Call Me. Or Text. Text is better.
That’s what friends are for.
Friendship
That’s what friends are for.
WHAT FOLLOWS IS A WORK OF FICTION (mostly)
Friday morning, I awoke to a text from a friend:
— Are you home today? Can I come out and see you? Could be there by 10.
It’s rare that someone volunteers to drive out to see me from the city. Not that I’m that far, it’s just a royal pain in the ass. And with this friend, our visits usually required United Nations like negotiating. Suffice it to say, I knew something was up:
I’m home. yes. I have a couple of meetings but nothing too stressing. Are you OK?
— I need to talk. I’m not in danger, but I need to talk to you.
K. The door will be open.
I had no idea what was going on. This was pretty out of character. However, given the time stamp of the text and the request, it had to be something important.
My friend showed up early and I could see the weight in her eyes and in her body. Whatever it was, she was carrying it. I had a meeting 15 minutes after she arrived, so we kept the conversation light, but there was an intense and palpable weight in the air.
After my meeting, I made a few snarky observations and then took the plunge: “Well, you’re not here to hear me blather about my job, what’s up?”
Her eyes began to swell and she sighed: “I’m pregnant.”
As the statement registered with me, I, too, sighed. I was aware that she wanted a kid and having just hit 40, I had a rough idea of what she was thinking. I know this woman pretty well.
I got up to hug her. As I held her and let her cry gently swaying back and forth, I ran through my own mixed emotions. This woman and I had once been in love, but that had ended long ago. And when we were together we did talk about kids.
For the very brief period when I wanted them, she didn’t. When she wanted them, I didn’t. For a host of irreconcilable differences, we parted ways as lovers. Eventually, we came back together as friends.
In case you’re wondering why she would come to me, I’ll tell you.
We’re close friends.
I’d been to this circus before.
[Quick note: In the event you think I may be some kind of Lothario, those terminations ALL resulted from accidents. They were NOT the result of reckless behavior.]
She gathered herself, broke our hug and I went back to sit down and asked: “What do you want to do?”
Her bottom lip began to quiver: “I don’t know.” She took a very deep breath: “What if this is my last chance?”
We both let that sit in the room for a bit, and then I pulled into focus something I learned from the last woman I had dated: “How can I help you?”
I knew how, but I don’t particularly enjoy re-visiting those stories.
“You’ve been through this before and I thought you could give me advice. What should I do?”
I groaned as we laughed because she knew this was not something I enjoyed talking about: “Yea. Sure. Of course. Let’s start with this: Do you love this guy?”
Her eyes teared up again: “I care for him so much, but …” and then she listed things about him that drove her nuts. “It’s so shallow, I know. And he’s so fucking good to me, but …” she let it her voice trail off.
“You don’t want to have to support two children.”
“No.”
I didn’t have it in me to tell her something she should’ve known by now — most, but not all, men are giant children. The better ones are responsible, high functioning contributors to society …but still children. I can say this with authority because I am one — the high functioning type I’d like to think.
Adding to the complication, an ex of hers had come back into her life. So, now she truly has the perfect storm. She has in a relationship with a guy that was marching toward its conclusion, she’s pregnant, and she’s got this guy coming back into her life (a guy she had really strong feelings for.)
Christ, I wouldn’t wish that hat trick on anyone.
We talked about different scenarios. I shared with her my experiences, in as much detail as I felt the conversation warranted. In each case, I wanted the kid. Not because I am pro-life, quite the opposite. It’s just what I wanted.
But I had the good fortune to be involved with women that were infinitely smarter than me. They made not only the right choice for them, but also the right choice for me. Did anything I say factor into their decision? Almost certainly not, but they allowed me to voice it. That mattered to me then as it does now.
“I’m worried that” she said, “an abortion will kill what little remains of our sex life.”
“You just said you barely have sex now. And you’ve got an ex creeping up on you, and that’s you chief concern.”
She laughed a little: “Well, not when you put it like that.”
“Besides, that isn’t always the case. With X, we were instructed NOT to have sex for one week. I think we lasted maybe 36/48 hours.”
“Seriously?”
“Yea, we liked each other a lot then.”
“What happened to her?”
“Well, yadda yadda yadda, an ex, yadda yadda yadda. She got back together with him about four months later.”
Knowing I was friends with more than a few ex’s she asked: “Do you still talk to her?”
“Nah. No point. Are you hungry?”
She tapped into a good Brooklyn accent: “Yea, I could eat.”
The more we talked during lunch, the more she became resolved on what she wanted to do. And as she found more solid footing with her decision, she asked about me and my situation.
“How are things?”
I said: “Whatever we were doing has been ‘put on pause.’”
She asked: “What does that mean?”
I shook my head: “Not entirely sure.”
I gave her a re-cap of events and how I saw things.
She shook her head and asked: “Are you OK?”
“Yea, I’m fine.” Bringing her back to the topic at hand: “At least she’s not pregnant.”
That comment played out much better in my head than it did with her.
Before the check came, she began noodling around on her phone. When I asked what she was doing, she said she was looking to see when she could get an appointment.
“Today?”
“No, not today, but as soon as possible, you know?”
I did know. And I totally understood, but I suggested that she at least talk to the guy before making the appointment.
I know her well enough to know that when she has made up her mind, that’s it. So I was confident she would not be swayed. I did tell her that if it were me, I wouldn’t want to get a text saying: “Oh, BTW, next Thursday at 8am, I’m having an abortion.” Especially if I had shown excitement about the pregnancy like she told me this guy had.
She took what I said in and smiled, saying: “Of course, I would call, not text. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
We walked back towards my place, having a few more laughs. I joked that I had a punch card at the women’s clinic on the Upper East Side, and I was one away form a free abortion. Eliciting a groan more than a laugh. Then I commented about how abortion clinic waiting rooms are one of the saddest places I’ve ever been to — and I’ve seen Morrissey live.
I got a genuine laugh on that one.
As I walked her to her car, I encouraged her to talk to her girlfriends. While I have a perspective, it’s only mine. And it’s a man’s. I’m probably not the best resource. Besides, there’s only so much I can offer.
I asked her: “What about your mom?”
“I can’t tell her. She wants a grandchild so badly.”
Her brother has a kid: “She has one.”
She held up her hand: “I know. I know.”
She turned to face me: “Thank you.”
“Thank you for feeling comfortable enough to talk to me about it.”
“You know me better than most people.” She looked at me intensely: “But you know this is a two-way street, right? You can call me if you need to.”
“And I will.” I nodded: “If I need to.”
Looking at me skeptically: “OK. I hope so. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m around.”
“I know.”
We kissed each others cheek and embraced.
It was the kind of hug that contained the simplicity, comfort, and acceptance you find with the unconditional love of a true friend.