a cheerful person and always had been. There was a brief time after Bobby was born that she’d retreated into herself and got stuck in a dark place. Her husband, Robert, and I had worried over it for a time, and I showed up for her as much as I could. Jon let me take a step back from work, which was one of the most challenging things I’d ever done, but I was grateful for it because Miriam had come out of her storm ready to take on motherhood.
She’d been so ready, in fact, that they started trying for another baby. She’d always dreamed of having two. Growing up as two kids in the foster system ourselves, we’d never known what a constant was. She believed having a sibling would provide that for her children because parents didn’t live forever, but a brother or sister would be in your life for a long time.
It was a romantic idea.
“Bobby didn’t want to put his shoes on, of course,” Miriam said. “He fought me hard this morning but I’m bigger and stronger and smarter, so I won. And sweet little Adeline slept straight through the night, so I actually feel rested.”
“That’s good,” I said.
Over the years, it had gotten more and more difficult for me to talk with my friend. She always talked about her children. I understood why. They were the light of her life, as they should be. They were the light of mine, too, but that didn’t mean they didn’t freak me out. I’d never had a maternal bone in my body. Not once in my life had I ever smelled a new baby and thought, I need one of these. I’d thought the exact opposite thing and always had the overwhelming urge to pass the child off to whoever was standing closest to me.
Babies freaked me out. Kids in general freaked me out. I didn’t like things that couldn’t look me in the eye and tell me what they needed.
Miriam adjusted the blanket over her shoulder that covered her up while Adeline drank her milk. “Those mothers were there at the preschool again this morning.”
Our server arrived and filled up my coffee cup. I thanked him and took a sip while I considered my friend. “Their children go to the same preschool as your son. Won’t they always be there?”
“I suppose, but I wish they wouldn’t all stand around the front doors like they’re wardens of the place. They give me dirty looks every time. They’re standing there in their pretty winter pea coats and perfectly styled hair and manicured nails and I’m going in with Bobby dressed like this.” She gestured down at her outfit. Today, like most days, she wore a pair of black leggings, an oversized T-shirt, a cardigan, and a flannel-lined denim jacket. It was the Vancouver Woman look. “I don’t understand how they have it so together. Do you know when the last time was that I wore matching socks?”
“I would assume three years.”
“Yes, exactly, three years!”
I smiled. “You’re doing perfectly, Miriam. You have two happy, healthy children, who are both more blessed than they could ever know to have two happy, healthy parents. What more could you ask for?”
Miriam pouted. “A ruby-red pea coat with red buttons and a leopard scarf would be nice.”
I laughed. “When would you ever wear it?”
Miriam pumped her dramatic black eyebrows. My friend had a distinct look about her. Her hair, short and brown, was styled in a messy pixie cut for convenience. It suited her sharp cheekbones and strong jawline. Her ears were filled with gold and sparkly earrings and her nose was pierced, too.
“I’d wear it over my leggings and spit-up-stained shirts obviously,” Miriam said. “Those mothers would be none the wiser. Maybe that’s what they’ve been doing all along. Do you think?”
“Do I think the Stepford wives of Vancouver are wearing loungewear under their designer coats? No, I don’t think so. But I do think they have nannies and housemaids and personal shoppers who help them look like they have their shit together. But seriously, Miriam, it’s all looks. You have no idea what their lives are really like.”
Miriam sighed heavily. “I think my hormones are just out of whack.”
I smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a nice coat. Put those women out of your mind. Some mothers are like evil cats that can smell your fear. Not you, of course. Just other mothers.”
“I can smell Robert’s fear.” She winked. Her husband, Robert,