Dating Big Bird Read Online Free Page B

had gone to medical school and become an ob/gyn. An oppressive weight settled over me like a thick dense wet mist when I imagined their perfect life together: his Park Avenue practice; the pregnant women comingand going all day long; their huge fabulous apartment in a nearby doorman building, complete with F.A.O. Schwarz—equipped nursery; her weekly pedicures and manicures; the live-in nanny who was obviously off on Sundays.
    It was time to cut this conversation short.
    But. I couldn’t take my eyes off the Pickle-esque bundle of cuteness in the carriage.
    “Great baby,” I said, beginning to salivate over the big brown eyes and the pink fleece Baby Gap cardigan and flowered stretchy leggings she had on. Her ensemble reminded me of a similar outfit Nicole had worn at that age. I bent down to touch her silky-smooth blond hair, but ended up kissing her head instead. At such close range her baby-smell made my eyes almost water. I could have eaten her whole.
    “Thanks.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Isabel.”
    “That’s a beautiful name. How old is she?”
    “Eight months.”
    Eight months.
Walking?
Maybe.
Talking?
Probably not.
Toilet trained?
Definitely not.
    I wasn’t really sure. My sister and the Pickle living in New England made it impossible for me to acquire the knowledge of a child’s day-to-day minutiae firsthand.
    “You must be thrilled,” I finally managed.
    “We are.”
    We
.
    “Do you …?”
    “Stay home with her full time? No. We have a nanny.”
    “A nanny? Sure. That’s great.”
    Dr. Glebe’s baby business must be booming.
    “Well, I mean, she’s full time, but she doesn’t live in,” she clarified.
    I nodded, then felt my stomach drop when I realized thebaby was smiling at me. I bent over and made a big face—eyes wide open, mouth and tongue making goofy sounds—then rubbed her stomach until she giggled. See? It wasn’t just Nicole who liked me.
    Amy cleared her throat. “So do you—?”
    “Have one?” Not unless you counted the Pickle. Oh, what the hell. “No, but I really want one.”
    “I know,” she said, nodding. I couldn’t tell if the expression on her face was pity or self-satisfied smugness, but whatever it was, I suddenly wanted to get away from it—and her.
    “Well, listen,” I said, reining in the initial warmth I’d stupidly let fly because of her female-pattern baldness, “I’ve got to run.” Then I mumbled something—
big job, big week, big big big life
—and put my KLNY sunglasses back on.
    “Speaking of which, what do you do?” Amy asked. Isabel had now put all her fingers in her mouth and was smiling—and drooling—profusely. Adorable.
    “I work for Karen Lipps. Marketing director.”
    So what if I was running out of eggs? At least I had a job. And
hair
.
    “That’s great,” she said.
    “Why? What do you do?”
    “I’m a real estate attorney.”
    “You’re a lawyer?”
    “What, you hate lawyers?”
    “No. It’s just that … well, I just thought that—you know, what with a baby and all, you probably wouldn’t—”
    She waited for me to finish my sentence, but I didn’t.
    At least not audibly.
    Since you were lucky enough to have a baby, I didn’t think you would also be lucky enough to have a big job
.
    Amy suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if she, too, had had enough of this conversation, confirming my belief that high school is a place that should never, ever be revisited.
    “She’s not mine.” She blushed, then laughed guiltily. “She’s my brother’s. Sometimes I just pretend she’s mine. I mean, why is that so wrong?” She looked around and grinned without a trace of guilt. “It’s not like I do it with people I know. I just do it here. In the park. With strangers. And I don’t even do it on purpose. Things just come out of my mouth, and somehow at the time they seem—”
    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
    “True,” I said. “I know. I do the same thing with my niece. So whatever happened to that