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She eyes me for some time, as if trying to read my mind. Then she nods slowly. ‘He did. I didn’t. Not then.’
I’ve never given serious thought to whether I want kids. I love my niece and nephew, but I’ve always had bigger things happening. I’ve never seen myself taking the step that comes first: the getting-a-wife part. But the scary as hell thing is, I’m looking into the eyes of this woman I hardly know, and for the first time ever, I can imagine it all. The house in the suburbs, children in the yard, lazy Sundays with my family. I can see my unborn child in her arms. And it scares me to death.
‘But I’ve come to appreciate since I’ve been here…’ She swallows deeply, and the way she looks at me now, the way I think I’m looking at her, it’s like she knows everything there is to know about me, and it’s all okay. ‘I just couldn’t imagine having children with him.’
My arms are aching by my sides because I want to take her cheeks in my palms and press my lips against hers so damn much.
But she isn’t looking for a guy.
And me, one-night guy, I am definitely not the man for her anyway.
I throw out an arm and turn to face the road, finally able to breathe. A yellow cab comes to a stop. ‘Come on. I’ll ride with you.’
Fortunately, Becky’s block isn’t too far away because the silence between us this time isn’t comfortable. It’s awkward as hell.
When she tells the driver to stop, I’m relieved. I need a cold shower and something hard and amber colored, on the rocks.
I step out of the cab so she can climb out on my side. When she’s on the sidewalk, she tries to give me money, which I turn down. ‘Okay, well, the next one is on me. Thanks for tonight, Drew. I had a great time.’
‘You’re welcome. Thanks for the cheesecake.’
‘And the gym hours?’
‘Right.’ Just like that, the tension between us fades, and we’re back to being buddies. ‘Listen, the offer still stands. If you want to come to Staten Island this weekend. I’m going anyway. And now that we’ve established we are completely platonic…’
She’s laughing and shaking her head as she walks to the door of her building. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘Okay, New York Drew.’
10
BECKY
Nine years ago
I’m the last person to leave my nanna’s graveside. Her friends have left, Aunt Lizzie has gone, and the priest who performed the service is heading back inside before the ominous gray sky bursts.
She’d been sick for a while. Nothing specific, really. Infections she couldn’t shake, pneumonia, flu. The hospital says Nanna really just died of old age.
It started with bronchitis three years ago. I wished I could have moved into her house or brought her to live with us but I was just too young to care for her alone. Aunt Lizzie – my dad’s sister – was visiting once a week, taking a five-hour round-trip train ride. But we weren’t enough.
Reluctantly, we found Nanna a nursing home. It wasn’t a sad, melancholy kind of place. It was more like a hotel that happened to have caregivers on site. She had some nice friends there, and I visited her at least three times a week after school.
It didn’t come cheap, and Nanna hated that. She wanted to leave what little money she had to Aunt Lizzie and me. But there was no chance I was putting her in some skanky home, just so I could get her inheritance.
I dry the last of my tears on a tissue that’s now so overused, it has become a ball of paper strands. I press my fingertips to my lips, then blow them in the direction of Nanna’s temporary headstone. ‘I love you, Nanna.’ The words make more tears fall. I wipe them away and walk the long path out of the cemetery toward the bus stop.
The number ten bus pulls up just as I arrive. I pay the driver and take a seat at the back of the bus, where I am less likely to be seen or spoken to.
The bus drops me about a kilometer away from my house. The gray sky has now turned to rain and continues to darken as dusk descends. By the time I’m back, my hair is wet and sticking to my skin. My wool coat, which was one of Nanna’s and is really too big for me, is saturated.
I slip inside and hang up my coat on the old, wooden stand by the door. I slip off my flat, black shoes and stack them neatly on the shoe rack, despite the fact tens of pairs are scattered around the hallway floor.
‘Rebecca, is that you?’
I follow my mum’s voice to the lounge. She’s standing in front of the wall mirror that hangs above the old, stone fireplace, fixing gold hoops into her ears. She speaks to my reflection. ‘Dave and I are going to the pub quiz at The Heath. Your brothers and sisters are out, so it’s just you for dinner. The oven is still broken but there might be something in the freezer you can microwave. Of course, now that your money’s coming from Meg, we can afford a new cooker. I’m so excited to replace the kitchen. If there’s anything left over, we might be able to get a new tub for the bathroom.’
