about the driving school.”

“Cool. Any winning ideas yet?”

“Not really. But I feel like I’m getting there, you know? Which is good. I really think this consultant idea could work.”

“I know it can work. And it seems like it would be the perfect solution for the whole return-to-work-after-the-baby-comes dilemma.”

“Yeah,” I replied flippantly, not wanting to dwell on the subject. “I’m eager to hear what Meghan thinks.”

“I bet she’s going to be really supportive.”

“I hope so.” I stood up. “You want to take a slow walk around the block before we leave for your appointment?” Mona and I were due at her doctor’s office for a follow-up visit later in the afternoon. She grimaced in response. “Come on, the doctor said you needed to do that at least once a day.”

“Really? In the rain?” She looked out the window and sighed. “Can we go to Tart and get cupcakes?”

“The ones with the vanilla frosting piled about eight inches high?”

“Those are the ones.”

“Done. Just throw on some rain boots and a jacket over your pajamas. No one will be the wiser.” On the street, I held the umbrella over our heads as we shuffled through the mist.

“You know, it would be nice if that umbrella actually kept the rain off of us,” whined Mona.

“What? It’s hard to keep it in the middle!”

“Oh God, give it to me.” She yanked it out of my hand.

“Man, what is with you today? You’re lucky I don’t quit. Just put it over your own head, I don’t care about the rain.”

“No, here, I’ll hold it over us.”

“Mona, we’ll have the same issue. Seriously, it’s fine. Just go ahead.”

“Sorry, Sarah. I’m just feeling tired and sore and sorry for myself today.”

“It’s okay. You’re entitled.” We walked past an abandoned and sodden love seat on the curb. “Hey, remember that time I made you help me move one of these into my apartment?” I asked.

“I do. That was when you were in that place on Henry, right?”

“Yep. I loved that place.”

“I was on my way to meet an Internet date when you called.”

“It was perfect timing! You were practically right outside.”

“Sarah, I was dressed up. I had blow-dried my hair, for chrissake.”

“Since when does moving a couch mess up your hair?”

“Since always when it’s eighty-five degrees out.”

“Well, who else was I going to call? You’re the brawniest woman I know, Mona.”

She smiled at me. “Thanks a lot.”

“Man, we really had to wrestle that thing through the door. Didn’t we end up having to screw the legs off?” I asked.

“Yep. A solution that we only came up with after an hour of attempting to get it through in one piece, mind you. My date ended up bailing.”

“Wasn’t he the one who played the drums in some no-name band?”

“Yeah.”

“I did you a favor.”

“You’re probably right. Where is that love seat now, anyway?”

“Rescued by another broke twentysomething and currently residing in their apartment, I’m sure.”

“Right, and I bet some other best friend got suckered into helping.”

“It’s the circle of life.” I reached to grab the pocket of her coat. “Hey, in case I haven’t said it enough, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being such a wonderful best friend. You’ve always been there for me, no matter what.”

“As you have for me.” She grabbed my pocket with her free hand in return and we became a walking human pretzel. “You know, a lot of people fall in love, get married, and forget all about their single bestie. Not you. That says a lot about the kind of person you are.”

“Yeah, but a lot of people don’t have the history that you and I have,” I replied. “We spent our twenties together in New York. That’s a lifetime in other cities. And besides, I wasn’t always so great about it. Every time I met a guy who was even remotely into me I would inevitably disappear for a month or two.”

“That’s normal. Part of the girlfriend code. You’re allowed three months max. I did it too,” said Mona.

“Yeah, you did. Remember Indigo?”

“Oh my God! Indigo! Jesus, he was hot.”

“And ridiculous.”

“So ridiculous!” She laughed. “The actor who moonlighted as a nude model at Cooper Union! I forgot about him.”

“I didn’t. I thought you’d been kidnapped.”

“And look at me now, dating a comedian paralegal. I don’t exactly shoot for the stars, do I?”

“Yeah, but Nate is different. There’s more to him than what he’s currently doing.” I bit my tongue, not wanting to spill the beans about his teaching aspirations.

“That’s a change from your first impression of him.”

“Yeah, he’s grown on me. I actually miss having him around. Or rather, I miss seeing you when he’s around. He seems to make you really happy.”

She nodded. “He does. I miss him too. I’ve been thinking—I may tell him.” We stopped in front of the bakery, admiring the goodies glistening in the window.

“I think you should.” I took my hand out of her pocket and put my arm around her.

O
kay, I’m ready,” announced Mona, walking out of her bedroom dressed in street clothes for the first time in days. “Does this look okay? I may have cupcake-induced body dysmorphia.”

“You look great.”

“The headband isn’t too much?” she asked, her back to me as she gazed at herself in the mirror.

“It’s not my favorite look.”

“Okay.” She ripped it off and threw it onto the chair beside me.

“You feeling okay about this?” I asked.

“Nervous, but relatively okay,” Mona answered. “I feel pretty good, you know? Hopefully everything checks out down there.”

“Fingers crossed.” I followed her down the stairs.

“Yuck. Now it’s truly disgusting outside,” said Mona. We stood in the foyer of her building and frowned at the curtain of rain waiting for us on the other side of the door. “We’re never going to get a cab in this weather, and the subway is going to be slow as molasses.”

“That’s a given.” Whenever it rained in New York, all forms of transportation took a predictable and incredibly frustrating hit.

“That’s why you’re going to drive Gus.” She reached into her pocket and retrieved her keys, which she dangled in front of me like a fishing lure.

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious, Sarah.”

“Get out of here, Mona. Don’t be crazy.”

“Why is that crazy? You said that you know how to drive, so let’s go.”

“Why can’t you drive?”

“Because I don’t want to.” She put the keys in the palm of my hand and closed my fingers around them. I stared at her in disbelief.

“Mona, come on. It’s raining and your doctor’s office is across a fucking bridge and in a different borough. I’ve barely driven to the grocery store in a town called Farmwood, for chrissake. I can’t do this. I won’t. You’re nuts.” I lowered my voice to a desperate whisper. “Plus the stress on the baby.”

“So how come you were all gung ho to drive me to my surgery the other day? No excuses. You’re doing it.” She took the umbrella from me and opened the door. “Let’s go.” She charged ahead, forcing me to keep up or get completely soaked.

“Mona, do you want us all to die?” I asked. “Seriously, do you? Because our chances of doing so are pretty good if I’m behind the wheel. And I wasn’t actually serious the other day when I offered to drive. It was temporary insanity brought on by my concern for you.”

“Sarah, enough with the whining. So far this month I’ve survived cancer and a hysterectomy. I think my chances of three for three are pretty good.”

“You just jinxed us! You said it out loud! Spit on the ground! Spit!” I was on the verge of hysteria.

“Sarah, get ahold of yourself.” Mona turned around to face me. “You can do this. Whatever you set your mind to, you do. You wanted to work for Glow a long time ago—”

“God knows why,” I interjected.

“That’s not the point. The point is that you made it happen and happened to be very good at what you did. You wanted to fall in love and marry a good man. You did. You were over New York and wanted to make a change—you did that too. You wanted a new sense of self, so you’re on your way to finding it with your new business plan. The thing with the driving is, I know that you know you have to do it, but I don’t think you quite want to do it. There’s a small part of you that likes being immobile and dependent on other people, because then you can use your phobia as a convenient excuse not to have to make an effort.”

“Mona, I—”

“Shush. You know I’m speaking the truth. This fear of driving isn’t about driving at all, it’s about starting over in a new place and embracing change. Besides, that kid is going to have to go to the doctor and on playdates and all sorts of shit. You need to be ready.”

“I’m not ready,” I whimpered, referring to both the baby and driving.

“I love you and I know that you’re ready for this, even if you don’t believe it yourself. You came up here to fix me, and now it’s my turn to fix you.” She pointed to the keys in my hand. “Let’s go.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” asked Mona.

“Okay.” We approached Gus. I stood before the car, taking it in.

“Speed it up already, I’m going to be late!” yelled Mona. I opened her door and then ran around to mine.

“I’m sitting in the driver’s seat,” I announced, my heart beating rapidly. “I think I may have to say everything out loud, to calm my nerves.”

“I know I gave that impassioned speech back there about three for three and all that, but I really would like to survive this drive. Whatever works for you, do it.” I put the key in the ignition and then immediately removed it.

“Mona, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“Drive. The. Fucking. Car. Sarah.”

“Okay, okay.” I took a deep breath. “You know what? I’m going to call Ray.” I dialed his number.
Pick up, please pick up.

“Hello?”

“Ray!”

“Yeah?” He sounded confused.

“It’s Sarah!”

“Sarah?” I could hear the television in the background.

“From driving class? Your marketing guru?”

“Oh yeah, of course, of course. How you doin’, girl?” Mona tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to her watch impatiently. I started the car.

“Do you have a minute?”
Windshield wipers?
I mouthed to Mona. She leaned across and flipped up the lever.

“Sure, I got a minute.”

“What about a half hour?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Well, long story short, I’m about to drive into Manhattan from Brooklyn, and I was just hoping that I could have you on speakerphone, you know, for comfort purposes. And also to make it less likely that I’ll, I dunno, veer off into the East River.” Mona looked at me with alarm.

“All right, you got this. No problem. You parallel parked?”