“I saw Mimi Butkis last week. I invited her and her son Gregory to the party.”
“I don’t want to date Greg Butkis.”
“That’s the point. Mimi said that…” Her voice got all low and pinched. “Mimi said that it’s known around town that you’re desperate. No one wants to date a mid-thirties chubby divorcee with questionable fashion sense and a bum uterus. Gregory Butkis might not come to the party. Mimi said he’s looking for a wife, not a pity date. I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t want to tell you this, but Mort’s the best you can do.”
What?
“What? Why?” I whispered.
And it sort of seemed like the universe whispered back, because I said so.
And that was the moment.
That moment. Right there.
The exact moment I realized the entirety of my hometown thought I was a dating pariah, with no prospects, no future, and that even Greg Butkis, used car salesman, sleaze extraordinaire, was beyond my reach.
And honestly, when was the last time I had a decent date in the city? It’d been years. Years. My mom was…right.
Last Monday, Ian said, if you can imagine it, you can do it. I posted it with a cute kitten background to all our social media pages. It got nine bazillion likes.
Well, at that moment, when I was on the phone with my mom, I started to imagine a different future for myself.
A future where I didn’t depend on horrible hookups, pity dates, or the questionable roll of the dating dice.
Besides, I already rode the marriage boat, it tipped over, capsized, and I nearly drowned. No. In the future I’m imagining, I see me fulfilled, happy, loved, with…a family.
A baby.
She’s there in my heart, she’s been there so long, like a song that I started singing but was never allowed to finish. I’ve been waiting for her, and in this imagined future, I see her in my arms. I’m singing her our lullaby.
Ever since the surgeon told me I’d never have children I’ve been mourning that future I couldn’t have. I was still married to Jeremy when I found out. He said he didn’t care, didn’t need or want kids. Two weeks later he was mating like a monkey on the dining room table. So, it was a moot point. I never followed up or went to a doctor to see what could be done.
But it’s been ten years. And unlike when I was sixteen and I dreaded what might come after Josh Lewenthal took my virginity…now at thirty-two, I want a family, a baby. Someone to cuddle, to go on bike rides with, to kiss bruised knees, to lie in the grass and look at clouds with, someone to love. I’ve been wanting it for years now.
I’d been waiting to find the right man. But unlike the carefree, I’ve-got-all-the-time-in-the-world dating scenes of my early twenties, or even the post-divorce dating app-fueled manic weekend hookups of my mid-twenties, my thirties have brought…Morts. I’ve seen it all. Men who are married and hiding it, men on their third divorce, men who live in their mom’s basement, men in their fifties having a midlife crisis who want to date a younger woman. All Morts.
I’ve been waiting for a good man to help make my dreams come true.
But, at that moment, I realized my dream doesn’t have to include marriage. Or a man.
Single women have babies all the time. I don’t need a fifty-year-old toupee-wearing man to have a future of happiness. I can make a future of happiness for myself.
Maybe, I can have a family. Maybe I can finish singing that lullaby.
I just need an egg, some sperm, and a doctor to help make the magic happen.
I can control my own destiny.
My mom wasn’t finished talking. “Josh Lewenthal will be at the party,” she said. “Did you know he has his own business? He draws web comics. Isn’t that strange? He’s moved back in with his dad. He’s living in the basement. The poor dear. Coming from a broken home. Be nice to him. You weren’t nice to him last year.”
“Okay, of course, Mr. Berners-Lee. Thanks for calling, I’ll talk to you soon,” I said, attempting to cut my mom short.
My mom sighed. “Bye, sweetie. See you in a few days. Wear something nice.”
I swiveled around and hung up the phone. Lavinia watched me from her desk. Her glasses were perched at the bottom of her nose. “Who was that?”
“Mr. Berners-Lee. About our SEO.” I grabbed my mouse and clicked it haphazardly.
“Mr. Berners-Lee?” she asked, sounding incredulous.
I looked around the office. No one else was paying any attention.
“That’s right,” I said. “He had some pointers.”