Remy
REMY
F riendship. It seems I don’t know how to achieve or maintain it.
Mum’s home a lot more now, ever since I told her about what happened with Simone, and while I’m glad to have the company, it proves my theory was right. She would be out with Eric or friends if I didn’t need her. Now she spends her evenings ordering takeout and watching films on the sofa with me.
If I have a baby, I’ll never be lonely again—is that bad to admit? It can’t be worse than parents who have had children so that someone can look after them when they’re older, so that they’ll never be alone.
I have been focusing a lot on the negatives, but last night I allowed myself to indulge in the positives.
I can’t imagine I’d be a bad mum; I don’t think anyone plans to be, but a part of me thinks I have the capacity to be a good one, and to maybe have an incredible time doing so.
I should remember that amidst the moments I’ve been focusing on—the financial squeeze, the stress of sleep deprivation, the inevitable doubt—there will also be the laughter, the wonder, the contentment.
The big eyes that stare into your soul, small feet padding on wooden floors, tight grasps of my finger.
Even the staunchest of the child-free can admit, babies are extraordinary.
Yes, I think about raising a crying, sullen, fussy baby, but then I think about raising a chubby, smiling foodie.
I read on a pregnancy forum that accompanying the bad nights are the good days; I took that to mean that there are cons but also pros and they will occur at the same time, kind of like when it rains even though the sun is still out. And we all love to see a rainbow.
“Shall I read your palms again?” Mum asks as the credits roll.
I smile, feeling drowsy. “Maybe later.”
She sits up and takes my hands, anyway. “Come on,” she says, “we might as well! While my powers are still strong.” She holds my hands tight, but instead of my palms, she looks at me. There is no judgment in her eyes, only love.
“So,” she begins, “I’m seeing a person who may feel hopeless in this moment, but beyond that, I see a young woman who is creative, kind, funny, thoughtful, and warm.
There is a problem, though. I can see you are all these things, but I’m the only person in this room who can.
” She pauses. “Wait here.” I watch Mum leap off the sofa and run upstairs.
A minute later she returns with a shoebox I easily recognize when she places it in my lap.
“My card box?”
Mum nods. “Open it.”
I do as she says, and cards of different sizes, colors, and patterns burst free. They’re cards I’ve received and kept over the years, and while the box is stuffed, I don’t notice anything amiss.
“What am I looking for?” I ask Mum.
“See?” she says. “You’re missing it again.
Look at how full this thing is”—and she gestures so emphatically to the box in my lap that her bangles sing—“and look how full these cards are, some have pieces of paper stapled to the inside for more writing space! You think so little of yourself, Remy, but you’re the only one who does. ”
Mum plucks out a card at random and opens it up to read.
I know it’s impossible to top the present you gave me for my birthday, but I wanted to get you something that took just as much effort. Searching for something perfect made me realize how much energy and time you pour into me and I wanted you to feel the same.
“That was from Melissa.” Mum pulls out another card.
Happy birthday, Remy! Do you know what I realized today? How much you’ve influenced my life choices. I was at the shops today, OMG remind me to tell you about this GORGEOUS man I…
“Okay, blah, blah, blah… here!”
And I thought to myself, what would Remy do? And that’s when I decided not to smack her in the face…
Mum trails off and looks at me for context.
“That was from Nova two years ago,” I explain. “She was shopping for my present and allegedly the retail assistant was giving her attitude.”
Mum nods. “Sounds about right. Okay, let’s find one from Lin. Yada, yada, yada—this!”
It was really hard trying to pick out a card because nothing seemed right.
But to be fair, nothing would because how could anyone properly describe you?
I need a card that says something like, For the person who always answers my calls at night, and even though she’s a grandma who starts getting ready for bed at nine, she keeps the volume on her phone up just in case I call; for the friend who (by the way, are you proud of my semicolon?
I remembered the rule you taught me) tried to read and understand my lecture notes so she could help me study; the friend who meal-prepped me food for the week when I was stuck on a case and all the takeaway dinners were making me feel ill; for the friend who always has my favorite snacks in her cupboard because I’m guessing it’s just part of her weekly shopping list; for the friend who gives the most impartial advice and who’s partially responsible for the person I am today.
I couldn’t find a card that said anything like that.
So I gave up and just grabbed this one with a cactus on it. You like plants, right? Love, Lin.
Mum pauses to hold the card to her chest before placing it safely back into the box. “Okay, let’s read one more… To the most talented PA in the world. I will be lost without my expertly picked morning croissant .” Mum frowns at me.
“That was from my last day at the office.”
“You see?” Mum says, shaking the card in her hand. “The issue with capitalism has always been—”
“Mum! Mum, I think you were making a good point with the cards.” I wipe my eyes dry. “Please keep going.”
“Right, of course,” she says. “I’ll save that rant for my Substack and send you the link.
My point is, there are people out there who know you so well, they’d know how you’d respond in any given situation or how they’d design the ideal birthday card; they know the level of effort you pour into them, and what you bring to their tables.
Everyone knows who you are and what you add to their lives. Everyone but one person.”
I’m hardly audible. “Me.”
Mum nods. “If I were to ask you right now, Who are you, Remy? What would your answer be?”
My instinct is to say I’m a writer, foodie, and friend, but those descriptions are only what I am rather than who . Which means that I, at the age of thirty, sitting on my mum’s sofa with a box of eternal words on my lap, can finally confess, “I don’t know.”
Mum places a warm palm on my cheek and we sit together in silence.
I picture Simone seated in the armchair opposite us.
“You see it now, don’t you?” she’d tell me, smiling.
“Where your hesitance around the pregnancy comes from? It’s got nothing to do with pros and cons, it never did; you’re not a lists and logic person, you’re a feelings person.
You don’t feel ready to be someone’s mum yet because you don’t know who you are yet, and if you don’t know who you are, you’ll never know what you really want. ”
Imaginary Simone sighs heavily and slumps back into her chair with relief. “I’ve been holding that in since the day we met!”
From: [email protected]
Subject: If I can be honest…
Dear Lin, Nova those people are unstoppable.
I wish I was more like you all, or like Simone. I miss her, and I miss you.
I wish I knew what to do about so many things, but above all, I wish I knew how to answer all of these questions on my own.
R x
It’s just past midnight, and I’m sitting in my living room, staring at my laptop screen and perhaps the most nonsensical email I have ever written. And yet, I feel lighter. Not by much, maybe a gram or two, but a gram or two nonetheless. And I know how to feel lighter still.
I press send on the email.
There, that’s now five grams at least. I close my laptop and go straight to bed.
Two mornings later I answer the door to Lin, Nova, and Melissa. They spill through the door and fill the hallway.
“What… what are you all doing here?”
Nova nudges her way in first. “What do you mean what are we doing here?” She straightens her jacket and walks past me and into the living room.
“Your email sounded like a suicide note. You’re pregnant now; we can’t just leave you at home alone, stressing.
Also”—she throws over her shoulder—“who the fuck sends emails?”
“Nov is exaggerating,” Melissa says. “We were going to call but after talking to your mum, we thought we’d surprise you instead. We just picked Lin up from the airport.”