Tales From the Crib Read Online Free Page A

stay married as friends,” Jack said.
    “Could I date other people?” I asked.
    “Absolutely!” he answered, again too quickly.
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Lucy, let me run this article off the Internet for you. We aren’t entering uncharted territory. Other couples are living separately ever after, and it’s working well for them. Ask any single parent whether they’d like an extra set of hands around the house and they’d take it.”
    They’d take it if it weren’t the set of hands belonging to the rat bastard who asked for a divorce the same day the pregnancy test read positive.
    “I’m not sure,” I said.
    “What do you need to make you sure?”
    “Time to think about it.”
    “How much time?” Jack pushed.
    “I will need exactly as much time as I need, Jack. That’s my answer. If you don’t like it, I can help you pack a bag, call a realtor tomorrow to sell the house, move back into Anjoli’s apartment, and apply for public prenatal care. Back off and I’ll have an answer for you in a reasonable amount of time, okay?”
    “Okay,” he said, upbeat. “Great meal, by the way. Absolutely superb!”
    Shut the fuck up.
    After a month of lobbying, Jack convinced me to try this new arrangement for one year. I would have a friend and co-parent in the house, medical coverage, and complete freedom. Plus, we’d get to keep our house and not sell it in a down real estate market. Jack put together a graph that showed our separation of duties and responsibilities, and even drafted a mission statement for our family. It wasn’t exactly how I’d envisioned bringing a baby into the world, but it seemed more practical than going it alone. And Jack was a good guy. I understood his motives were pure. He wanted to be a part of our baby’s daily life. How could I begrudge him that? It was just for a year.

Chapter 4
    In my seventh month of pregnancy, my friend Zoe insisted on throwing a baby shower, and I reluctantly agreed. Given my history, everyone had an opinion as to whether or not this was a wise move. My two aunts, my father’s sisters, reminded me that in the Jewish faith we weren’t supposed to accept gifts until after the baby was born. My mother was born Catholic and is currently a convenient practitioner of New Age philosophy. That means whenever her minister advises her to do something she doesn’t want to, Anjoli notes that it is merely a suggestion. When it is something she agrees with, she insists everyone follow the advice religiously. She said that having a baby shower was a positive affirmation to my baby that I believed he would be born. “Act as if,” Anjoli said, “and so it is.” Kimmy said whatever I decided she would completely support me.
    Kimberly Fawn is my cousin who’s one year younger than me, six inches taller, twenty pounds lighter, and three shades blonder. There is no measure that can really capture the difference in our overall appearance. I’m not altogether horrible-looking. In fact, when I put on makeup and do a little something with my hair, I can look quite attractive. But mere mortals like me can’t compete with Kimmy, a former model who currently sells corporate jets. When Kimmy and I were thirteen and fourteen, we sneaked into Studio 54 with fake identification that we probably didn’t even need since they gave out free passes to the club in front of our prep school. It was fabulous getting out of the taxi and watching the velvet rope drop, along with the jaws of every guy in the snaking line for admission. We were in the ladies’ room when Kimmy was discovered. “Do you have an agent?” an anorexic flapper asked Kimmy, then handed her a business card.
    “Do you need a towel?” an overweight bathroom attendant asked me, then handed me a square of Bounty.
    About the baby shower, Kimmy said she would “support” my decision, which is pretty much her standard answer when she’s asked to weigh in on an issue. She’s a recovering alcoholic and cocaine addict