Page 30 of Woman on the Verge

This was the first time I’d really felt the weight of being an only child. I always knew this time would come. Living in fear of it was part of the reason I wanted Grace to have a sibling. Liv was my assurance that Grace wouldn’t have to bear the same weight in the future.

“That’s hard,” Prisha said.

If I remembered correctly, Prisha had a whole assortment of siblings, at least four of them.

“It is.”

She took a long sip of her martini. “The symptoms are really bizarre.”

I laughed. “It’s kind of nice to hear you, a doctor, say that.”

The bartender brought my drink, and I took a sip.

“I should probably know this, but what kind of doctor are you?” I asked her.

She smiled. “I’m hurt you haven’t kept up with my medical career.”

I haven’t even kept up with my own career,I wanted to say. But I wasn’t ready to confess my failures.

“I’m a perinatologist,” she said.

I wasn’t sure exactly what that was, which must have been obvious on my face, because she explained, “I handle high-risk pregnancies.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds intense.”

“It can be. I see a lot of tragedies and a lot of miracles.”

Her face showed zero emotion about this.

When it became evident that I didn’t know what to say, she jumped in:

“I should probably know this, but what kind of work do you do?”

For a second, I thought about lying. I thought about telling her I was a successful photographer and that I was going to have a gallery show in San Francisco next year. But we were Facebook friends. The truth was right there in my profile, which she must not have visited recently because ... why would she?

“I’m on a bit of a work hiatus at the moment,” I said. “I was a freelance graphic designer at this ad agency. They had some cutbacks. Anyway, it’s temporary.”

Now it was her turn to not know what to say.

I started to get hot. Any kind of discomfort or stress seemed to trigger the flashes. I was sure she could see the sheen of sweat on myface. She had the most beautiful skin with a perfect matte finish to it. We were the same age, but she looked to be in her hormonal prime.

We each took sips of our drinks. I was already buzzed, probably because I hadn’t eaten anything but a granola bar since breakfast.

“Are you married?” I blurted out.

She wasn’t wearing a ring, and my curiosity got the best of me.

“Hell no,” she said. I took that to mean she was divorced, as most people are not passionately opposed to marriage until they’ve been in one. But she said, “I don’t see myself ever having time for all that.”

“All that?”

“A husband, a picket fence, the kids.”

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. As she shifted in her seat, I caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spritzed myself with perfume.

“You?” she asked.

Again, I was tempted to lie, to tell her I was unmarried and childless. And again, I thought of how Facebook would betray me.

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