Remy
REMY
From: [email protected]
What do you mean you’re scrapping the book and starting something new?! We’re so close! Are you free to jump on a call? As in, right now.
From: [email protected]
I’m calling anyway.
From: [email protected]
Answer the phone!
I decide to run.
It’s possible that avoiding my problems is a dominant personality trait of mine that I need to address, but when I stopped hearing from Simone and started hearing from Tara, I called Melissa and jumped on a train the following day.
To say that Melissa is living her wildest dream would be a severe understatement.
She lives in a three-bedroom house that wouldn’t look out of place on Wisteria Lane, with a kitchen to make Ina Garten proud.
She has friendly neighbors, some of whom are fellow mothers, and has even reconnected with a university friend living in the area.
Grandparents from both sides often drive up on the weekends to help with the baby, and there’s just so much more space and clean air round here.
I hate to admit it, but I can feel my mind get a little clearer as soon as I step off the train.
The two of us sit in her large garden on wicker furniture, baby Isaiah fast asleep on my chest, snacking on cakes that Felix had ordered from their local (and award-winning) bakery.
I haven’t seen Melissa in the flesh post-pregnancy, and she looks incredible.
Her cheeks are fuller, and she fits perfectly into her patterned dress.
Her hair is held back by a claw clip and—
“Remy, are you pregnant?”
I drop my buttermilk scone (cream, then jam) in shock. “How did you know that?”
“I have baby radar now.” She places two fingers atop her head to mimic antennae. “You don’t look too different, though. You’ve always preferred oversized clothes, but I can sense the change. How’s book two going?”
I frown at the sudden change in topic until I notice Felix appear with a tray of drinks: homemade lemonade. Once he leaves, Melissa says, “I also sensed it’s something that you’re keeping private?”
“Yes.”
“Are you willing to talk to me about it?”
“I’d like to.”
Melissa sighs with relief. “In that case, tell me everything.”
The Ishir story pours out of me, but I realize I can’t stop there, and I tell her about Simone, too. When I finish, I take a deep gulp of lemonade and Melissa whistles long and slow. “Do you think I’m the villain?” I ask her.
“In this scenario, you’re more Batman than Superman,” she answers. “I do think Simone is within her rights to feel upset.”
I pick at the carrot cake with one hand. “But none of you were when I wrote TFF .”
“That’s because nothing private made it onto those pages,” she says gently. “Discussing a friend’s sex work without consulting them is a step too far, even if it was an accident when you sent it to Tara. But I think you know that.”
I hang my head. “I do.”
“As for you being pregnant,” Melissa continues, “I’m delighted, but am I the only one?”
I turn my head from side to side. “You might be. Babies look good on you , Mel.”
“They might look good on you, too.”
I hug Isaiah closer to my chest. “ Might is quite a gamble to take.”
I realize too late that Melissa has taken a photo of me.
She turns her phone around. I have my feet up, resting on an empty chair, and I’m staring into her garden.
I’ve got my right arm under Isaiah and my left hand gently patting his back.
He’s fast asleep, curled into the prawn shape babies love so much, and my nose is buried into his hair.
“You’re a natural,” Melissa says.
I smile politely but I don’t know how to feel when I look at the photo.
Isaiah is an extension of Melissa so of course I love him.
He could have cried with the full force of his lungs, vomited in my hair, and shit in my hands, and that fact would never change.
However, I can afford to look like a natural because I know, once Isaiah starts crying, I don’t have to fix it.
Vomiting on me is a once-a-month, if that, occurrence, and in what scenario would he poop in my hands?
In real life, Isaiah is not always asleep and the money I spend on little gifts pales in comparison to the cost of raising a child.
“What is it?” Melissa asks.
“I want what you had, Mel,” I confess. “That undeniable feeling that you’re going to be a mum.
The cons of having a baby weren’t even cons for you, just temporary hurdles.
I know not everyone who has children feels that way, but I want to.
It’s important I feel that way before making this kind of decision. How do I get there?”
Melissa sighs. “You look so tortured, Remy. I had no idea it would weigh on you this much.” She sighs again.
“Honestly, I don’t think it was something I learned to do.
For some women, it’s like that. I think we talk a lot about those who want children, and now we’re talking more about those who don’t, right?
But I guess we’re missing the ones in the middle. ”
“Like me?”
“Maybe,” she says. “The ones who are either just not convinced or are ambivalent—for them it could go either way and either way would work. My point is, there’s not much discussion around it, which means you’re making a decision solely based on how you feel at this present moment in time.
I acknowledge how hard this must be for you , Remy. ”
“You do?”
“Of course. You are the most emotional person I know!”
“That feels like a compliment but…”
Melissa laughs. “Let me finish. You are the most emotionally intelligent person I know but only when you’re sure about a thing.
It’s easy for you to be happy about food because you love it; it’s easy to be sad about Simone because you love her.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the list of Things Remy Is Unsure Of is rather short.
So, for someone who has always found it easy to express themselves when it comes to things they’re certain of, you’re now facing something you don’t know.
You can’t process or feel your emotions in the way you’re used to doing.
So, what if you focused more on the logistics? ”
“The logistics are just as daunting,” I tell her. “I don’t have your house, your neighborhood, or your support network.”
“But you could,” Melissa says. “I mean, do you want to live in London forever?”
“Ha! Yeah, okay. I’ll move here and we’ll raise our babies together.”
Melissa reaches for her lemonade. “Is that the worst idea?”
“Kind of!” I watch Melissa’s face fall. “No! I don’t really mean that. I know you love it here, and I’m really happy for you, Mel.”
“You look it!” she says, mimicking my frown.
“No, I am! I’m happy because you’re so happy, and it’s impossible to know you and wish for anything less.”
“Go on…”
I shake my head and feel the tears gathering for what is now their daily meeting. “I’m just a bit of a mess and you’re the total opposite. You’re so content and I love seeing you this way, but I feel like I’m back at square one and… fuck it. Maybe I will just move here.”
Wordlessly, Melissa takes Isaiah from me and places him in his carrier. She drags her chair closer and leans forward to pull my head to her chest; we stay like this for a while. “It’s comfy here,” I tell her. “Your boobs have become an ample bosom.”
Melissa laughs. “Thank you, I grew them myself. With a little help, of course. Now, listen, only a bad friend would tell you to jump into motherhood when they can see your heart isn’t in it. Being a parent is the hardest job in the world.”
“The most underpaid, too.”
“You don’t even make money, you just spend it! Everything is expensive. I don’t remember the last time I had five consecutive hours of sleep, privacy is nonexistent, and personally, I couldn’t be happier.”
“How is that possible?”
“I love being a mother, and I can’t wait to have more, but that fact doesn’t blind me to the truth.
Children are not for everyone.” She pauses, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“You know when you were writing TFF , so much of the process was amazing but there were a few times you called me in tears because you thought you were the worst writer in existence and that your latest draft was a steaming pile of shit?”
I nod. “Sweet memories. What’s your point?”
“Despite that, TFF is still the greatest thing you’ve ever done,” Mel continues, “and I know you’d happily do it all over again. I’m afraid I can’t quite compare writing a book to having a child, but you get what I’m saying, don’t you?”
“I think I do.”
“Perfection doesn’t exist in any area of life,” Melissa says. “For you, it can’t be a case of your Pros list outweighing your Cons. You either want to have this baby or you don’t. Now, unfortunately, that’s only one of three decisions you need to make soon.”
“Three?” I repeat. “What are the other two?”
“You can’t keep ignoring your agent,” Melissa says. “It isn’t professional. You worked so hard to get here as a writer; don’t sour that relationship now. And number three, of course…”
I nod. “Simone.”
From: [email protected]
Subject: Explaining everything that happened
Okay, that was a lot, but I appreciate you telling me the truth.
First of all, thank God Simone discovered this before it was published, considering how she reacted—that would have been a PR crisis and I’m already dealing with two!
When did you writers all suddenly decide to start “weighing in” on stuff online? !
Secondly, I still think you should reconsider scrapping the book.
You know, it’s not unheard of for a book to have two authors.
Maybe Simone would like to have her story out there but in her own words.
She can have her name on the cover or just in the acknowledgments.
She could write S’s chapters and you write R’s and the general narrative.
She doesn’t need to be the world’s best writer; you and I can edit, and give her final say on her chapters.
There are ways to make this work. I understand things might be delicate between the two of you right now (I’d be flattered if someone wrote a book about me, but that’s my opinion, I guess) but if you get the chance, run it by her, and if she needs further convincing, tell her to reach out to me.
I don’t make guarantees, but I’m positive I can get you both a great book deal for this story.
I’m just putting that out there.
Tara xx