Remy
REMY
FUTURE MILFS GROUP CHAT
Lin
Guess who’s back in London soon!
Me
Really? For how long?!
Lin
Few days with the London office.
Me
Let’s all go out for dinner! Tell me when and I’ll organize everything!
Nova
Cool! I’ll be here.
Melissa
Reunited! I’m looking forward to it!
I’m running late because I couldn’t decide what to wear to the book event.
I was twenty minutes and three outfit changes in when I realized Simone probably wouldn’t even notice the effort; it’s not a date.
I make it to the Waterstones in Piccadilly only two minutes after the start time, running straight downstairs to their event space.
Instead of chairs facing the back, they form a U shape, with the shortest row facing the stage.
It’s a full crowd, at least fifty people, but I spot Simone as soon as I walk through the door.
Maybe it’s just me and my ego, but Simone looks relieved to see me and proudly removes her bag from the seat she’s saved beside her.
“You’re late,” she says. “But not later than the hosts, so it’s fine.”
I sit and she asks, “How are you both?”
“Both? Oh, right. Well, I’m fine. I’m sure it’s fine, too.”
Simone frowns. “Don’t call your child ‘it.’”
“I haven’t found out the sex yet, so I don’t think it’ll mind.”
“You don’t know the sex? You should have found out by now.”
I smile. “Oh, Simone, I didn’t know you cared.”
She rolls her eyes in response. “And have you told your mother?”
One look at my face and her question is answered. “Oh, Remy.”
“I know. I know.”
“I don’t understand it,” she says. “Why don’t you want to tell her?”
I peel off my jacket because I’m suddenly too warm. “I don’t want her life to change.”
Mum’s rarely at home; she spends most nights of the week at Eric’s place now. I know her well enough to know how supportive she’d be of any route I decide to take, but I’ve resisted telling her I’m pregnant because she’s changed this past year. In a good way. She’s living her life again.
I never knew I suffered from anxiety until three months before These Four Friends was due to publish.
Which is laughable because it was while writing TFF that I noticed my depressive episodes had become less frequent.
When I was eventually diagnosed with anxiety, I remember looking at the doctor blankly before asking, “Is there ever going to be nothing wrong with me?” She smiled sympathetically before handing me a prescription for beta-blockers.
Back then, my life was full but also small; I lived alone and mainly spoke only to the same four people (the girls and Mum).
I’d finished the final draft of TFF , the cover had been chosen, and the publication date announced.
The turning point was when I began doing interviews and meeting booksellers, having to talk to strangers publicly about my book, about myself, for the first ever time.
I never thought this would be an issue. Yes, I am naturally introverted, but I come alive around friends and family.
I can hold a conversation and tell anecdotes with ease.
My friends think I’m funny, and they’ve never been ones to sugarcoat their opinions.
I’d assumed these traits were transferable, but put me face-to-face with people I know nothing about except maybe their first name and occupation?
It’s the strangest sensation. My mind goes blank.
I can’t stop looking at the floor for answers I’d rehearsed days prior.
I begin to sweat, my heart beats painfully , my tongue goes dry.
If you’d witnessed any of my earlier interviews, you’ll have noticed that I only wore black and repeatedly rubbed my chest in between gulping down cups of water.
Then there was the book publication itself.
My book, after years of trying to even get to this point in my career, was going to be consumed and criticized by the general public.
I started picking TFF apart. Is it “missing something” because I don’t have any romance in it and it’s solely focused on four women and their friendship?
Is it boring as a result? Is it funny enough?
Will anyone take anything from it or will it be an “empty” read, a DNF for readers who had been hoping for more?
My fears burrowed deeper. What would people think of my protagonists, most of whom are based on real people in my life?
What will they think of Nova’s character’s decision to focus on her relationship, Melissa’s fixation on her wedding, and Lin’s devotion to her job?
Would negative comments from readers end my career and my friendships all at once?
I spiraled the most when it came to “my” character. What would be said about the heroine being described as asexual, despite my unwillingness to define myself that way? Was it too late to scrap that part of the story? ( Yes. Yes, it bloody is too late. Don’t stress. Kisses, Tara. )
Panic attacks and cold sweats became a regular occurrence.
The nights were the worst—I could keep busy during the day, but alone in my flat, I descended into a well of anxiety.
I started spending my evenings with Mum so as not to be alone, and without me realizing, she got us into a routine.
She’d message that she was making dinner if I wanted to stop by.
Then we’d have dessert and watch a movie.
By then, it would be getting late, and she’d suggest that I might as well stay the night and go home in the morning.
Mum kept me fed, watered, and distracted effortlessly.
The thing is, my mother belongs to the strangest subsect of species: the extroverts.
She enjoys being out of the house and surrounded by as many new people as she can find in any given room.
She loves hearing their stories and encountering their personalities; according to Ada, no one is boring or weird and everyone is worth talking to.
“What if you meet a serial killer?” I’d asked her once. “Don’t they have to spend all their time outside? To… find people.”
My mother’s response?
“Wouldn’t that be fascinating? A deviant not by necessity, but by choice? Imagine it!”
I’d politely declined to do any such thing.
My mother loved seeing the world, even if all she could see of the world at the time was the inside of a crowded bar in North London. Yet, for months, she spent every night on the couch with a smile on her face and a reassuring arm across my shoulders—a party of two.
When TFF finally published, the early reviews were great and the book was selling well.
When the first round of negative reviews came in, I cried myself to sleep, but then Lin took me to brunch and exclaimed, “Fuck them!” over buttermilk pancakes with extra syrup; Nova called and said, “Yeah, but what have they written?” and Melissa told me to look up the reviews of my favorite novels because there isn’t a book on God’s green earth that doesn’t have negative reviews, including God’s own bestseller, the Bible.
(One reviewer gave it one star and wrote: Poorly developed characters, too many plotlines, and a miserable ending. I hope the sequel has more promise. )
Once I read the negative reviews on books I believed were twenty-first-century literary masterpieces, I accepted the true subjectivity of reading. I haven’t looked up another review of TFF since.
Free(er) of my anxiety fog, Mum had resumed her old life—this time, with even more gusto.
The notes Mum has left on the fridge this week alone say things like:
Spending the night at Eric’s!
Going dancing then staying over at Maggie’s.
City break for the weekend with E.
Jazz bar after dinner with woman I met at bus stop. Angela, I think.
At Eric’s. Call if you need me!
If I tell her I’m pregnant, that flurry of activity, that freedom she deserves—it all goes away, and I don’t want that for her. I’d rather wait and tell her once I’ve made a decision, and her role in whatever comes next is clearer to both of us.
“She always puts her own life on hold to look after me whenever she feels like I need looking after,” I explain to Simone as we continue to wait for the hosts to arrive.
“I’ve… I’ve had bouts of depression and anxiety over the years…
” I study Simone’s face as I reveal this, but she simply nods.
I’m not sure whether she does so out of understanding or if she’s thinking, Ah, that explains a lot .
I choose not to dwell on it. “When my mum doesn’t have to worry about me,” I continue, “she returns to her natural state of being a social butterfly. Now, she has a partner, and he seems great for her. I haven’t seen her like this in years. ”
“Had she been single for a long time?” Simone asks.
I nod. “She’s always been independent, so it’s not like she’s needed another person to be happy. Obviously, she had me on her own. But things with Eric feel different. I think it’s serious.”
“It’s sweet of you to consider the effect on her life, Remy,” Simone says, “but even though I’ve only met your mother once, I got the impression that you withholding this big of a secret for this long, would hurt her. You will have to tell Ada, and soon.”
“You’re right,” I say, and despite the pit in my stomach, I can’t help but smile again. “I was joking at first, but you really do care, huh?”
Simone turns to look at me, her eyes narrowed. Before she can think of a rebuttal, a bookseller walks onto the small stage to introduce best friends Gabrielle and Grace.