"Kevin wears a suit to work every day.
He's a patent lawyer for a biomedical research company.
It's a pretty laid back place, so he could dress more
casually, but he likes the advantage
the formality gives him.
He's not especially handsome, but his shirt is crisp,
his tie well-chosen, his fingernails trimmed,
and his hair nicely kept, neat with a bit of bounce.
What more can a man do?
For years, I hope to meet someone in a romantic way,
at a coffee shop, on a train, at my high school reunion.
The ones I hope to meet were the ones
I never talked to in high school, whose
sleepy, sexy faces I stared at through an algebra or history
haze.
At the 15-year reunion, I was cornered
by Dina who, when tests were handed back in class,
would immediately turn around and ask me what grade I got.
She'd become a middle school guidance counselor.
For hours, she went on about "my kids" and how cute and troubled
they were while I eyed whatever men didn't seem to have
a woman attached to them.
The only one I talked to smelled like sardines
and laughed when I said things that weren't at all funny.
He claimed we used to play badminton together in gym
but all I could remember was that he
had a hot older brother who played Pippin in a drama club
production.
After that, I gave up and went online.
At first, it was like the lure of the grocery store
at midnight, the tantalizing heaps
of food stocking the shelves until you realize they're all
filled with corn syrup.
But Kevin was made of solid, old-fashioned ingredients,
things you could identify as wholesome and true.
We skipped the flirty emails and the hesitant phone
calls and went right to sleeping together.
He would undress in my living room, the wingtip shoes,
the Argyle socks, the creased pants, the boyish undershirt.
His boxers were soft and worn.
I didn't feel very attached to him yet.
It happened slowly.
First body and then mind, my skin leading the charge.
Love him.
On the second date, we established that both of us
wanted kids, preferably two, but we weren't in a rush.
And then suddenly, in the way that even the passage of three
years can feel sudden, we were.
The more we wait, the more rushed we are.
Every 28 days, I mark an S in my pocket calendar for old Aunt
Sally.
She was miserably punctual, though once it was 32 days.
I couldn't get to sleep on night 31.
I kept squirming around in bed until Kevin caught me.
'What's going on, sweetie?'
I didn't want to say anything but I couldn't help myself.
'I was supposed to get my period two days ago.'
'Yeah?
How do you feel?'
'Fine.
Anxious.
Maybe a tiny bit nauseous?' 'Really?'
'A tiny bit.'
Kevin slowly moved two fingers out from the point
where my breasts met, sliding them down each side of my torso
and ending up at my belly button like tracing a Valentine.
'Do you like the name Penelope?'
'You mean like Penelope Cruz?
No way.' 'Rina?'
'Reminds me of renal failure.
I don't know what it is, but I know I don't want it.'
'How about Elliot?' 'My cousin, Melissa's son, is named Elliot.
What else have you got?'
'I love Oliver.' 'Come on.
The Todman kid, the Porter kid.
Everyone's named Oliver.'
This kind of banter had been forbidden for months.
We picked it up now like AAers playing a drinking game.
We knew very well what we were doing,
but we hoped that this time would be different.
My period came Friday afternoon at work.
I sat on the toilet and pictured babies living in the sewer
system, playing in filth but somehow still
clean and happy, a gang of little naked bottoms
and fuzz heads throwing balls of shit and yelping with glee.
Then I had to go home and tell Kevin,
which I did by making sure the tampon wrapper was
visible in the trash.
I call Audrey on her birthday and when the phone connects,
I hear the clinking around her before she says hello.
She and Jeff are having brunch with friends.
'Go back to it.'
I tell her. 'Eat your eggs Benedict.'
'Yep.
That's what I'm having,' she says.
'And a Bloody Mary?'
'No, just OJ.
Hey, thanks for the sweater.
It's really cozy.' 'I wanted to get you something with
interest, as mom would say, but there was nothing out there.
The mall is a disappointment.'
'Did you hear me?
I said I like it.'
'Well, wear it in good health, as grandma would have said.'
'You sound depressed.' 'Go back to your birthday brunch,' I
yell as if volume equals enthusiasm, and end the call.
When we lived close by and saw each other often,
Audrey would notice if I got a haircut, or new shoes,
or earrings.
And she was liberal with compliments.
She would also tell me that I look tired
but that my concealer wasn't concealing
or that my jeans had gone beyond fashionably worn.
Now that we don't see each other much,
she comments on the sound of my voice.
I know she doesn't intend to be mean or nosy.
She intends to be accurate.
Over the years, I found her accuracy refreshing, intimate.
Lately, it makes me wish I had a quiet, oblivious brother.
I'm the boss.
The baby stares me down.
Of course I'm staring him down.
I don't know which one of us started it.
I'm standing across from him in complete winter garb,
grasping the bar with a gloved hand.
When I moved to let a fat woman heave down
into the one remaining seat, the baby
turns his head to follow me.
What attracts his attention at this stage in life?
A matter of months.
The deep red of my coat, the toggle buttons
protruding from it, a feminine face about his mother's age?
Despite the gold ring on the cute father's finger,
I pretend he's on his own.
A single parent.
Not knowing his name, I think of him as Javier.
What happened to the woman who bore Javier's adorable child?
She loves Uruguay more, with its rolling plains,
and ample rivers, and her whole family there, all the aunts
and cousins and children to care for as if they were your own.
Or she is off with another one of her photojournalists,
knowing the baby will fare better
with his warm and dependable father.
Or she died within a week of the birth,
a complication no one could have anticipated or prevented.
Yes, Javier seems too smiley to have endured
a recently departed love, but it's his personality,
kind and hopeful.
And now there's his son to think of too.
Besides, everyone knows that only children smile out
of sheer delight.
In a real adult smile, there is always something other
than happiness."
Thanks so much.
[APPLAUSE]