The Year We Turned Forty

by Liz Fenton

  “If that’s what you want to do, I support you.” Claire put her hand on top of Jessie’s, hoping Jessie would have the happy ending she wanted.

  “And also . . .” Jessie paused. “I still think we need to keep this from Gabs.” She looked down at her coffee cup as she said this, because she knew she was asking a lot of Claire to lie to their best friend, someone perfectly capable of keeping the secret. “It’s just that she’s already dealing with so much right now.” They shared a knowing look. “And I see the way she stares at Lucas. I just don’t want to hurt her.”

  “She’d understand,” Claire said, echoing the same words from ten years ago.

  “Maybe. But I can’t take the chance that she won’t. Besides, I don’t want her worrying about me. She has her own problems right now. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Claire agreed, pushing away the flicker of uneasiness that passed through her chest. They were here to make different choices, and something told her they should tell Gabriela. They already shared the biggest secret imaginable: that they were all reliving this past decade. Claire was about to tell Jessie just that when she froze, her eyes darting from Jessie to the door of the café.

  “What?” Jessie asked when she saw Claire’s face fall.

  “Don’t turn around. Peter just walked in. With his wife.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  Gabriela tried to press the air out of her lungs, but she felt breathless, like she’d just sprinted down the beach. But she hadn’t been running, she’d been in a stare down with her computer, her mind as blank as the screen, willing—no, begging—the words to come. She was supposed to be writing the novel, her fourth, the critically acclaimed book that landed her on the New York Times bestseller list.

  She used to joke to Claire and Jessie that her memory had practically vanished the day she turned forty, and now the irony in that statement haunted her. If only she could recall what she’d already written. That’s exactly what Jessie had naively pointed out yesterday—that she’d done it once, so wouldn’t it be easier the second time?—which had made Gabriela want to smack her. She knew Jess meant well, because, logically, to someone who didn’t write books for a living, rewriting one should be a piece of cake. But it wasn’t that simple. Gabriela had twelve novels to her name, and keeping track of all of that information—four thousand pages, sixty main or supporting characters, and almost a million words—was a job in itself. She only knew the names she’d given her secondary characters because she kept them logged in a notebook in her office. She had her outlines and kept detailed notes, but still, she repeated herself more often than she wanted to admit—whether it was a character’s physical description, an illness someone had been diagnosed with, or even a phrase—her editor would be the one to point out those things already existed in one of her other books.

  She had been back in the year 2005 for just three weeks, but was acutely aware that her time was running out, not just to re-create her novel, but to re-create the life she should have chosen the first time.

  She had been visiting Lucas regularly, bringing him overpriced gifts—pint-sized pairs of designer jeans and a black leather jacket. “Gabs!” Jessie had rolled her eyes in mock outrage after Gabriela revealed the price.

  “I can’t help myself—his little red lips and cherub cheeks send my biological clock into overdrive!”

  Jessie smiled. “Do you think you’re any closer to convincing Colin to have a baby?”

  “I don’t think so.” Gabriela hadn’t slept most of the nights she’d been back, her mind racing to think of ways to change Colin’s mind. But she’d discard each idea quickly, deciding it felt either forced or desperate. Like when she’d taken him to the boutique to buy a gift for Lucas. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe asking him to go with her to the baby store was going to make him have a lightbulb moment right there in front of the cloth diaper display, but she’d thought it would help gently nudge him. It hadn’t.

  “Didn’t babysitting Lucas help? I have to say, no matter your motive, I was thankful to get out of the house.”

  Two nights ago, Gabriela and Colin had watched Lucas so Jessie and Grant could go to the sushi restaurant they loved. She’d planned to casually ask Colin to hold Lucas for her while she used the bathroom, or feed him two ounces as she poured them some wine.

  “Not really.” Gabriela laughed. “No offense, but your son acted like a big ol’ blob—he slept the entire time!”

  “Yes—he is in that stage. Maybe wait until he’s a little older? When he can smile and drool all over Colin?”

  “Yes, I’m sure the drool will convince him,” Gabriela said wryly.

  After Colin told her he didn’t want a baby last time, Gabriela had not told most people, not even her dad, blaming her depressed attitude on a looming writing deadline. Only Jessie and Claire knew the truth. People never suspected that she was mourning the loss of a child she’d never have, a loss that felt as great as the canyon in her heart that was formed when her mom died.

  Her dad had long ago stopped asking for a grandchild. Gabriela had finally confessed to him years before that she didn’t think she was cut out to be a mom.

  She’d been sitting with him at the bar in his restaurant, Francesca’s, named after her mother, sipping rich coffee laced with Kahlúa and dining on the tender chicken tamales it was known for. They’d been reminiscing about how Gabriela’s mother would slave over the tamales each Christmas Eve and then hand deliver them to their friends and family.

  “Remember how she would always say ‘food is love’ when I asked her why she went to so much trouble to make these?” Gabriela asked her father, motioning toward her plate.

  He finished his bite and smiled. “And you’d roll your eyes and tell her it would be so much easier to get a gift certificate.”

  “God, I was such a brat.” Gabriela blushed at the memory. “But she’d just shake her head and tell me that one day I’d discover my own way to show love. Because saying those three little words wouldn’t be enough.”

  Gabriela hadn’t understood then, but she did now. Writing was her version of her mother’s chicken tamale—whether it was a short poem for Colin or a handwritten letter to her friends, it was her way of spreading happiness to others.

  Gabriela took another bite, savoring the flavor of the masa. “You know what? I can still taste the love.”

  “It’s the secret ingredient,” her father said. “And one day you can pass it on to your own children.”

  She put her hand over his. “I know how much you want grandchildren, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  Her dad’s face fell. “Why not?”

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.” Her voice caught as she confessed she hadn’t tried to get pregnant because she was worried she wouldn’t be as good at showing love as her mother had been.

  “That’s not true. You’d be a wonderful mom. I’m sure Colin feels the same way.”

  Gabriela thought about how Colin had finally stopped asking her if she was ready. “He has said that. But he’s supportive of my choice.”

  Colin’s mom, Rowan, had also given up, but only after Gabriela had forced her to stop prodding. Early in the marriage, Rowan would casually ask when Gabriela planned to have her first grandbaby. And Gabriela used to think, First? She’s assuming not only that I’ll have one, but that I’ll birth multiple kids. But because Colin was an only child, and Gabriela hadn’t wanted to cause conflict, she’d make excuses that weren’t exactly lies and say things like, Now isn’t the right time, or, Maybe I’ll be ready after I finish my next book, never dreaming she’d one day change her mind.

  But his mom couldn’t seem to let it go, becoming like a woodpecker methodically pecking away at a piece of timber, taking notice of each of Gabriela’s passing birthdays as if it were her own eggs that were diminishing in quality each year. Gabriela sometimes wondered if she and Colin were in cahoots, tag-teaming her until she finally gave them both what the
y wanted.

  Gabriela decided that she’d had enough when she turned thirty-six. Rowan had made a comment about Gabriela’s reproductive abilities, mentioning an article she’d read about women who’d frozen their eggs and how it could be like an insurance policy in case they needed them later. She wasn’t sure if it was the two glasses of wine she’d consumed beforehand or the years of built-up defensiveness that had finally bubbled over, but she blurted out that she was not going to freeze her eggs ever because she never planned to have a child, which her precious son, Colin, had been very aware of from their third date. The shattered look on her mother-in-law’s face had instantly made her wish she could take back each word. Gabriela had apologized for lashing out, but she never felt like her mother-in-law truly forgave her, and a silent tension had always remained between them.

  But now, as she stared at the blank Word document on her computer screen, she knew she couldn’t let their tentative relationship keep her from reaching out this time around. So she grabbed her purse and headed toward Rowan’s home in Malibu before she could talk herself out of it.

  “Gabriela?” When Rowan said her name, the inflection in her voice made it sound more like a question, her mother-in-law clearly surprised by her visit. Save for the requisite birthday or holiday get-together, they hadn’t seen much of each other since the night Gabriela had snapped at her.

  “Rowan, it’s so good to see you,” Gabriela said, meaning the words more than she realized she would, then stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks and pulled her into a tight hug, feeling Rowan’s shoulders tense. Gabriela had forgotten how tall her mother-in-law was, close to five nine without heels, and how beautiful, her shoulder-length auburn hair pinned back at her neck, the lines around her pale sapphire eyes only adding to her beauty.

  “Please, come in,” Rowan said as she swept her long arm in the direction of the sitting area off the kitchen, a room that Gabriela had memorized, with not so much as a lamp or a rug having been replaced in two decades. Gabriela remembered sitting perched on the edge of the white sofa with the pale yellow floral print, Colin next to her with a strange smile painted on his face, the teacup shaking slightly in her hand as she made conversation with her future in-laws for the first time. Colin’s dad, Aidan, a lanky man just like Colin, with dark red hair and a nose slightly too large for his thin face, hadn’t said much after they were introduced—the only sound had been spoons clinking against their tea saucers. But when he made a joke about British people’s teeth, they’d all released hearty laughs that didn’t at all match how funny the anecdote had been. Gabriela felt herself relax, knowing immediately where Colin had gotten his similar sense of humor.

  Colin’s family came from a long line of wealthy entrepreneurs. His great-grandfather started a charming pub over one hundred years before that still stood today, and was run by one of Colin’s uncles, and boasted the best fish-and-chips in West London. Colin’s father had left the family business to start up a software company that had eventually brought them to the States, working fourteen-hour days for years before it was sold for more money than they could ever spend in their lifetime. Gabriela loved that none of them, including Colin, ever talked about their wealth—his father still driving the old BMW that he’d had when she met Colin.

  The skin between Rowan’s eyes was knotted and Gabriela could practically see her mother-in-law’s thoughts imprinted across her face. She feared something was wrong with her son, silently pleading for Gabriela to put her mind at ease. She had nothing to worry about: Colin was as healthy as ever, working out daily in their tiny home gym or with his boot camp class, eating protein diligently as a disciple of the Atkins diet. But were she and Colin okay? Gabriela didn’t know.

  “Rowan, I just have to say I’m sorry I haven’t been around more, that things were never the same after that night,” Gabriela said before she’d even lowered herself into the burgundy leather chair opposite Rowan’s.

  “It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re here now.” She pressed her thin lips into a smile. Gabriela wasn’t sure if Rowan meant the words, but she could tell she was trying, that she wanted to. “And I’m just hoping that everything is okay.” Rowan picked at a loose thread on her cardigan sweater.

  “Everything is fine,” Gabriela said, her instinct to put up a wall to protect herself instantly kicking in. “Actually, it’s not,” she added quickly, the tears falling before she could stop them.

  Rowan rose from her chair. “I’m here,” is all she said before taking her daughter-in-law into her arms. Gabriela felt herself collapse into Rowan’s chest, her sobs echoing in the cavernous house.

  Once Gabriela had calmed down, they moved out to the backyard that overlooked the Pacific Ocean, Gabriela inhaling the ocean breeze. They sat for several minutes on a bench before Gabriela finally spoke, the words spilling out almost faster than she could process them, Rowan listening intently, her hand squeezing Gabriela’s. They talked for hours until the sun went down and the chilly air drove them back inside. Gabriela felt more relaxed than she had in a long time, opening up to Rowan about not just the baby but also her mother’s death. She never realized how badly she’d needed Rowan, and she wished she’d let her in sooner. Rowan had revealed that it had been incredibly difficult for her to get pregnant with Colin, that she’d wanted a house full of kids and had been devastated when she couldn’t conceive again. She and Aidan finally accepted that was God’s plan for them. “We didn’t have fertility treatments back then, and only a doctor could tell you that you were pregnant; there were no drugstore tests.” Gabriela had never known this story, and she wasn’t sure Colin did either. Her mother-in-law had always been fiercely private—or perhaps she had just been waiting to be asked the right questions.

  “I’ll talk to him,” was the last thing Rowan promised before Gabriela got into her car to drive back home.

  “Thank you,” she’d whispered. “For everything. And I’m sorry, I really am.”

  Rowan had waved it off, told her she’d been wrong too, that she’d been overly aggressive about wanting a grandchild and hadn’t wanted to hear it when Colin all but told her it was highly unlikely it would happen. She was sorry they hadn’t talked it through sooner, wishing she hadn’t been so stubborn for so many years. For her part, all Gabriela hoped now was that Rowan would have the influence over her son that only a mother could have.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  Jessie’s shoulders tensed and she resisted the urge to crane her neck toward the door, to meet Lucas’ father’s eyes for the first time since she’d given birth to their son. She was terrified that if they saw each other, the secret they shared would be as transparent as a piece of glass.

  Claire’s heart lurched as she watched Cathy and Peter head toward their table, and she reflexively put her hand over it as if it were going to pop out of her chest. This hadn’t happened last time. In the other version of their lives, Jessie and Peter’s wife had never crossed paths after she’d had the baby. And Claire had never met either of them. The closest she’d come had been when she and Jessie stalked Peter’s Facebook page just a few years ago, in 2012. There had been something about the way his green eyes pierced through his profile photo—on the beach with his arms wrapped tightly around his teenage son’s shoulders, the son he hadn’t denied—that made her stomach tighten, and she’d been grateful she would never have to meet Peter in person. Until now.

  Claire noticed Jessie’s breathing had intensified, her chest rising and dropping rapidly from beneath her loose-fitting top as Cathy approached them, her face devoid of expression. Claire slid her chair closer to Lucas and held her breath as she watched Peter shuffling behind his wife with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

  “Jessie, hi, it’s good to see you!” Cathy exclaimed, and both Jessie and Claire released their breath as Cathy gawked at Lucas’ striped blue onesie with My Mom’s a Hottie printed across it in bold lettering. Claire noticed Jessie force a smile and wrap her arms
across her middle section as she looked up at Cathy’s rail-thin physique. “How precious is your new little guy!” Cathy turned back toward Peter, whose face was losing color rapidly, his eyes darting around trying to find something to focus on. “Isn’t he adorable? Kind of makes me want another one,” she said as she poked her husband playfully. He offered a stiff smile but said nothing, causing Cathy to shoot him a quizzical look. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Of course he’s not okay. He’s staring at his child for the first time, Claire thought as anger began to course through her. Watching Peter refuse to look in the direction of his son made her think of Emily’s father. She wondered for the billionth time how a man could turn his back on his own child. She watched Peter reading a sign tacked to a corkboard about a beer and wine festival and considered something else she’d pondered after Emily dropped out of college, but hadn’t wanted to face: maybe she should have made different choices with Emily’s dad, David. It was easy for Claire to blame her strained relationship with Mona for her issues in parenting Emily. But what had David’s absence in Emily’s life done to her daughter? Claire had reasoned that no involvement was better than a sporadic influence, but what if she had been wrong?

  Claire knew that if Peter took responsibility it could actually create more problems than not. And she also knew that Grant was going be Lucas’ father, regardless. But from what Jessie had told her about Peter, he was a former pro soccer player and stay-at-home dad who ran sports camps in the summer. By all accounts a good father to the son he already had—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that now that Peter had seen Lucas, it could change everything. Claire glanced at Jessie. There were no traces of the giddy girl who used to talk about Peter like he was a high school crush. As she studied Jessie now, all she saw was a woman who would shrink into herself if she could, wanting nothing to do with a man who had once filled her up and made her float like a helium balloon.