The Solomon Sisters Wise Up (29 page)

“Always siding against me,” Mrs. Maxwell snapped at her husband.

“Mom, there’s nothing to side against. No one’s keeping the baby from anyone. We’re here so that you two and Sarah can get to know each other, that’s all.”

“Grandparents have rights,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “There was a case on television, on
Law and Order,
I think it was, about this terrible woman who didn’t like her mother-in-law, and the court gave the grandmother visitation rights.”

“So you want this baby in your life even though it’s
illegitimate?
” Griffen asked with a wink at me.

“Of course I do! This is my grandchild! My first. Oh, I do hope the baby gets your eyes, Sarah. Such lovely blue eyes. Both my boys got their father’s brown eyes. Not that there’s anything wrong with your eyes, dear,” she added to Mr. Maxwell, who was busily scraping the last bite of pie off his plate.

“What?” Mr. Maxwell asked.

“Nothing, dear,” his wife said. “Have another slice of pie.”

And as Mrs. Maxwell heaped another slice of pumpkin pie on her husband’s plate and Griffen smiled at me, I was absolutely sure his family just might be almost as neurotic as mine.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Griffen said as we walked into his apartment. He turned on a lamp, and the living room I spent so much time in between August and October lit up before me. “Let’s see…I have wine, Coke, coffee—everything you can’t have,” he added as he opened and closed cabinets and the refrigerator. “I’ll run out and get you something.”

“Griffen, it’s Thanksgiving. Everything’s closed. And water is just fine. You have that, don’t you?”

He nodded. “That I have.”

I sat down on his sofa and hugged a throw pillow against me. He came into the living room with two glasses of water and sat down next to me. Our thighs were touching.

“It’s going to take them a while to get used to it,” Griffen said.

“That’s to be expected,” I said. “You’ve known for six weeks now and you’re still not used to it.”

He took a deep breath and stood up and paced for a minute, then sat back down. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I am really, really sorry.” And all of a sudden, he burst into tears. He covered his face with his hands and cried.

“Griffen, it’s okay,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

He dropped his hands on his thighs and leaned his head back against the back of the couch, letting out another deep breath. “God, I’m an asshole. An idiot.”

“Griffen, talk to me,” I said.

He turned to face me. “I was scared out of my mind, Sarah. I still am. But the way I just bailed on you when you told me—” He covered his face with his hands again. “And the things I said to you that day in the coffee bar—I don’t even know how to apologize for that. What could I possibly say to make up for that?”

“Griffen, it’s okay, really,” I said. “I’ve been fine. I am fine.”

And I was. I wasn’t a mess. I wasn’t falling apart.

“I need you to know that I haven’t just been going on with my life as though you’re not pregnant, Sarah. I didn’t just walk away and wash my hands. It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?” I asked.

“You, the baby, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. What it means. What it’s going to mean. How I feel.”

“And how do you feel?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m thinking about. I just know that I’ve missed you, Sarah. And that I’m scared to death of being a father.”

“It’s okay to be scared, Griffen. I sort of still am too.”

“I’ve lain awake nights thinking about you walking around with this,” he said, “going through this alone—”

“I’m not alone,” I said. “I have my family. My sisters have been a great support system.”

As I said it, I realized how much I meant it. I
didn’t
feel alone anymore. My sisters
were
a great support system. I didn’t know what I would have done without them this past month.

“I’m glad they were there for you,” he said. “And I’m so sorry I wasn’t. If you’ll let me, I’d like to start being there.”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“Meaning I don’t know. I’ve thought a lot about what you said about me being immature, that the situation is what it is. Just like you need to step up to face that your life is going to change, so do I.”

“But, Griffen, I’m happy about the baby. I
love
the baby. I
want
the baby. I needed to face the reality that my life is going to change and that I might very well be a single mother, but I never had to accept that I’m going to have a baby. Do you know what I mean? You were all set to break up with me when you thought I was pressing you for a
commitment,
” I reminded him.

“I know,” he said. “But I also didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“So now that you do, now that you’ve
digested,
you suddenly want me?”

He took a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t know what I want. That’s the truth.”

“So, I’m here because…?”

“Because you
are
pregnant with my child. Because I do have feelings for you.”

“What feelings?” I asked. “Are you saying you want to be friends? Are you saying you want us to continue dating? Are you saying you want to get married? What?”

“Sarah, all I know is that I like you—a lot,” he said. “I know I was having a great time getting to know you. I know I find you intelligent, funny, warm, sweet and interesting. I know I like being with you, hearing what you think.”

“So you want to be friends,” I said.

He leaned close to me and kissed me on the lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since I picked you up a few hours ago.”

“So you want to be more than friends,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll make the best fuck buddy in my condition, Griffen.”

“Sarah, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“What
are
you saying?” I snapped. “Because you’re going to need to be clear. I’m pregnant, Griffen. I’m having a baby. I’m not looking for uncertainties right now. If you want a relationship with me, great. If you’re not sure of anything, then I’d prefer we were simply friends.”

“I am sure of a few things, Sarah,” he said. “I’m sure that I have strong feelings. I’m sure that I can be a good father to our baby. I just think that we need to get to know each other in this new context. Before, we were just seeing each other a couple times a week, going to the movies, having fun. Now, we’re going to be someone’s parents. We have a lot of work to do, Sarah. I think we can do it together. I’m just saying that everything is different and we need to start all over again.”

I took his hand and placed it on top of my belly. He leaned his head on my shoulder, and we sat like that for a very long time.

17

Ally

“S
o, Ally, how about a nightcap?” Rupert asked as we left Gastronomica.

“Sounds great,” I cooed in my Samantha Jones voice.

He squeezed my hand. “And I just happen to have a great bottle of Chianti and some incredible smoked Brie. Unless you’d prefer to go to your place.”

My place was a little crowded at the moment with two sisters and a dog. And after that scene with my father at the table, I doubted that he’d want to find me fooling around with a date in his living room.
Do not think about your father. Do not think about family fights. Do not think about Andrew. Do not think. Just go with the flow.

That was very good advice-to-self, especially because it was my birthday, which my father had forgotten until this morning, when Sarah had asked him if he and Giselle would like a special Zone cake made out of God knows what so he could join in the festivities for my birthday.
“It’s Ally’s birthday?”
I’d heard him ask.
“That’s right. How could I forget? It’s always on Thanksgiving!”

Uh, no it’s not, Dad. Unless Thanksgiving is always on November twenty-second, you turkey.

Speaking of food, to get Rupert to agree to this second date, I’d had to promise twice on the telephone that no turkeys, cranberry sauce, stuffing or pumpkin pie would land on anyone’s head. I’d been so excited about the date, a birthday date for me, no less, that I’d spent an hour dressing two hours in advance, praying during the dinner from hell that I wouldn’t spill cranberry sauce on my sweater. I’d originally planned to wear a sexy little black dress, but Zoe had shaken her head and said jeans and a sweater, which I couldn’t imagine wearing on a date, but Zoe insisted it was after-Thanksgiving-dinner wear. I arrived at the café in my vintage Levi’s, a cream V-neck cashmere sweater, and a pair of low-heeled suede boots, and Rupert was wearing the same thing, only his boots were leather and a white T-shirt peeked out of his V-neck.

There was something about wearing the exact same outfit that broke the ice, and in moments we were clinking to Thanksgiving and new beginnings and swapping family-dinner horror stories. (Mine won worst story, by the way.) And suddenly it was nearing midnight, pumpkin hour for no reason at all since we both had the next day off, but you couldn’t have more than two glasses of wine on a date without worrying Mr. Potential that you were a major lush. (This, per Zoe and the stupid book I was reading on hooking a man.) And so I suggested we get going, which per both again the woman was always wise to initiate. And suddenly I was invited for a nightcap. Score one for Zoe and the book. Actually, score a few for Zoe.

Rupert’s apartment was a small one-bedroom in a Tribeca skyscraper. Decor consisted of a black leather couch, black leather chair, black, white, and red print rug and a glass coffee table. A white roller shade covered the windows. The tiny galley kitchen contained a microwave, a coffeemaker and a freezer full of frozen food (discovered during my grand tour of the apartment). In the bedroom were a bed, also black and white, a dresser and a treadmill, which took up almost as much room as the bed.

“The furniture I collected over the years remained in the house,” Rupert said, “which remains with the wife, so I bought some guylike stuff and that was that.”

“I like it,” I said.
And I like you….

As Rupert brought over the Brie and a plate of crackers and the wine, I knew I was going to sleep with him.

It’s my birthday and I’ll have sex if I want to, sex if I want to, sex if I want to…

He sat, he poured and I pounced. I put my hand directly on the zipper of his jeans and looked him in the eye.

He jumped in his seat, spilling the glass of wine in his hand. “That was unexpected,” he said.

I dabbed at the tiny drops of wine on his thighs with the napkins, pressing with a bit more pressure the closer I got to his zipper.

“But not unwanted,” I cooed, leaning close.

“Ally, why don’t we have some wine, talk a bit.”

“Because I have a better idea,” I said, and straddled him. I felt him stiffen, in
every
area, and pressed my chest against his. “Was there something you wanted to say?” I breathed in his ear.

“Actually, there is,” he said, gently pushing my shoulder away from him. “I don’t think you’re ready for this. I don’t think
we’re
ready for this.”

I felt my cheeks burning. “You’re not attracted to me?”

“That’s not it,” he replied. “I said that I don’t think
we’re
ready, not that I’m not interested.”

Oh God. Why was I so bad at this? Why couldn’t I figure out how to date someone? Why did I need my twenty-six-year-old sister to dress me and tell me how to behave?

“Maybe I should just go,” I said.
You’re an idiot, Ally! An idiot!

“Maybe you should have a glass of wine,” he said. “And a piece of this incredible cheese.”

“Look, Rupert, maybe I’m just not ready to date, period. I’m clearly a big washout—” I grabbed my jacket and my purse and stood “—so if it’s all the same to you, which I’m sure it is, I’d really just like to slink home.”

“Actually, it’s not all the same to me, sorry. Mmm!” he said, as he slipped a sliver of cheese in his mouth. “Deeelicious.”

I gnawed my lower lip. Should I stay or should I go now? I started singing in my head.

“I just don’t know how to recover from that embarrassing little episode,” I confessed.

“So, Ally, seen any good movies lately?” he asked, patting the cushion next to him. “You don’t strike me as a sports fan, or I would have said, ‘How about those Mets!’”

“Actually, people say that when they want to change the subject, not start a conversation,” I pointed out.

“Well, I’m trying to do both,” he said, handing me a glass of wine.

Oh, what the hell. Things couldn’t get any worse, could they? I took the wine and sat down. He smiled. “I did see a movie recently, Rupert. A serial horror film about a woman who caught her husband cheating on her with her Pilates instructor, right in her own backyard, literally, mind you.”

“That does sound scary,” he said. “What happens next?”

“Well, the day after, when she came home to confront him, she found an insurance claim form for a vasectomy in her husband’s desk, when she thought they were trying to have the baby she wanted so much.”

“Oh, Ally,” he said with such feeling that tears welled up in my eyes.

“And so this woman,” I continued, “her life as she knew it a lie, goes sort of temporarily insane.”

“And dumps a plate of food on her husband’s girlfriend’s head?”

I smiled. “You’ve seen this movie!”

He nodded. “That part was almost funny, actually.”

“In fact, the woman was on a first date with a wonderful man when she did that. Someone kind and smart and sweet and good-looking. Someone she could really talk to. She really regrets that this guy saw her at her worst.”

“Well, then she can only go up from there,” he said.

I smiled again. “Actually, the film gets scarier. Then she actually gets this wonderful man to agree to a second date, and what does she do? She forces herself on him.”

“This is just my opinion, Ally, but I got the sense he enjoyed that little moment.”

“Really?” I asked.