Instant Mom by Nia Vardalos

success, this means the impossible is possible for us all? But no, they don’t see.
    These members of the Coven now standing around me had, on previous occasions through skeletal taut smiles, already made it clear that they were perplexed by the fact that I, far less attractive and talented than they, was a working actress. I can’t imagine what they want from me today. They look smug. Ah yes, they’ve overheard I am struggling to have a child, while these women are on their second and third—and they realize they have something over me. They can breed and I can’t.
    In the bright sun of this backyard, the Coven squeals at me about how “amaaaaazing” their pregnancies had been. Oh, her husband had looked at her with “awe” as she gave birth. Ohhhhh, breastfeeding is a “gift.” I look into the eyes of one woman who had once taken a deep shot at me: upon hearing about my acupuncture fertility treatments, she’d snidely proclaimed she’d never had to do that because she was “perfect” and my body was “defective.”
    I am confused as to why they need to feel superior to me, and, yes, it hurts. Sure, I could ingenuously ask: “Did pregnancy hormones grow your monobrow or did you have it before?” But I don’t. Not because I am so emotionally evolved and take the high road . . . no, no, I am scared of them.
    Women like this are missing out on real female friendships. Sure, to some it seems as if it’s just shoe shopping and cellulite talk, but we know what it really is and we value it. It’s at times like this that I miss my sisters, sister-in-law, and cousins. My mom and aunts never pitted us against one another. I am extremely close with my funny cousin Nike (pronounced Nikki and the basis for the exaggerated version of a fun South Side Chicago broad played so well by Gia Carides in my first movie). I’m also still very close with my girlfriends from elementary school through my musical theater days, Second City, and my film career. I enjoy writing many funny female characters in ensemble films and TV shows. So I don’t understand women of the Coven, and I am speechless at their need to put me down now when I am at my most vulnerable.
    They finish their attack and leave me here, blinking back tears. As I watch these women cross the yard, I don’t resent them for getting to be moms. Of course, because I’m not a saint, I wish they’d get hit by a random meteor or fall into a sinkhole. I watch and wait. No hot bolt of the Rapture takes any of them out. Damn.
    I signal to Ian across the backyard. I feel terrible and want to leave. It’s hot and my clothes don’t fit. The sick irony of fertility drugs is they usually cause a bloating that resembles pregnancy, and I often get asked if I am pregnant. Even now, as I wait for Ian to disengage himself so we can go, I reach for an iced tea and because it’s non-alcoholic, on cue a passing woman pats my tummy and says, “When are you due?” A small social guideline: don’t ask a woman if she is pregnant unless her water breaks on your flip-flops, a baby arm dangles out of her vagina, and she asks you to cut the cord. Then and only then may you ask if she is having a baby. Otherwise, shut up.
    I turn to the nice group, the well-meaning women who are waving good-bye to me. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Um, before I was in this situation, I too said things to women about their baby plans. Please don’t. Instead, have some compassion, especially around Mother’s Day. If you see someone without kids, don’t ask them why they don’t have children, why they don’t just adopt, or if they are pregnant. Please just be quiet and pass the dip.”
    No, I don’t. I just smile and wave good-bye.

• 5 •
    “I Have Bad News”
    I am staring at his mouth. It’s as if I can see the words he’s just said floating in between us. I want those words to unform. I want the letters to scramble, go back into his mouth, and come out as a different sentence. I want