—
ABOUT AN HOUR later, after we shut the place down (no easy feat), and Sydney drops me off in her Uber car, I walk in the house, ravenously hungry, heading straight for the kitchen. As I open the refrigerator, scouring for leftovers, I hear footsteps behind me and jump, dropping a Chinese take-out box that spills all over the floor.
“Hey,” I hear Gabe say.
“Jesus, you scared me,” I say, bending down to pick up the container and a big clump of white rice. “What are you doing creeping around like that?”
“Um. I live here?” Gabe says.
“Well, still,” I say, kicking off my heels, knowing that my feet aren’t going to recover for days. “What are you doing up?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m fuckin’ starving,” I say, swearing more than usual, as I always do after a few drinks. “Do we have anything other than rice?”
“There should be some beef and broccoli in there, too,” he says.
I look again and spot another white container behind Gabe’s carton of whole milk. “There it is,” I say, grabbing it and putting it on the counter. Then I pull a fork out of the utensil drawer, deciding that it’s not worth the effort to get a plate or put anything in the microwave. Instead, I dive straight in.
“Nasty,” Gabe says under his breath, both because he never eats cold leftovers and because he thinks all food, even that which is consumed at three in the morning, should be put on a plate and eaten with a little civility. His words.
“Whatever,” I say. “You’re nasty.”
“No, you are,” he says. “And you smell like an ashtray.”
He gives me a knowing look, leading his witness, as always. When I don’t respond, he adds, “I heard you were smoking cigars tonight.”
“Paul Jolly was there. You know—our old neighbor? I took, like, one puff of his cigar. Who’s your informant?”
“I talked to Leslie.”
“She called you already?” I say, thinking that she left only about twenty minutes before the rest of us.
“No. I called her.”
“Failed attempt at a booty call, eh?” I say.
“I never fail at my booty calls,” Gabe says, which is probably close to the truth.
“Well, then, why isn’t she here?” I ask.
“Because I didn’t invite her. I was just starting to worry about where you were….I called you first….Check your phone.”
“It died….I took a lot of videos. I caught Leslie in some hot girl-on-girl action,” I say, thinking of the impressive grinding she and Sydney did to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Granted, it was all initiated by Syd, but still.
“Yeah. Well, I hear you were caught in some girl-on-boy action,” Gabe says. “Makin’ out on the dance floor, huh?”
“Holy fuck, she’s a snitch,” I say, taking another bite of beef.
“Oh, so you wanted to keep it a secret from me?”
“No, it’s not a secret,” I say, with my mouth still full. “But she’s exaggerating.”
“Right,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “You know what, Josie?…Johnny’s Hideaway is bad. But making out at Johnny’s Hideaway is on a whole other level.”
“I did not make out at Johnny’s,” I say, scraping up the last bite.
His arms still crossed, he cocks his head to the side. “So you didn’t kiss Pete tonight?”
“Yeah, I kissed him,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But that’s a far cry from making out.”
Gabe gives me a disapproving stare.
“What? Don’t give me that look,” I say, then add, “You know…if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”
It is the sort of thing I would never say sober, which begs the question—is it really what I deep down think?
“Jealous of what?” Gabe retorts. “I mean, if you want to choose his mediocre sperm, go right ahead. But I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’ll be sorry.”
“Mediocre sperm!” I laugh. “Wow. You are jealous. That’s really cute.”
“I’m not jealous,” he says. “I just think it’s a really bad idea to be making out with your sperm donor. If you want to date him, date him, but then put this project on hold.”
“I don’t want to date him. I just want a baby—and some sperm.”
“Okay. Well, then, frankly speaking…I think you could do better than Pete.”
“That’s mean,” I say. “He’s a really nice guy.”
“I know. But in the world of sperm? He’s your top pick? C’mon, Josie…”
“Well, who’s better?” I say, grateful that I switched to water when I did, that I can at least hold my own in the debate. “The vegan runner? Gabe, c’mon, read that essay again. He sounds like a freak. Besides…I just don’t like the idea of using a stranger. I’d rather go with a known quantity.”
He stares at me, nodding, then uncrosses his arms and presses both palms onto the counter. “Okay, well, how about a really known quantity?”
I deposit the beef container into the trash and start in on the rice. He snatches it away from me and throws it in the trash, too.
“Hey!” I say.
“You told me to never let you eat white food late at night. I’m trying to be your friend here….So. Back to the known quantity…What about using a close friend instead of some guy you just met on Match?”
I narrow my eyes, confused. “How close of a friend?” I ask. Surely he can’t be suggesting what he seems to be suggesting.
“Like…I don’t know…a best friend?” he says, averting his eyes, looking distinctly nervous.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say with a laugh.
He meets my gaze and shakes his head, stone serious.
My heart flutters even more than it did on the dance floor when Pete and I kissed. “I thought you didn’t like messy?” I say.
“I don’t,” he says. “I still think you should go with a complete stranger. But if you won’t do that…you should go with someone you can trust. Someone who would always have your back. And your kid’s back.”
“You mean you?” I confirm.
“Yes. I mean me.”
“And what would that make you?” I ask, my mind racing.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Would you be just the donor? Or, like…the father?”
He swallows, then says, “Well. Both, I guess.”
“So more than a donor?”
“Yes,” Gabe says. “More than a donor. More than you’d get with Pete. I’d be the dad, too.”
“And what about us?” I ask, fleetingly wondering if he isn’t about to reveal some sort of crush on me—like Andrew McCarthy in St. Elmo’s Fire.
“What about us?” he asks.
“Well…you’re not suggesting…” My voice trails off as I motion between us, but his face remains blank.
I finish my thought. “You’re not suggesting that we have sex?” I say. “To get pregnant?”
“Oh. God, no,” Gabe says, making a face. “Nothing like that. We’d still use this doctor lady. And we’d be totally status quo on the friendship front….”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “But wouldn’t that be weird?”
Gabe shrugs. “Maybe…but I don’t know…I think it would be more like having Revis together.”
“But Revis is a dog,” I say.
“I know that.”
“And besides, Revis is mine.”
“C’mon, that’s a technicality and you know it. Who walks him more? Who takes him out at night? Who paid that last monster vet bill when he ate that sock?”
“It was your sock,” I say. “That you left out.”
“C’mon, Josie. Whose bed does he sleep in if given the choice?”
“It’s fifty-fifty,” I insist.
“Bullshit. That dog loves me more, and you know it.”
I start to protest, but Gabe is on a roll. ??
?Bottom line, I love Revis as my own. I’d do anything for him. And I’d take him if anything ever happened to you.”
“What if we got into a fight?” I say.
“We do get into fights.”
I shake my head. “No, not like stupid arguments over leaving dirty dishes in the sink,” I say. “A real fight.”
“Don’t be dumb,” he says. “You know that wouldn’t happen.”
“It could.”
“Okay. You’re right. It could. And if it did, we’d be like other divorced couples who share custody. Only we were never married in the first place. We’d just be skipping that part.”
I nod, though I’m having trouble believing what I’m hearing. “What does Leslie say about this?”
“I haven’t discussed this with Leslie.”
“You think she’d be okay with it?”
“I do, actually,” he says, so quickly that it’s clear he’s given it thought. “I mean—here’s the way I look at it. What if I already had a kid? Would she not date me?”
“I have no clue,” I say. “I barely know her. Maybe she wouldn’t.”
“Well, if not, that would make her shallow. And I don’t do shallow. So better to find out now.”
“I don’t necessarily agree with that,” I say. “I’m not sure I’d want to be with a guy who is having a baby with another girl.”
“Well, then you’re shallow,” he says with a smile. “And anyway, I really like Leslie…but she’s not the deal breaker here.”
“Are you sure?” I say. “I thought you might be falling in love.”
“I might be,” he says. “But that’s irrelevant. If we did this—it would be our decision. You and me. Together.”
I stare at him for a dizzying few seconds, trying to process everything. “So are you telling me that you actually want a baby?”
“No,” he says. “I never said that. But I don’t not want a baby. And I want you to have a baby if that’s what you want.”
“That’s not very convincing,” I say.
“I’m not trying to convince you,” he says. “I’m just making an offer. Take it or leave it….”
I give him a hug, welling up a little, whispering that this might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to do for me.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, pulling away with a big yawn. I notice that his eyes stay open, a telltale sign that it’s a fake yawn, and that he’s merely looking for a transition, uncomfortable with my display of emotion. Sure enough, he announces that he’s going back to bed, then turns and abruptly walks out of the kitchen.
“Good night, Gabe,” I call after him. “I fuckin’ love you!”
“Love you, too, potty mouth,” he mumbles on his way up the stairs.
chapter twenty-two
MEREDITH
The Friday after Josie’s birthday, on the afternoon I’m supposed to fly to New York, Harper has a meltdown that has absolutely nothing to do with me leaving—or her earlier realization that I will be missing trick-or-treating on Monday, a source of considerable maternal guilt. Instead, in a case of life imitating art, she has seemingly lost her beloved stuffed animal, just like the little girl in Knuffle Bunny, Harper’s favorite Mo Willems book.
“Where did you last see it?” Nolan asks her—a question that has always mystified me, and seems especially ridiculous when posed to a hysterical four-year-old.
“I. Want. Raaaaa-bby!” she sobs in response.
“I know, sweetie,” I say, looking under the sofa, though I know he’s too big to fit under it. “We’ll find him. I promise.”
Nolan clears his throat and says, “Um. We probably shouldn’t make any promises. If you get my drift.”
I look up at him, still on my knees, and my heart drops, considering that they just returned home from a father-daughter outing to Legoland.
“Nolan,” I say slowly. “Are you trying to tell me something here?”
“Maybe?” he says, his voice rising in a question, looking panic-stricken.
“Please, please, for the love of God, tell me that Harper did not take Rabby to Legoland,” I say, standing and looking directly into his eyes.
Nolan stares back at me, but he doesn’t reply, as a wave of terror passes through me. I remind myself that I still have Harper, that there hasn’t been a kidnapping, that we’re talking about a stuffed animal, an inanimate object.
“I’m positive we had him in the car,” Nolan says, looking anything but positive.
“How positive?” I say.
“One hundred percent positive,” he says. “I remember seeing Rabby in the rearview mirror.”
For one second I’m relieved. Then I say, “Wait. On the way there? Or on the way home?”
Nolan scratches his head and shrugs. “That…I’m not sure about,” he says.
“Nolan!” I groan, pressing my hands to my forehead. “How many times have I told you not to let her take Rabby out of the house? You know it would be a disaster if he gets lost for good!”
“I didn’t know she had him when we left,” he says.
I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “Did you call Legoland?” I say, as Harper’s sobs begin to ramp up.
“Of course,” he says. “Multiple times. I’ve left two messages and also talked to some guy at the front desk.”
“And?”
“Nobody’s turned it in yet.”
“So you did leave it there?”
“I don’t know, Meredith,” he says, then blurts out an irrelevant fact. “I took her there so you could pack in peace….”
“So this is my fault?”
“I didn’t say that….”
I turn away from him and say, “Harper, honey. C’mere, baby.”
“I want Raaaa-bbbyyy!” she wails, rubbing both fists into her eyes, her face coated with a mixture of snot and tears.
“I know, sweetie,” I say. “Daddy and I are doing our best to find him.”
She repeats that she wants Rabby, then adds that she misses Rabby very, very much.
“I know, baby,” I say, my stomach in knots, as I glance at my watch.
“What time’s your flight?” Nolan asks for at least the third time today.
“Seven,” I say. “But obviously I’m not going now.”
“Why not?” Nolan says.
I ask him if he’s serious, and he replies that yes, he is serious. “You being here won’t change anything,” he adds.
I bite my lip, nod, and say, “That’s really nice, Nolan. Thank you.”
“I mean in terms of the damn rabbit,” he says under his breath.
The phone rings before I can reply, and I make the mistake of glancing at caller ID and seeing Josie’s name. Deciding it really can’t get any worse, I answer the phone.
“Hi, Josie. We’re kind of in the middle of a crisis here,” I say before she can speak.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“We can’t find Rabby.”
“Oh,” she says, clearly thinking that we’ve simply misplaced Rabby, as opposed to leaving him at freakin’ Legoland.
I walk out of Harper’s earshot, cupping the receiver as I fill Josie in. “On top of that,” I add, “I have a flight that leaves in a few hours….”
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To New York.”
“For work?”
“No.”
“For what, then?”
I hesitate, wondering why I don’t have this answer more prepared, then say, “I just need to get away for a few days.”
“A few days? So you’ll miss Halloween?”
“Yes. But Harper’s butterfly costume is ready to go…and besides, Nolan’s always the one who takes her trick-or-treating. I just hand out candy. It’s no big deal,” I say, still trying to convince myself of this fact.
“Huh. Okay….So are you going with Ellen?”
“No,” I say. “I’m going alone…but I don’t know if I can go at all now….”
“Why? Becau
se of Rabby?” she says.
“Correct,” I say, glaring at Nolan. “Because of Rabby.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Why?” I blurt out, instantly regretting it.
“Never mind,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “When I said ‘why’—I just meant, are you coming to look for Rabby? Because I don’t think we’re going to find him….”
“I just meant to come be with Harper. So you can go…while I distract her.”
I hesitate, not because I don’t desperately want to take her up on the offer, but because it’s difficult to admit that we need her. That I need her. My concern for Harper trumps this, though, and I say, “That would be great, actually….”
“Okay,” she says briskly. “I’m almost home. I just need to let Revis out….I can be there in forty-five minutes? Does that work?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I say. “I’ll let Nolan know.”
“All right,” she says. Then, after a long pause, she makes an even greater offer. “I can stay over tonight, too…if Nolan wants? I can be her Rabby substitute?”
I almost say that there is no substitute for Rabby, but Aunt Josie might be the lone exception to that. “Could you really do that?” I say, swallowing the rest of my pride. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Josie.”
—
MY FLIGHT LANDS at La Guardia just after 10:00 P.M. I power on my phone as soon as we hit the runway, checking my texts, praying for good news on the Rabby front. Nothing, I discover. No word at all from Atlanta, other than a text from Ellen wishing me a good trip and telling me to call her if I have any questions about her apartment. I thank her, then send Josie and Nolan a joint text asking about Rabby. Still MIA? How’s Harper?
Thirty minutes later, after I’ve retrieved my suitcase and joined a blessedly short cab line just outside of baggage claim, I have yet to receive a response from either of them. I assume the worst, but tell myself that there is nothing I can do. So I put my phone in my tote bag, close my eyes, and inhale the glorious scent of Queens—a mix of exhaust and garbage and falafels.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with exhaustion, and all I want to do is sleep. I remind myself that I can do just that. I can sleep all day tomorrow. I can sleep for the next week. For the first time since Harper’s birth, I have absolutely no responsibilities, at least not in an hour-to-hour sense. Yet, as I get into my cab and give my driver Ellen’s address on East Tenth Street, I realize it’s not as simple as sleep or freedom, and as the billboards and buildings whiz by me, I feel about as lost as poor Rabby, wherever he may be.