“I think you’ll regret it,” Town and Country says.
OMG. So yummy. Real food is so yummy. My stomach has a nice full and warm feeling. This is the first time in weeks that food has made me feel relaxed, almost like some sort of high, some buttery, French comfort food coma high. I sip my wine; it is a rich, robust, red wine – the perfect addition to a delicious meal.
I set my glass aside and Town and Country is staring at me. Oh shoot he must have just asked me something and I have no idea what it might have been. “What?” I ask. Sometimes it is better just to confess that I have no idea what he was saying. “I said, I think you will regret it,” he repeats. “What? Eating such a rich meal? Maybe – if I made a habit of it – but I will go to the gym tomorrow,” I reply. “No…no…I was talking about kids,” he says.
I am so confused – I have no idea what the heck he is talking about it. “What?” I ask. “I think you will regret not having kids,” he says. Lordy, why can’t I just enjoy this moment? I am finally in an okay place with my feelings for him. I am meeting a broker tomorrow. In my bones, I know I will find an apartment on the Upper East Side – an area of the City I have always coveted, even before I lived here, I coveted the UES. So what is with this inquiry about kids?
“What?” I ask again. “I think you’d be a good mom. I think you have not thought about it enough. And I think you will regret not having kids,” he says. I see, I think. He is right; I have not thought much about it. And as much as I am control freak – this is something, having kids, that is something that is not in my hands. I mean, if I am meant to have kids, then I am. And if I am not, then I am not. I am not 20 anymore. The chances of having complications increase as does my age. I am not wealthy enough to invitro my dollars away. Nor do I want to make myself insane, trying, trying, trying – and never conceiving. I would rather let what happens, happen. I have too many other stressors in my life – I don’t know that I need that. Besides, kids --- they are a commitment you can’t change your mind about.
I shake my head a couple of times and fiddle with the zipper on my sweatshirt for a few seconds and look back at him. “I don’t…know…no, no…I am not one of these Indian women who needs kids. It is not a requirement for me,” I reply. “Then why get married? The only reason to get married is so the kids have a name,” he says.
What is he asking? What is suggesting? I don’t want to know.