Chapter 10 Liz #2
None other than Dawn Hampton herself greeted Liz and the other new moms as they entered, checking their names off a list and pointing out the cubbies where they should store their shoes.
Only socks and bare feet were allowed on the carpet.
Liz was wearing loafers but fortunately had remembered to bring a pair of spare socks.
She didn’t want to lead with her bunions when meeting a new group of women.
She tugged on her socks and found a seat with her back to the mirrored wall.
As women kept filtering in, Liz snuck glances at her classmates.
They had already coalesced into little clusters and were talking animatedly.
How? Either they knew each other beforehand or they had forged alliances in the four minutes it took to get from the parking lot to the second floor.
“Did you choose a pediatrician yet?” Liz heard one woman ask another.
“We’re going with Dr. Daniels. You?”
“Same! He’s the best. And the offices are—” She did a chef’s kiss.
Liz watched them exchange a heartfelt look.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this together.”
“Our babies are going to be best friends.”
“They don’t have a choice!”
The two women hugged. Their swollen midriffs grazed like bumper cars and they laughed before they broke apart—a peak momcore moment.
Flooded with envy, Liz fixed her attention on a poster on the wall.
The new-mom class was yet another sorority.
Just as Liz was telling herself that it didn’t matter, she was here to learn how to take care of her baby, not compliment someone’s Hatch jumpsuit, she saw her walking into the room.
Liz was puzzled, but it was Victoria striding into the room in skintight leather pants, a white button-down shirt, and three-inch heels. Liz watched her give her name to Dawn and take off her shoes.
“Who wears leather pants to baby group?” said the woman next to Liz.
“Seriously,” said the woman on the other side of Liz, who now found herself in the middle of a shit-talking sandwich. “And heels!”
“It doesn’t exactly scream maternity wear,” Liz opined, and the women looked at her approvingly. A line had been drawn and Liz was on the correct side of it.
Across the room, Victoria placed her heels in a cubby, then looked over, directly at Liz.
Liz held her breath. She had once run into a one-night stand at Whole Foods two years after their forgettable, sweaty tryst. Liz had been piling her cart with chickpea puffs and plantain chips—snacks masquerading as health foods—when he had rounded the corner with a pretty girl on his arm.
Liz had immediately clocked the ring on her finger—and the fact that he still had all his hair.
She hadn’t known whether to say hi and introduce herself—I’m Liz and I’ve already met your fiancé’s penis—or pretend it wasn’t happening, she didn’t recognize him, she wasn’t actually in aisle 9 at all, these weren’t her chickpea puffs or Nayonaise.
This situation, with Victoria, felt similar.
What was the protocol for greeting someone you never thought you’d see again after a test brunch that had gone terribly?
Like the one-night stand who had pretended Liz was wearing an invisibility cloak and walked right by her, Victoria also took the reins and solved the dilemma for her. She gave Liz a wave, then came over and sat down next to her.
Liz saw the other women give her side-eye—she knew this creature?
Liz attempted a casual tone as she addressed Victoria. “Hi. I didn’t expect to see you here!” Or ever again.
“Me neither. They called me yesterday and said there was an opening,” Victoria explained.
“That’s great,” Liz said, processing the news that they were going to be in the class together after all.
“Actually, what they said was that they had lost one of the moms,” Victoria added.
“Wait, what?” Liz asked, alarmed.
“They clarified that she was moving to Chicago, but still. Not the best wording to lead with.”
Liz braced herself for Victoria to ask if she had updated her résumé yet, but Dawn closed the door to the classroom and called all the moms to order.
She sat down in the circle with them and introduced herself, telling them how, many years ago, she had noticed a hole in the market.
There were postpartum baby groups, but there wasn’t a course for expecting moms, led by an expert, that would give them the resources they needed and allow them to foster a community that would continue after their babies arrived.
Dawn’s idea gestated and then…the class was born.
Dawn told them that yes, in the years since, she had written books and appeared on Good Morning America, but Dawn’s heart and soul remained here: with the new moms, in this classroom.
Even if the lighting on set at GMA was more flattering!
The women laughed, and as Liz glanced around, she saw that they were soaking up Dawn’s words like manna from heaven.
Dawn then asked the women to say their name, their baby’s due date, if they knew whether they were having a girl or a boy, and one thing they wanted to learn.
Liz lost track of all the women and their corresponding October due dates.
Their answers were so similar about what they hoped to learn—holistic teething remedies, the latest data on cord blood banking, anti-Ferber methods for sleep training—that no one stood out.
Until it was Victoria’s turn. “Is it true that bubble baths can give your baby a UTI?” she asked.
Hiccups of dismay and pejorative giggles spread around the circle like a SoCal wildfire.
If Victoria noticed, she didn’t seem to care.
“Maybe it’s an urban myth, but I heard that you shouldn’t do bubble baths under the age of two, for a boy or girl,” she said bluntly.
Liz looked at Victoria to see if she was aware that she was causing an international baby-group incident.
But Victoria was casually looking around the room, meeting everyone’s gaze without compunction.
Dawn cleared her throat. “Remember, everyone, no question is too weird or wacky. This is a safe space.” Dawn then assured them that they would spend a class covering bathing methods and hypoallergenic products.
When the class concluded, the groups of moms formed right back up.
Liz pulled out her phone and pretended to check an influx of important emails.
Victoria stood and stretched her legs. Liz overheard a cluster of three women talking, their voices too many decibels above a polite stage whisper to suggest they’d even considered it.
“She doesn’t look pregnant,” one woman said with a snicker, fingering her loose braid. They were all rocking wispy, ankle-length peasant dresses, like they had raided a D?EN sample sale together.
“Maybe she’s not,” said the doughy-faced but pretty one.
“Surrogate. Good call,” the redhead in the trio said. “She does look a little old to be pregnant.”
“I am old,” Victoria said, walking over to the group of women. “But I’m not using a surrogate. I’m pregnant. Naturally, no less. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask.”
Liz watched the women redden with embarrassment. Liz had to hand it to this woman: Victoria had done what Liz had fantasized about many times but had never been able to muster the courage to accomplish. She had stood up for herself.
Victoria flashed them a smile, then collected her heels, slipped them on, and strode out of the room. Liz scrambled to gather her purse and information packet, then hastily threw her loafers on over her socks in order to catch up to Victoria, who was already down the stairs, exiting Mother’s Haven.
“Victoria,” Liz yelled, once she got outside to the sidewalk flanking the tree-lined side street. “Wait up.”
Victoria turned and did, a polite expression resting delicately on her face like an outfit on a hanger.
“I’m sorry,” Liz said. “That was shitty. I shouldn’t have been a part of that, earlier, talking about your outfit.”
“I’m pretty tough. I just wish people would say it to my face.”
“You’re right.” Liz drew in a deep breath. A motorcycle zoomed by, interrupting the otherwise quiet setting. “At brunch, I realize you were probably only trying to help—”
“But I came across as privileged and out of touch and bossy,” Victoria said.
Nailed it, Liz thought. “A little?” she suggested.
“I’m sorry. I’m good at zeroing in on the bottom line, playing hardball, and voicing my opinions. It’s served me well at work, but this wasn’t work. I could have used a filter.”
The admission settled nimbly in the air between them.
“Do you want to go for ice cream?” Liz asked suddenly.
Victoria’s mouth curved upwards in surprise. “I’d love to.”
They walked to a gelateria nearby and ordered double scoops.
“Outside or inside?” Liz asked, then she and Victoria found a corner table on the patio and dove into their stracciatella and dulce de leche.
“I’m bad at this,” Victoria said. “Small talk. Making friends. Relating to other women, in general.”
“Really?” Liz said. “I figured you had a tight-knit group of equally flawless women who did spa days together and went on shopping trips in Paris.”
Victoria burst out laughing and a bit of stracciatella sprayed from her lips like a puff of confetti.
“Hardly.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“I’ve really only had one friend and we only started hanging out because we were in the same AP classes in high school.
But then our lives took different directions and I insulted her about the path she chose and now we’re twice-a-year-happy-birthday-text friends. So, not many friends in my stable.”
Liz took this in, trying to recalibrate the version of Victoria she’d had in her mind.
“I don’t have anyone to invite to my baby shower,” Victoria said, her tone matter of fact. “Except maybe my doctor. I think she would come. Part of the concierge fee?”
“Let me guess—it’s twenty-five thousand dollars?” Liz asked pointedly but not unkindly.
Victoria laughed. “Yep.”
“I’m not good at the whole friendship thing either,” Liz admitted.
“Really?” Victoria asked, her turn to be surprised.
“I’ve always felt like I’m on the outside, looking at the cool girls, taking notes, trying to fit in.”
Victoria nodded thoughtfully.
“I think a lot of people feel that way,” she said. “Most people just don’t have the courage to admit it.” Liz considered this, taking another spoonful of gelato. “Is it like that with the women you were with at Mother’s Haven?” Victoria asked.
Liz deliberated about how much to divulge; even though Victoria seemed to put a premium on let’s-cut-the-shit honesty, laying bare the innermost contents of her mind wasn’t something Liz was used to doing.
There was also the danger that once she revealed a little, everything would come tumbling out.
Secrets were as slippery as marbles and best kept bundled up in a tight drawstring bag.
“They’re my friends, but I always feel like I’m wearing or doing or saying the wrong thing. ”
“Liz, I’m no expert, but that doesn’t sound great.”
“No?” Liz said, irony filling her tone. She licked the frosty spoon. Maybe she and Victoria did have something in common. And that it was a friend deficit—who would have thought?
As their gelato melted into sweet soupy puddles, Liz and Victoria sat at the table trading details of their lives.
Liz thought about all the times she had read something extolling the power of female friendship, whether it was a piece of highbrow literature or a coffee-mug quote.
All the poignant musings and quippy sound bites on female friendship had seemed valid in theory but hadn’t resonated for the simple fact that Liz couldn’t relate.
Maybe this is it, Liz thought as she sat on the patio, enjoying the last slips of afternoon sun with Victoria.
Maybe this is what everyone has been talking about all along.