First Comes Love (18 page)

“Okay,” I say, noticing that Gabe's car is gone. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

“Well, how nice of you to ask!” Pete says. “But I'd really rather have a cup of herbal tea.”

I smile and roll my eyes, then say, “And now you sound like my grandmother.”

About ten minutes later, after I've apologized for how messy the house is and I've made us tea, we head into the backyard with Revis. The night is pleasantly cool, and we both murmur how nice it is.

“The mosquitoes are gone, too,” he says.

I glance at him, smile, then say, “Are we really talking about weather and bugs?”

“We are,” he says.

“We can do better that that,” I say. “C'mon. What do you got?”

Pete gives me a serious look, then says, “Okay. I was actually just thinking of that donor guy's mission statement.”

“Oh, yeah? And?”

He nods and says, “Yeah. I have to say…it is pretty noble.”

“I know,” I say. “I don't think I could donate one of my eggs like that….Could you? Donate sperm?”

“Maybe,” he says. “For a friend. If I believed she would be a good mother. For you I probably would.” He raises his eyebrows and shoots me an earnest sideways look.

I laugh, but he doesn't.

“Are you serious?” I ask, feeling the tiniest flutter in my stomach. “Or is this some kind of a ploy to sleep with me?”

Pete gives me the Boy Scout's three-finger honor sign and says, “I swear it's not a ploy. Besides, I totally had a turkey baster scenario in mind. Isn't that how they do it?”

I nod. “Something like that…I think it's a little more sophisticated, though.”

We both take sips of our tea as I wonder if he's starting to feel at all uncomfortable. Shockingly, I am not. “Would you make me pay for your sperm?” I ask jokingly. “Or give it to me for free?”

“I'd give you my friends and family rate,” he deadpans.

I smile, looking into his eyes. It's too dark to really see them, and I suddenly can't recall their exact shade. “What color are your eyes, exactly?”

“Hazel,” he says.

“I never know what that means….What is hazel? Besides a trendy girls' name.”

“A nicer way of saying brown…” Seeing right through my line of questioning, he adds, “Anything else you'd like to know that you didn't glean from Match and our two dates?”

“This isn't a date, remember?” I say. “And I think I have all relevant data. I have your height, eye color, profession. You seem like a nice guy—”

“I
am
a nice guy.”

“And,” I say, “you just saved a man's life. So you're sort of a hero.”

“True,” Pete says with an adorable full-on grin.

“How's your health?”

“Good,” Pete says. “I just had a physical….My resting heart rate is fifty-eight. Blood pressure one ten over seventy.”

I nod, even though I don't know what these numbers mean. “How about your family's medical history?”

“My grandfather died of a heart attack at fifty-nine, but he smoked a pack a day….My other three grandparents are still alive, along with one great-grandparent. Healthy midwestern stock.”

“Do you have OCD? ADD? Depression?”

He shakes his head.

“A mean streak?”

He smiles and says, “Nope. I'm pretty simple.”

“
How
simple?”

“Not
too
simple.”

“What's your IQ?”

“No clue,” he says. “But I took all the AP courses in high school.”

“And where did you go to college again?”

“University of Wisconsin. I had a three point six in a hard major. Biology.”

“Are you athletic?”

“Decently coordinated…I have a good golf swing. I shoot in the low eighties. I played baseball and tennis in high school.”

“Varsity?”

“You really think I would mention JV?”

I smile. “Are you artistic or musical?”

“Not really. Is that important to you?”

“Nonessential,” I say, deep in thought, studying his face, my eyes finally adjusting to the dark. He really does have a good bone structure and even, symmetrical features, almost pulling off the buzz cut. I like his complexion, as well as the color and texture of his hair. And then there's that cleft.

“Let me see your hands,” I ask, putting down my mug and reaching for them.

He puts his mug down next to mine and shows them to me, palms up, then down. They're on the large side, but not so big that my daughter might end up with man hands. I nod and murmur, “Nice.”

“Thanks,” he says.

I clear my throat and say, “So…if you were ever to really do something like this…would you want to be
involved
?”

The question feels monumental, though I'm not sure what I want his answer to be. I remind myself that this is all completely theoretical. He's not really offering his sperm up on the spot.

“You mean with the baby?”

I nod.

“You mean…like…paying child support?” he asks.

“No,” I say as adamantly as I can, thinking that with money comes strings, complications. “There would be no child support. You'd be the donor, not the father. You'd have no parental rights whatsoever. I'm talking emotionally.”

“I don't know….It might be cool if I could take him—or her—to an occasional baseball game. Would you allow that?”

“Maybe,” I say. “That might be nice….But if I ever married, which I hope to one day, I'd want my husband to adopt my child. And then—”

“You might not want me coming around?”

“Maybe not,” I say. “Would that make you feel bad?”

“Maybe,” Pete says. “But it would be your child—and your decision. I would respect your wishes.” He starts to say something else, then stops.

“What?” I say. “Tell me.”

“Well…what if you
wanted
me to take your kid to a baseball game…and I didn't want to. Would your feelings be hurt?”

“Maybe,” I say, as I marvel at how honest and candid we're both being. So much more so than if we were actually interested in each other romantically. “But I really don't think so. I think that would be the deal going in. You'd be the donor. Period.”

“Period,” he echoes.

We stare at each other, both of us on the verge of smiling. Yet we don't.

“Would you really consider this?” I ask, part of me starting to believe he might be serious—or at the very least not just humoring me as a way of getting in my bed. “I mean…you barely know me.”

“I know you better than the vegan track star does,” Pete says.

“True,” I say.

Pete stares into my eyes. “I know. It's crazy. But I think I might be a bit serious here.”

“Why?” I say, my heart pumping a little more quickly, essentially asking him to answer the essay question. “Why would you want to do this?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don't know….To help you…to do something worthwhile with my life…in addition to saving lives at Buckhead restaurants, that is.”

I love this answer, and can't help smiling.

He smiles back at me. “Any other questions?”

I think for a second, then say, “There are twelve hundred elephants in a herd. Some have pink and green stripes, some are all pink, and some are all blue. One third are pure pink. Is it true that four hundred elephants are definitely blue?”

“Wait,” Pete says. “Say that again?”

I repeat the question, but no more slowly.

“Well, no, it's not
definitely
true,” Pete says. “But it could be true.”

“Correct,” I say, grinning.

“C'mon, that's a layup. I'm a math-science guy, remember?”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking that I'm more verbal—a nice balance.

“So? What do you think?” he asks, leaning forward and staring into my eyes.

I gaze back at him, smile, and say, “I think…you have definite potential.”

O
ne steamy evening in late September, Ellen and I meet for a walk in Chastain Park. A few minutes in, she tells me that she heard from Andy, who heard from his sister, Margot, who heard from a girl on Margot's tennis team, who heard from Will's wife, Andrea, that some guy Josie is dating saved Will's life last Saturday night at Bistro Niko.

I give her an incredulous look, stopping on the paved path so suddenly that a runner nearly collides with us. “
What
…in the
world
?” I say.

As the runner swerves past us and we begin to walk again, Ellen explains that, according to the report, Josie just happened to be randomly passing by Will and Andrea's table at the very moment that Will began to choke on his steak. Josie's date, who does something in the medical field, administered the Heimlich maneuver or some such procedure, dislodging the meat and saving Will from his untimely demise.

“Unbelievable,” I say. “And yet somehow…
not
.”

Ellen laughs and says, “Yeah. You'd practically think Josie planned it, but how could she?”

“If anyone could,
she
could,” I say. “And I bet it wasn't a coincidence they were at the same restaurant….At the very least, she'll use this as an excuse to talk to Will. Call to follow up on his airway.” I roll my eyes, disgusted. “Andrea better watch her back.”

“You don't think she'd really do that, do you?” Ellen asks.

I shrug. “Probably not, no. Although my therapist says that most
everyone
is capable of an affair under the right circumstances.”

Ellen murmurs her pensive agreement as I find myself thinking about her marital problems from several years before. I don't know the details, or if anyone else was involved, but somehow I got the impression that the rockiness was more her fault than Andy's.

“Have you ever been tempted?” I ask.

When she doesn't immediately respond, I mumble, “Sorry. That's none of my business.”

“It's okay,” Ellen says, pausing to stoop down to retie a shoelace. “You can ask me anything. You know that.”

I pause and wait for her to secure the knot, then tighten the other. She doesn't speak until we're walking again. “Remember Leo?” she asks as her pace quickens.

“Of course,” I say, recalling one of several long conversations we had about our two most significant exes, Lewis and Leo, and specifically how similar they were. Both were artist types (Leo was a journalist, Lewis was still acting, mostly on Broadway but occasionally appearing in small indie films). Both were native New Yorkers. Like Lewis, Leo had been very intense and had broken her heart.

“Well, a few years back,” she continues, “I started to have…contact with him again.”

“What sort of contact?” I say, struggling to keep up with Ellen's stride, her legs so much longer than mine.

“Mostly just emailing and texting…but I also saw him a couple of times. Once on a shoot in L.A. Once in New York…”

“Did you…?” My voice trails off.

“No,” she says firmly. “We didn't have sex or anything close to that. It was really more of an emotional thing. But it was still pretty bad….”

“I'm sorry,” I say, feeling vague disappointment that my suspicion has been confirmed, but no judgment whatsoever. If anything, I feel reassured by the evidence that people can recover from major marital setbacks. “Does Andy know?”

“Yeah. He knows,” she says, her voice thick with regret. She then confesses that although it was mostly an emotional affair, she did kiss Leo once.

“One kiss isn't so bad,” I say, although I'm not sure I entirely believe that.

“Yes. Maybe not. But I contemplated much more than that…including leaving Andy altogether.” Ellen finishes abruptly, and it takes me a few seconds to respond.

“What made you stay?” I ask.

She looks back at me with wide, earnest eyes. “Love,” she says.

“Aww,
Ell,
” I say, moved by the sincerity and purity of her reply, especially when I was anticipating a more cynical answer: fear or guilt or a sense of duty or that she was already pregnant with Isla. “I'm so glad you worked it out. You're really perfect together.”

“Well, nothing's perfect,” she says. “But I do think Andy and I truly belong together. And things are really good now.”

“Did you love Leo?” I say, lowering my voice, as if his name might still hold some power over her.

“Maybe. But it wasn't a true, deep, real love, like the kind I have for Andy….It was always more of an obsession…an unhealthy addiction….And to a certain extent, maybe I was just feeling that sense of
what if
?…What if I had married Leo? What would my life be like?”

I nod, thinking the whole concept of the path not taken is partly what has always troubled me. Not so much in terms of Lewis, though I do think about him once in a while. But in terms of a different life altogether, the one I might be living if Daniel hadn't died and I hadn't married Nolan, the two events always seeming so intertwined.

“So Andy just…forgave you?” I ask.

“Well, not right away…We definitely had a rough couple of months. Really a pretty shitty year…By the time I met you, though, things were a lot better. And when Isla came—
wow
.” Ellen's voice becomes light, yet also awe-filled. “She really took us to a higher place. Fixed things…”

“She did?” I say, finding it a little hard to believe that a baby could have that effect when Harper definitely caused a strain for Nolan and me. Then again, Isla has always been easier than Harper in pretty much all respects.

“Well, I guess I shouldn't say she
fixed
things. We did that on our own with a lot of hard work. But she definitely renewed our commitment. It was almost as if her birth gave us something of a clean slate. Put everything in perspective.”

I nod, thinking that this part I understand. Motherhood really does give you a broader perspective about so much.

Ellen continues, “I think the whole ordeal, as horrible as it was, made us stronger in some respects. Maybe that's just me trying to justify things, but I really think it's true.”

“So you never hear from him anymore?” I ask. “Leo?”

“No,” she says. “Not in a very long time…About a year after everything happened, he called. But I never called him back. I did send him a short letter, telling him an official goodbye and asking that he please not contact me again….Honestly, he could have
died
for all I know.”

“Yeah. He could have choked to death,” I say, forcing a smile.

She smiles back just as halfheartedly, then suddenly shifts gears. “Are you and Nolan doing okay?”

“I guess so,” I say, wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my forearm. “I don't know. He's pretty frustrated with me.”

“Because of the second baby thing?”

“Yeah. That…and you know, the usual complaints—not enough sex…” I stop, never having been comfortable discussing my sex life with even my closest friends. “That's how the subject of infidelity came up with Amy at my last session. She said, more or less, that if someone isn't being satisfied on that front, they may start to look elsewhere….I guess it's not really a revolutionary concept….”

Ellen nods and says, “Yeah. I guess not. Pretty cynical, though.”

“Yeah. Amy's a cynic,” I say. “Or at the very least a realist…but I really can't imagine Nolan cheating on me.”

“Yeah. I can't, either,” she says. “He's such a good guy.”

“So's Andy,” I say. “We're both really lucky.”

“Yeah. Hashtag blessed.”

I smile.

Ellen laughs, as we've both made fun of those nauseating Facebook posts that use a religious concept to justify their thinly veiled bragging. We walk in silence for a minute or more, both of us becoming a bit breathless, before she asks her next question. “So what about you? What if Lewis came back the way Leo did? Would you be at all…tempted?”

“I really don't think so,” I say, almost wishing my dilemma were that straightforward. If I were contemplating an affair, or following a lustful impulse, then I could just stop, confess, and recommit, like Ellen did. Or, alternatively, I could make the other choice and go ahead and have the affair—which might be a catalyst for a different change altogether. “Not that I judge you,” I quickly add.

“Oh, I know you don't,” she says.

“It's just that I think I finally got over Lewis when I was practicing law in New York—and sneaked in to see him in a two-man off-Broadway show.” I smile. I've never admitted this to anyone.

She laughs. “He was that bad?”

“No. He was fucking
brilliant,
” I say. “But he seemed a little…I don't know…”

“Self-important? Pompous?” she guesses.

“No. Just over the top…a little
flamboyant,
” I say.

We both laugh, and she says, “Could he be gay?”

“Nah,” I say, thinking of how incredible the sex with him was. “I doubt it. But I did try to convince myself that he
might
be. And that helped.”

She laughs again as I continue, “The thing that I miss the most about Lewis isn't Lewis…but the way I felt when I was with him.”

“Do you think part of what you miss is just being young? In your twenties?” she asks.

I shrug. “Maybe a little. But I don't think that's it, exactly. Especially because my twenties were pretty rough.”

She nods, knowing that I'm talking about my brother.

“It's more the way being in love made me feel about life….Our love even eased my grief over Daniel—at least for a while—and it just felt like we could do
anything
….Go anywhere, do anything, be anyone….The possibilities felt
endless,
” I say, holding my breath for a few seconds, remembering the crazy, intoxicating highs that came before the fall. “And then he broke my heart. Which felt a little bit like death.”

“Yeah. Broken hearts really do feel like death,” she says as we near the top of the hill, overlooking the baseball fields. “But it all worked out. Because you got Nolan.”

She says Nolan's name the way people say
The End
. In other words:
All's well that ends well
.

“Right,” I say, biting my lip.

In the distance, I can see Wilkins Field—and the exact spot in the dugout where Nolan proposed—and am saddened to realize that it's more of a queasy memory than a magical one.

“And Harper,” she says.

“And of course Harper,” I say, thinking that sometimes my daughter is the only thing that keeps me from wanting a do-over.

As we continue to walk in silence, my mind drifts from Harper, to the second baby I don't want to have, to Amy's final question in my therapy session, to Ellen's explanation of what kept her with Andy—
a true, deep, real love
—and I'm suddenly overcome with an intense wave of guilt and grief. For what I don't have. For what I can't give my husband.

“Meredith?” I hear Ellen say as I realize that I've stopped walking. “What's wrong?”

“I just need a second,” I say, drifting over to sit on the stone wall that separates the sidewalk from the steep slope below. She sits beside me, our backs to the ball fields, our shoulders touching.

“Are you okay?”

“I don't know. I'm just not happy. With Nolan and our marriage. Sometimes I think the whole thing was a mistake….” My voice breaks, my vision blurs, and I have to stop talking to keep from bursting into tears.

Ellen takes my hand and does her best to soothe me, telling me that all marriages are complicated and messy and mysterious and flawed. That maybe I'm just confusing the burdens of unglamorous everyday life with something missing in my relationship. That it might sound simplistic but sometimes you just have to love the one you're with. I know her advice is mostly sound, but deep down, I also know how very different our situations are. She hit a bump in the road, whereas I'm on a road I never should have been on in the first place. She lied to Andy in her marriage, whereas my
whole
marriage sometimes feels like a lie.