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And then we start laughing again, and something inside me lightens. It seems we do have something in common, however small.
Our salads arrive then, and I watch as Heather picks through hers, taking out all the walnuts and bits of blue cheese. ‘Sorry,’ she mutters. ‘I didn’t think it would be so fancy.’
I wave her apology aside. ‘I’m not a fan of blue cheese, either. And it’s not supposed to be good for pregnant women.’ I feel proud of my little trivia.
‘It’s not?’ Heather looks blanks as she shrugs. ‘Have you thought of names?’ And so we’re back to talking about babies.
‘A few.’ I haven’t quite wanted to dare that far. To hope that much.
‘And have you told your family?’
I shake my head, my throat turning tight even after all these months. ‘I don’t have any family.’
Heather’s expression softens. ‘You told me about your dad, but…’
‘There’s no one.’
Heather looks surprised; she’s probably surrounded by family; aunts and uncles and cousins, sisters and brothers. A big, happy Irish Catholic family, with massive Thanksgivings, the table bowed under the weight of the food, the conversation lively and boisterous, everyone vying to get a word in edgewise. For a second I am envious, utterly envious, of what she has and I never will, even with this baby. My daughter.
‘My mother died when I was a teenager,’ I explain. ‘And you know about my dad. My mother was an only child, and my dad’s brother died five years ago. He never had children, so it really is just me.’
‘When did your dad die?’ Heather asks quietly.
‘Three months ago.’ I stare down at my salad. Why does this have to be so hard, still?
‘I’m sorry.’ I feel Heather’s hand skim my own, the lightest of touches. ‘You said you were close.’
‘Really close. Maybe too close.’
‘What do you mean?’
I shrug, my throat still tight. ‘Maybe if I hadn’t depended on my dad so much, I would have made time for other people. A boyfriend or a best friend, someone who could be here for me now.’ Too late I realize how revealing this all is, how pathetic I must sound. I try to rally. ‘I’m a solitary kind of person, mostly. I’m not…’ I can’t finish that sentence. ‘What about you? You’ve got Kevin and your girls, I know…’
‘My parents live in Elizabeth too, and my sister Stacy and her husband and their two kids. Plus cousins, aunts, uncles.’ She smiles, shrugs. ‘I can’t get away from them.’ It’s just as I imagined, and again I feel that painful pang of envy.
‘That must be nice.’
‘Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s a pain.’
‘Yes.’ The weight of my loneliness suddenly hits me again, full force, as I try to envision a life where I am surrounded by family – brothers, sisters, cousins. Parents and grandparents. It seems like an inconceivable luxury. Heather must see some of that in my face because she hurries on,
‘But I am grateful. For everyone, all of it. They’ve been there for me. My sister, especially. And Kev,’ she adds quickly.
‘I’m glad you’ve had the support,’ I say, even as I wonder where my support will come from. Yes, I’ll have a nanny, and a baby nurse, and whomever else I hire to help. But what about people I don’t have to employ? What about the network of family and friends so many people take for granted, everyone pulling together when life gets tough, offering help, hugs, a meal, a listening ear? Where are those people? Will I find them after my baby’s born? Or will I still be alone?
I think of my father in his hospital bed, how I held his hand, the fragile bones beneath my fingers; that last, vital connection that linked us together bound me to the only family I’ve known.
Who will hold my hand in the hospital, when the doctor says my body is shutting down? Who will offer me that desperate comfort, hear my last words, and speak into that awful silence?
Heather touches my hand, letting her fingers rest on mine for a moment. ‘It will be okay,’ she says, and I feel as if I’ve voiced my fears out loud.
‘You’re lucky,’ I say, and despite or perhaps because of everything, I truly mean it.
Heather lets out a soft laugh. ‘Yeah,’ she says, her voice full of wonder. ‘I guess I am.’
After lunch I insist on putting Heather in a cab, and as I peel off a couple of twenties to pay for it, I slip in another few hundred bucks. ‘For expenses,’ I say firmly. ‘Treat yourself.’
She looks surprised, but she takes the money. I stand on the sidewalk and watch as the cab cruises forward, joining a sea of others. I have a pang of something almost like homesickness; I realize I miss her. I had fun today, and more than that, I had companionship.
