pregnant.
Plus, I feel like I can’t talk about it with Adam anymore. He just gets mad at me for not being happy with what we have.”
Admitting her frustration to Daphne made Wendy feel as if a huge load had been lifted off her back.
“SWEEEEEETIE!” cried Daphne. “First of all, you’re totally going to get pregnant. It just takes a while at our age. And then
you’re going to completely forget about this whole period of your life. In the meantime, OF COURSE you must be dying of frustration.
Anybody would be—except maybe a Zen Buddhist. I mean, we’re goal oriented. That’s just who we are. Forget about Adam. Just
talk to me. Men never understand this stuff anyway.”
But Daphne understood. Or seemed to understand.
“Maybe you’re right,” said Wendy, feeling better by the second. “I mean, I hope you’re right.”
“Believe me, I’m completely and utterly right.”
“Anyway. How are
you?
”
Daphne let out a mellifluous sigh before she announced in a singsongy voice an octave higher than normal, “Well, I’m in love.
And no, not with Mitch. I met someone. I’m actually at his apartment right now.”
In love—since Monday? “You’re kidding!” said Wendy, as startled as she was suspicious. “That’s amazing.”
“No,
he’s
amazing,” said Daphne, lowering her voice to connote the seriousness of the situation. “I mean, he’s possibly the greatest
person ever—like maybe in the history of mankind.”
Was Daphne dating Jesus? Gandhi? Hugo Chávez? “My god,” said Wendy. “Who is he?”
Daphne’s voice returned to the soprano range. “Well, his name is Jonathan. He’s a lawyer. He’s thirty-seven. Never married.
Jewish—you know me!” She laughed. “Most importantly? He’s literally the sweetest man I’ve ever met. I mean, he’s beyond sweet.”
“And you met him where?”
“Mortifyingly enough, at the gym. I mean, we’d seen each other there before, but we’d never spoken or anything. At least,
I don’t remember speaking to him. Though he
swears
he told me I left my water bottle on the Lifecycle or something a few months ago and I thanked him. But whatever. Tuesday
morning, we were on adjacent treadmills, and we started talking. And we’ve basically spent every waking hour together since
then.”
“That’s insane!” said Wendy, still struggling to believe. Daphne had the worst taste in men of anyone Wendy knew. Rich, married,
arrogant, obnoxious, and over forty-five was her usual formula. She’d also seen Daphne rush into “serious” relationships before,
only to find that they were flings at best, and cruel jokes at worst. Wendy didn’t know if she had the energy to see her through
another disappointment, another punch line that wasn’t all that funny. “So you think it’s for real?” Wendy knew as soon as
she’d said it that it had been an unsupportive thing to say.
Daphne’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean, do I think it’s for real? I know it’s for real!”
“Well, it’s very exciting,” said Wendy, anxious to make amends.
“Thanks, Wen,” said Daphne, sounding wary if marginally less defensive.
“Of course—”
“So anyway, listen to this. Yesterday, Jonathan gave me this silver tennis bracelet from Tiffany’s, engraved with both of
our initials and the date we met. How insane is that?”
“Insane.”
“I mean, it was literally the corniest present anyone’s ever given me. But at the same time—honestly?—I was practically crying
when he gave it to me.”
“My god, he must be incredibly in love with you already,” declared Wendy, suddenly feeling defensive on her own account. It
had been years since Adam had given her any jewelry. Now that she thought about it, he’d never given her any jewelry, other
than her wedding band, which—now that she thought about
that
—they’d ordered together (Adam had gotten a matching one) and paid for jointly. Actually, Wendy had paid, and
Plus, I feel like I can’t talk about it with Adam anymore. He just gets mad at me for not being happy with what we have.”
Admitting her frustration to Daphne made Wendy feel as if a huge load had been lifted off her back.
“SWEEEEEETIE!” cried Daphne. “First of all, you’re totally going to get pregnant. It just takes a while at our age. And then
you’re going to completely forget about this whole period of your life. In the meantime, OF COURSE you must be dying of frustration.
Anybody would be—except maybe a Zen Buddhist. I mean, we’re goal oriented. That’s just who we are. Forget about Adam. Just
talk to me. Men never understand this stuff anyway.”
But Daphne understood. Or seemed to understand.
“Maybe you’re right,” said Wendy, feeling better by the second. “I mean, I hope you’re right.”
“Believe me, I’m completely and utterly right.”
“Anyway. How are
you?
”
Daphne let out a mellifluous sigh before she announced in a singsongy voice an octave higher than normal, “Well, I’m in love.
And no, not with Mitch. I met someone. I’m actually at his apartment right now.”
In love—since Monday? “You’re kidding!” said Wendy, as startled as she was suspicious. “That’s amazing.”
“No,
he’s
amazing,” said Daphne, lowering her voice to connote the seriousness of the situation. “I mean, he’s possibly the greatest
person ever—like maybe in the history of mankind.”
Was Daphne dating Jesus? Gandhi? Hugo Chávez? “My god,” said Wendy. “Who is he?”
Daphne’s voice returned to the soprano range. “Well, his name is Jonathan. He’s a lawyer. He’s thirty-seven. Never married.
Jewish—you know me!” She laughed. “Most importantly? He’s literally the sweetest man I’ve ever met. I mean, he’s beyond sweet.”
“And you met him where?”
“Mortifyingly enough, at the gym. I mean, we’d seen each other there before, but we’d never spoken or anything. At least,
I don’t remember speaking to him. Though he
swears
he told me I left my water bottle on the Lifecycle or something a few months ago and I thanked him. But whatever. Tuesday
morning, we were on adjacent treadmills, and we started talking. And we’ve basically spent every waking hour together since
then.”
“That’s insane!” said Wendy, still struggling to believe. Daphne had the worst taste in men of anyone Wendy knew. Rich, married,
arrogant, obnoxious, and over forty-five was her usual formula. She’d also seen Daphne rush into “serious” relationships before,
only to find that they were flings at best, and cruel jokes at worst. Wendy didn’t know if she had the energy to see her through
another disappointment, another punch line that wasn’t all that funny. “So you think it’s for real?” Wendy knew as soon as
she’d said it that it had been an unsupportive thing to say.
Daphne’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean, do I think it’s for real? I know it’s for real!”
“Well, it’s very exciting,” said Wendy, anxious to make amends.
“Thanks, Wen,” said Daphne, sounding wary if marginally less defensive.
“Of course—”
“So anyway, listen to this. Yesterday, Jonathan gave me this silver tennis bracelet from Tiffany’s, engraved with both of
our initials and the date we met. How insane is that?”
“Insane.”
“I mean, it was literally the corniest present anyone’s ever given me. But at the same time—honestly?—I was practically crying
when he gave it to me.”
“My god, he must be incredibly in love with you already,” declared Wendy, suddenly feeling defensive on her own account. It
had been years since Adam had given her any jewelry. Now that she thought about it, he’d never given her any jewelry, other
than her wedding band, which—now that she thought about
that
—they’d ordered together (Adam had gotten a matching one) and paid for jointly. Actually, Wendy had paid, and
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