Once I woke in the stillness before dawn and he was on his side facing me with his hand resting lightly on my huge belly.
“Are you sad?” I asked him.
He lifted his head and looked at me, not having realized I was awake.
After a moment he spoke. “I am sad because this baby will never know you. He will never know how wonderful and loving and perfect you are.”
“I’m hardly perfect,” I protested but was beyond touched by his words.
“Are you sad?” he asked.
I had to take a moment. I had to weigh and identify the thousands of thoughts and feelings that seemed to be constantly whirling around me. “No, I’m not sad. I think that sadness and regret are the two emotions that left me a long time ago. I’m happy. I’m so happy for the couple whose lives will be made whole soon. And I’m happy for us, for how much I love you and how great you’ve been through all of this.”
“You make it easy.” Eli had said.
I reached over and twined my fingers in his hair.
And now he was on his way to come take me to the hospital so I could give birth to a child not his. For a man who didn’t want kids, he’d sure gotten a crash course on prenatal care. Jen was going to be my official labor coach, being that she was a nurse. It didn’t matter how many puppies and kittens Eli claimed to have delivered safely, I needed Jen and a team of nurses and human doctors at my side, just in case. But Eli would be there too, as my comfort and rock and to remind me to breathe if Jen got caught up in the technical side of things.
* * *
Seven hours and about five pounds worth of sweat and tears later, the baby was born. They took her to the other side of the room for tests and to swaddle her, but the doctor returned quickly and told me she was six pounds seven ounces and perfectly healthy. He asked me if I wanted to hold her and I looked up to see Eli all teary on my right and Jen staring down at me as she stood beside him.
“I want to hold her,” I said to the nurse who came to stand on my left side, holding the swaddled but quiet baby.
“I don’t think you should,” Jen said.
I looked at her, disbelieving she would deny me the one chance to hold the child who’d been inside me for so long.
“It will just make it harder for you, Vic.” Jen’s face contorted as she began to cry.
“Nothing could be harder than this,” I whispered, reaching for my baby.
The nurse looked at me and then to Jen, who nodded. She gently placed the baby in my arms. I looked at Eli and Jen. “Can I have a second?”
Eli nodded and put his hand on Jen’s arm, leading her towards the door.
I looked down at the baby and watched with wonder as she looked at me and yawned.
“You are so beautiful. I just wanted to say hello. But I also have to say goodbye. I do love you. I hope you grow up knowing that.”
I kissed her little forehead. God, it was just too hard. “Nurse?”
In a second the scrub-clad nurse was at my side.
“Please take her.” I held the baby out to her and turned away, unable to watch her leave the room.
Eli returned a minute later. He stood next to me and brushed the sweaty hair from my face. “You did great,” he said, bending down to kiss me.
I couldn’t speak through the tears.
Several minutes later, when I couldn’t cry anymore, I had an idea.
“Eli, Hon? Do you have a pen?”
* * *
Dear Baby (I’ve named you Laura),
There’s so much I want to say so please bear with me if this comes across as convoluted or strange. As I am writing this, you have just been taken from my arms for the first and last time.
Please, please know that when I gave you up for adoption, I did it out of love. I can’t imagine there could be anything harder than giving up a child, especially a child as beautiful as you. And when I looked into your beautiful blue eyes, only seconds after you were born, my heart broke as I watched the nurse take you away.
You need to know that my reason for giving you up had nothing to do with you personally and please don’t ever think it was your fault. I couldn’t be a proper mom to you so I did the next best thing in making sure you had a family to love you and raise you the way you deserve to be loved and raised.
Someday you will understand what it means to truly love unconditionally and I hope that you will understand that love means sometimes having to give away what it is you love most. I gave you the gift of a better life, and I know that you will make me proud.
You are a bright spot in my life and I will always remember with a smile the little kicks from deep inside me, making me think you were destined for pro football.
I think it is fair to say that every day for the rest of my life, I will think about you; to wonder where you are and if you’re happy or sad, and if you will ever find it in your heart to forgive me, your birth mother, the one who loved you first.
I will love you always,
Vicky, your birth mother.
* * *
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Dating Kosher
If diamonds are a girl’s best friend, then a man willing to provide them is a girl’s second best, or at least very good acquaintance. This is scripture according to Shoshanna Rosenblatt, self-proclaimed spoiled Jewish princess. The problem is finding such a man in time to accompany her to her father’s wedding where she would be seen and judged by countless important people. The outfit had to be perfect, the man had to be stunning, and her look had to be flawless: it was absolutely imperative that she be fabulous.
But things aren’t going as planned for Shoshanna; her recent boyfriend abandoned her for a business trip, ex-boyfriends are either unavailable or married off and she is running out of resources. Enter Nate Cooper, a blue-collar Irish air conditioning technician; the furthest thing from Shoshanna’s ideal man. Well, at least he had the stunning part down. In her desperation, Shoshanna bribes Nate into pretending to be her new Jewish boyfriend and escorting her to the wedding. What were a few white lies told to friends and family? And what could possibly go wrong?
Prologue
Okay, I’ll admit it: I, Shoshanna Yolanda Rosenblatt was a spoiled Jewish princess. I’d never eaten at a Taco Bell, or had a home perm (who does those?) and I didn’t believe a guy can really love you without giving you at least one piece of decent jewelry. Usually the jewelry was more satisfying than the guy, anyway. But in my own defense, you have to understand that a Jewish Princess is not made, but born into her position and never, ever without a solid role model.
Other than absolute necessities, I didn’t cook, didn’t clean and my idea of getting outside meant a trip to the mall. I was definitely a walking stereotype.
My family is considered upper middle class, although my dad, the lawyer (I know, how cliché) always said we were comfortable. I couldn’t understand how comfortable equates to one’s financial status. To me, comfortable was my Uggs, bought before Oprah outed them, before they were so hip. I stopped wearing them in public, for the most part. But they were still great for around the apartment.
Anyway, my life was pretty good; I was looking the best I ever had at a perfect size two. My hair had finally grown out after an insane encounter with a new stylist who had somehow convinced me that a short razor cut would suit me. Needless to say, after that debacle, he’d been cut from my life.
But all that was behind me and I sported shoulder-length hair, fringed with ends that didn’t dare split and perfect highlights that were maintained more regularly than my father’s precious Jaguar. On top of that, I had a decent job working as the receptionist for an upscale spa in, a great condo (a short tr
ain ride from said job) that I rented from my Dad, which Mom had decorated. If I could just keep my constantly shedding cat, Armani, off the furniture, my abode would be perfect.
A frequent visitor to the condo was a jeweler named Max Levine who called himself my boyfriend. I was dripping with gold and diamonds, except, of course, on that finger but other than that, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
Well, maybe a little. I could have asked to not be so goddamn bored with my life.
Mom and Dad’s divorce had been final for over a year, so thankfully, most of that drama was over. After that, every Tuesday evening was spent with Mom in the city over cocktails and sushi and Sunday mornings consisted of brunch with Dad at a greasy spoon near where he lived with his fiancé, Susan Weinman.
Dad had bought the house after Mom cleaned him out, making her more comfortable than he. She had gone back to interior decorating full-time and had been generous enough to offer to decorate Dad’s new place for him at half her regular rate. Dad had respectfully declined.
Mom now lived in a condo in the city to be close to her clients. She was very involved in the arts scene, going to galas and openings almost every night of the week, but Dad and I knew her well enough to know she was very unhappy. Her most stable relationship was with her therapist and even that was tenuous at best. But there was only so much I could take of Mom; she had always been as much a drama queen as I was a spoiled fashionista, and there was no changing a leopard’s spots.
Or so I used to think.
Chapter 1
It had been an especially tiresome evening spent at a restaurant opening (Mom had been a consultant on the project), where the food had been a heinous fusion of Mexican and Japanese cooking. I lay in bed with Max at his apartment. He was still breathing heavy, long after we’d finished having sex. A sexual dynamo, he was not.
I looked over at him; his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. A bead of drool threatened to escape the corner of his mouth. He was truly disgusting. It was then that I realized just how bored I was. How my life had become shitty when I wasn’t looking.
“That was horrific,” I said out loud.
“Huh?” Max grunted.
“What? You climb on top of me like I’m a horse, ride me for six minutes and that’s it?”
“Maybe if you didn’t just lie there like a dead horse, I’d have something to work with.” He shot back, not even bothering to open his eyes.
“Whatever,” I said and got out of bed to take a shower. Go to sleep you loser, like you always do, I thought. I hopped into the shower, rinsing the memory of his clumsy hands on my flesh down the drain. Is this all there is? There’s gotta be something better in the stars for me. I began to seriously weigh the pros and cons of Max Levine.
Pro: the jewelry
Con: he’s an utter bore
Pro: the diamonds
Con: he’s a clumsy oaf in bed
Pro: his parents are very wealthy
Con: his parents are insufferable
Pro: oh, who am I kidding; it’s all about the jewelry. That’s all there is. I make my own money and if I need anything beyond my means, I just guilt one of my parents into providing it for me. I am, after all, the product of a broken home…
By the time I emerged from the steamy bathroom, fully dressed, towel dried hair thrown up into a ponytail, I had made up my mind. Max Levine was history. As predicted, he lay on his back, snoring loud enough for the Shapiros in the next condo over to hear. I grabbed my purse on my way out, considered writing him an explanatory letter, but didn’t see a pen within easy reach and I couldn’t be bothered to go searching one out. So I just left. He should have just been happy that he got a goodbye fuck, even though he had been right; I did just lay there, waiting for him to heave a few times and fall on top of me with his post-orgasm grunt the way he always did. I had never been a dead lay before; how could I have allowed it to get like this?
No he didn’t need a letter; he was smart, he’d catch on in a day or two. I glanced down at my tennis bracelet; but damn it all, I’d sure miss the jewelry
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Table of Contents
Life, Sideways
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Thanks for reading Life, Sideways.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Life, Sideways Page 23
