"Autumn Marie…"
"I'm kidding, Mom." I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.
We settle on pizza and salad. Unfortunately, she doesn’t eat much. I see her pop an anti-nausea lozenge into her mouth after two bites … the chemo effects I’d read about must be finally bothering her. I want to ask about it, but she doesn’t say anything and I wonder if she just wants a normal Sunday lunch with her daughter, so I don’t mention it.
When we’re eating, Mom tells me there's no way the pizza in New York City could be any better than it is at this place. I tell her she's right, it's better here because when I ate it in NYC I didn't have her sitting across from me. She tears up, which makes me tear up, and she tells me to quit saying sweet things.
It's something she would have said to me years ago, but aside from the words themselves, everything about her delivery is all wrong. The tone, the tears, the expression on her face.
This time, I don't believe her.
Later that night, my phone buzzes with a text and I inwardly groan. If it’s Matt again I’ll vomit. He tried to send more I miss you texts, but I’ve just ignored them. His most recent text said, I’m starting to get the hint. Hopefully by now the hint has been fully received. I blow out a relieved breath when I look down and see it’s from Livvie.
Livvie: I don't know about you, but I could use a drink.
Me: Perfect timing. My mom just went to bed.
Livvie: Orange Peel Brewing Company? I don't want fancy wine. I'm in a cold beer mood.
Me: I can be there in twenty.
Livvie: See you soon, baboon.
Me: Is that one of the inappropriate texts you warned me about?
Livvie: No. I'm just feeling you out to decide how receptive you are to jokes in general. Starting slow, you know? Like, just the tip.
The water I'm drinking catches in my throat and I cough while I'm laughing. It burns.
Me: Ahhh there it is.
Livvie: That's what she said. See you soon!
I pull on comfortable jeans and my Converse shoes. No spiked heels for this meetup. Livvie is my keep-it-real girlfriend, one who I can be myself around. Maybe I'll wear heels again, but right now it's difficult to imagine a scenario in which I'll need them.
I get to the brewing company first and grab a booth. Livvie walks in a few minutes later. She's dressed like me.
"Tell me the truth," she says, sliding in across from me. "You thought about skinny jeans and heels too, didn't you?"
"Of course," I nod. "But Chucks are one thousand times more comfortable. What were we doing going out in heels?"
"Rookie mistake. Blame it on youth." She eyes me. "How old are you? I know you're younger than me." She points at her eyes. "You don't have fine lines yet."
"Oh stop. I’m twenty-eight but lately I feel forty-five."
She makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "Neophyte."
"You don't want fancy wine but you use a fancy word?"
She shrugs. "I learned it today at the bookstore. It was empty because, shocker, it's ugly as sin in that place with fuck-all to do in the way of fun. Anyway, I was reading a book and that word was in it. I had to look it up, and now my vocabulary has grown by one word."
I high-five her, grinning. "How old are you?"
She narrows her gaze. "It's impolite to ask that question of your elders."
I give her a pointed look and she says, "Thirty-five."
I gasp and pretend to be horrified. She looks around for something to throw at me, but there isn't anything on the table except our forearms. Seriously, she looks amazing for her age. I thought she was only a year older than me.
She sticks her tongue out at me, then looks around for a server. When she spots one, she signals them over.
"I'll have the amber ale in the coldest glass you have," she tells the young guy in the black polo. "And a food menu."
He looks at me, gaze expectant.
"Two, please."
When he leaves, Livvie starts speaking: "I need to talk, but I can't until I've had a sip of beer."
I nod, considering her words. "Then I'll talk while we wait. I went to church with my mom today. Apparently she goes every week, and she has been doing so for some time. I had no idea."
"Is it a big deal that she's going to church?"
"No. It's just that I didn't know, and things like this keep happening. It's not like I moved away and didn't speak to her. We spoke often. I even came back here to visit. They weren't long trips, but it's not as if I left and never came back."
"You’re hurt she didn’t share more about her life?"
I shake my head. "No."
Maybe.
"You sound like your feelings are hurt."
I chuckle. “Maybe a little.”
The server walks up with our drinks. He tosses down two cardboard coasters, then sets down the beers, followed by two menus. "I'll be back for your order."
Livvie's arm shoots out, stopping him. "Wait a sec," she says, quickly scanning the menu. "I'll have a basket of green chili fries."
He nods and looks at me.
I shake my head. "Nothing for me, thanks."
"Do not tell me you're on a diet," Livvie says as he gathers the menus and leaves. She says the word diet as if it's responsible for a heinous crime.
"I already ate," I explain. “It’s nine and I’ll get heartburn if I eat a basket of chili fries right now and go to bed.”
"What does that have to do with anything? Fries are fries." She lifts her beer and knocks it gently against mine. "To neophytes and their elders."
I grin and sip my drink. It's crisp and cold. "So?" I urge Livvie. “Talk.”
"My husband is an asshole." She takes a long drink. "A giant asshole."
“What happened?” I ask.
Livvie drains half of her beer. “Jeff, my husband, wants kids."
"And that's bad because…?"
"A long time ago, we agreed not to have kids. We wanted big careers, the kind of careers that make it hard to have a family. We both work on Wall Street," she explains. "I didn't want to give up my career for a family, and he didn't either."
Sounds familiar. I definitely fall into the workaholic type of personality. Well, I did when I actually had a job.
"You could get a nanny." As soon as I say it, I feel stupid. Livvie and Jeff have probably thought of everything. She doesn't need me to point things out needlessly. "Sorry, I'll shut up and listen."
Livvie laughs and drinks her beer. "Neither of us want to have kids and watch another person parent them. And that is what we would be doing. Now, out of the blue, Jeff wants kids, but when I asked him if he planned on being a stay-at-home dad, he laughed. He said he thought maybe I'd grown tired of my career and I was ready for a new scene. He asked why I didn't want to look like the other moms pushing expensive strollers around the park. As if I have some sort of defect for not wanting that."
"I'm so sorry," I tell her, pushing my hand across the table. She knows what I'm doing, so she meets me halfway and accepts my squeeze. What an ass that he expects her to drop her career and take care of a new baby.