envelopes.) But it’s fine, because I’m a strong-minded person and my strategy is: Simply stop thinking about him.
Well, I’m still thinking about him, obviously. Now and then. The name Ryan does pass through my thoughts; how could it not? But then, there are plenty of other things to think about right now. Like the fact that Jake still hasn’t produced a budget for the relaunch party, so I still don’t know how much he spent on it. And the fact that Nicole canceled Cake Club last night without telling me, so she could hold a mind-body-spirit talk in the store, and I’ve already had four irate emails. And the most pressing fact of all: that I’ve promised Hannah I’ll have a chat with Tim about trying for a baby. She wants me to find out why he changed his mind and, if possible, change it back.
Change it back? Me? How am I supposed to change Tim’s mind back? How am I even supposed to bring up the subject? I’ve known Tim a long time, but family planning is definitely not the kind of conversation topic we normally cover.
Hannah sounded so pleading, though, I found myself promising I’d have a go. She told me she’d bring him into the shop one day after work and I should “engage him in conversation about babies.” Only it should seem “natural.”
“I don’t want him to know I’ve spoken to you,” she said adamantly. “I want him to think he’s changed his mind back independently. OK?”
“Er…right,” I said. “Of course. Sure.”
I thought I’d have some time to prepare, but it’s the next day, and here they are already, at 5:30 P.M. Hannah must have made Tim leave work early, I realize. And left work early herself. Clearly this is a high priority.
Oh God. So, no pressure, then.
“Hi, Hannah; hi, Tim!” I greet them, trying to sound natural. “What a surprise to see you!”
“Hi, Fixie!” replies Hannah stiltedly. “Yes, it was a spontaneous decision to come. I’m going to look at blenders for a birthday present. You keep Tim company.” And she strides off to the back of the shop without a backward look. Tim and I are alone. It’s my cue.
Shit. I should have planned this. What the hell am I going to say about babies?
“So!” I begin brightly. “How are you, Tim?”
“Good, thanks,” he says in that flat way of his. “How about you?”
“Yes, all fine, all good.” I nod a few times, frantically racking my brain. “Er…babies are great, aren’t they?”
Shit. That just came out.
“What?” Tim peers at me with a suspicious frown. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing!” I say hastily. “I was only thinking about it because…um…we had a baby in the shop today. It was so cute. And I thought, That’s the future. That’s the next generation. Let’s keep this planet in good shape, for the kids.”
Wait. Somehow I’ve diverted onto an environmental talk.
“What kids?” says Tim, looking confused.
“Kids!” I say desperately. “You know, kids!”
I can see Hannah peering out from behind the blender display, raising her eyebrows questioningly, and abruptly I come to a decision. There’s no point being subtle with Tim. You have to bludgeon him.
“Listen, Tim,” I say in a low, firm voice. “Hannah wants a baby. Why have you changed your mind? You’ve really upset her. And, by the way, she mustn’t know we’re having this conversation.”
Immediately Tim’s face closes up. “It’s my business,” he says, looking away.
“It’s Hannah’s business too,” I point out. “Don’t you want to have a family? Don’t you want to be a father?”
“I don’t know, OK?” Tim’s face is tight and kind of upset-looking. I’m definitely pressing his buttons.
“You’d agreed that it was what you wanted,” I persist. “What changed your mind? Something must have changed your mind.”
I can see Tim’s face working with some sort of emotion, and I wait breathlessly.
“I didn’t know what it involved!” he suddenly bursts out. “Do you know what having a baby involves?”
I want to make a hilarious joke about how his contribution isn’t exactly tough, but I’m sensing it’s not the moment.
“Like what?”
“It’s a nightmare!” he says, looking beleaguered. “It’s endless!”
“What do you mean?” I stare at him.
“Check baby carrier for weak seams. Visit nurseries. Research safety of car seats. Literacy. Organic paint. La Mars. Annabel Karmel. Flashcards.”
As this stream of gibberish comes out of his mouth, he’s counting items off on his fingers. I wonder for an instant if he’s having some sort of breakdown.