Page 7 of This Is How It Started
Yes, it is. But he doesn’t know the half of it.
“So why’d you go?”
“He told me she knows someone who wants to list their house.”
This time, he raises both brows in censure. Now he thinks I’m a real estate whore.
“What?” I say defensively. “It’s an Edwardian in Noe Valley with a garage.”
He nods, clearly comprehending the significance of such a listing. “Did you get it?”
I roll my eyes because after having to suffer through an entire breakfast with Brooke, it turns out the person doesn’t want to list until summer. That’s nearly four months away, when the market is flooded. “Not yet.”
“You will.” He says it so confidently that I start to believe it myself. Yet that isn’t the way life has been going for me lately. “How is it that your father wound up with junior, anyway?”
The whole thing is such a cliché I’m almost too embarrassed to tell him. But I think,Why not?I’ll probably never see him again after today. “She works for him. He’s a plastic surgeon, and she’s his nurse,” I say.
He chuckles. “Wow. Was he married to your mom when they got together?” he asks more soberly.
“Yep. Your classic midlife-crisis affair. He didn’t even wait for the ink to dry on their divorce before rushing off to City Hall with Brooke. We keep expecting him to realize his mistake, but he’s still with her.”
Josh doesn’t say anything, but I can see the wheels turning in his head.Maybe he loves her.I’ve actually thought it a time or two myself. But while there’s no question that Brooke is beautiful—and young—what could a man who is nearly twice his wife’s age have in common with her? My mother can be difficult, but she was his soul mate, his intellectual equal. Hell, they’ve known each other since they were twelve, for God’s sake. How do you just throw that away?
I filch another chip from the plate and this time dip it in the chipotle sour cream.
Josh is watching me, a little smile playing on his lips. “What happened to the person you were meeting?”
And that’s when I realize Campbell never showed up. And for once I don’t care.
Chapter 3
Fast Forward a Year
My mother is about to lose her mind. I think she’s more nervous than I am, and I’m the one getting married.
It’s been a whirlwind since Josh proposed three months ago. It wasn’t his first time popping the question. He’d actually gotten down on one knee at the racetrack of all places. It hadn’t even been an official date. Just him trying to make good on our first meeting’s promise to win me enough money to pay off my traffic ticket.
That hadn’t worked out too well. His horse—rather his roommate’s horse, which we razzed him mercilessly about—came in dead last. I literally thought the poor thing would collapse before making it to the finish line. It seemed to be hyperventilating, if a racehorse can hyperventilate. Foam was coming out of its mouth, and even from the cheap seats I could see its long muscular legs wobble like a toddler learning to walk. By the time the race was over, I was just happy that Born to Run didn’t keel over in the middle of his lane.
A remorseful Josh knelt on the cold bleacher, took my hand in his, and said the only way to make it up to me was by asking me to be his wife. He would be my slave forever.
“Don’t press your luck,” I told him as a small crowd looked on, laughing. But even then, I knew the chances were good that he was the one.
Josh Ackermann took my breath away.
Then, three months ago, he proposed for real. It was your typical San Francisco day. In other words, gloomy and cold. On a clear morning, his apartment had a peekaboo view, real estate speak for if you smash your face against the window and crane your neck until it hurts, you might catch a glimpse of the Golden Gate’s less famous stepchild, the Bay Bridge. But on this particular day, the fog hovered over the bay like a thick shroud, and you couldn’t see anything except for a few neighboring buildings.
Josh, a Rat Pack revivalist, turned on some Frank Sinatra (vinyl only) and brought me breakfast in bed.
“So, Rach, are we going to raise our kids in the Jewish faith?”
Josh was as Jewish as I was, which was to say we enjoyed really good deli food, had memberships at the JCC because it had a fantastic gym, and had discussed attending services for the High Holy Days because Josh’s best friend and his best friend’s girlfriend were doing it. Apparently you had to get tickets months in advance. We’d also attended the Ackermanns’ annual seder in Chicago, where I met his parents for the second time and managed to choke down four glasses of Manischewitz.
But kids...We’d never so much as broached the subject.
“I guess so,” I said and popped a strawberry in my mouth, wondering if Josh was just screwing around or if there was deeper meaning to the question. “I never really thought about it,” which was a lie. I thought about kids—mine and Josh’s kids—constantly. But we never talked about it because it was one of those taboo topics. Not just because of the baby I had lost with Campbell. I’ve tried for years to move on from that, to lock it away, but it’s always right there under the surface. That sense of loss, and even failure, never quite leaves you.
But I also feared that talking babies with Josh would make me sound desperate. The whole biological clock thing. By my count, I had roughly nine years left of prime child-bearing time. But if a person wasn’t too careful, nine years could go by in a blur.
