You Can’t Leave!
Our first evening out
My husband and I were at least ten-years older than just about everyone in our Sunday Lamaze group except for Maria and Enrico. A December-May couple, she was in her twenties and he was in his forties. Enrico was more our contemporary and the four of us hit it off immediately. We became a foursome and each week when class ended, we all went out together for lunch.
It was our last Lamaze class. Maria and I were at that “beached whale” stage of pregnancy. Consequently, both of us were exhausted. Naturally, we had lost all our interest in lunch plus any enthusiasm for after-class socializing. The only thing that appealed to us was getting home to change into comfortable clothes, that is unstructured garments that were even bigger than what we’d been wearing to Lamaze class.
“You’re due next week, aren’t you?” Maria asked. We were bidding one another good bye and good luck.
“Yes, and I can’t believe you remember that!” I said, surprised. “What about you?”
“Two weeks and three days from tomorrow but who’s counting? But last night I had a great idea!” She said. “Why don’t we have a reunion dinner around the middle or end of June? By then we each should have had our babies. Hopefully, we’ll be more than ready for some adult company. Any interest?” Maria was an ex-athletic trainer and a nurse. She also was that pregnant woman most other pregnant women resent because viewed from any direction other than sideways, she didn’t appear at all pregnant. Besides that, her dark pixy haircut imbued her with a “perky” aura. I began to consider the likelihood that she’d be “reunion-ready” weeks before I was.
It was the last Friday of June. I was sweat-drenched and holding my shrieking newborn flat against my chest when the phone rang. “Hey there, Marlene! It’s Maria. Remember me?” A familiar gleeful voice said,
“Of course I remember you. How could I not?”
“So, whad’ya have, anyway?” She asked.
“I had a boy, three weeks ago. What about you?”
“Yea, me too! I had a boy ten days ago! You think you guys might be up for a meal out yet? My mom’s helping me with Giancarlo so I’m actually getting a decent amount of sleep.”
“Gee, I’d love to get out but honestly, I don’t think I’m ready to leave David with anyone just yet.” I explained.
“Of course, you’re not but neither am I. How about I cook, you’ll all come over to our place and bring the baby. We have a portable crib so we can put them both to sleep in the same room.” She sounded like a schoolgirl, all peppy and excited. “My mom’s staying in the room next to the nursery so if there’s any problem she’ll take care of them. Then we can have a much-needed leisurely dinner.”
“I’ll admit, that sounds pretty great!” I said, barely believing my good fortune.
“What do you think — the day after tomorrow, around 6:30?”
Maria’s invitation was beyond wonderful and as I hung up the phone, I realized I really had a serious case of cabin fever. I was becoming increasingly excited at the prospect of socializing. Our upcoming evening out at our new friends would be the first time in months I’d put on any clothes that hadn’t been designed by Omar-the-Tent-Maker.
We parked in the garage of their high rise building. Nervously, I took our infant out of his car seat. My husband collected enough gear in his arms for a month’s stay abroad and we entered the lobby. The doorman directed us toward the elevator after announcing us to Maria and Enrico on the intercom. “I’ll key in the floor for you. You’re going to the penthouse.” He said.
Maria and Enrico, both elegantly dressed, stood in their entranceway waiting for us. The elevator opened directly into their apartment. When Maria saw us, she exclaimed with a giggle, “Wow, do you believe this? It’s as though we’re grown-ups again!”
Their living-room’s crisp lines, ultra-contemporary furniture, and bold colors presented a surprising contrast to Enrico’s conservative, and at times, stodgy demeanor. We admired the space and were given a tour of their apartment. Shortly after we completed the tour, it was time for us to get to work readying the babies for bed. Remarkably, both infants fell asleep without a hitch and the four of us repaired to the living room for cocktails and hor-de-oeuvres. Next, Maria led us into the long narrow dining room, a space dominated by a massive black granite slab supported by six concrete pillars. Their dining table.
“Marlene, you sit there.” She said, pointing to the head of the table. “Take my favorite view.” I followed her direction. As soon as I sat down and looked out, I was mesmerized by the night-time skyline from the fifty-fifth floor.
We enjoyed a leisurely dinner. We had several Italian wines, a first-course pasta, Osso Buco, risotto Milanese, a small post-dinner salad, dessert of tiramisu, espresso, desert cheeses, and after-dinner cognac. We laughed hysterically. We ate chocolates. We laughed some more. Maria, whose parents were Italian-born and who was married to an Italian-born guy, proved an outstanding cook.
By eleven p.m., all four of us were utterly exhausted. After weeks of staying home with vastly less sleep than any of us were accustomed to, the evening had been a greatly appreciated but energy-demanding change. “We absolutely have got to get going!” My husband said, looking at his watch. “I can’t believe how late it is. We’re totally beat!”
“Maria, this was an amazing meal but it was a totally brilliant idea! Thanks so much.” I said. “Next time, our house, okay?” The four of us walked into their entryway. Enrico pressed the elevator call button. We chatted away while we waited as though we’d barely spent any time together at all. Seconds later, the elevator arrived and the doors opened. The four of us hugged and kissed Italian style — cheek to cheek to cheek, all around. More “thank yous” and more “goodbyes.” We agreed to get together again in the coming weeks.
My husband and I stepped into the elevator, our faces flushed from the evening’s wine. “What a great night!” I said again. The elevator doors began to close and I noticed a look of horror spreading across Maria’s face. “Wait, wait!” She screamed. “You can’t leave! You forgot your baby!”
