In a metropolis inhabited by millions, Liz expects to avoid seeing anyone too familiar in her happy space, away from the cacophony of noise in New York City streets. She often escapes into stories finding solace in the pages of books, and making peace with being alone, a single-family unit. She strolls along 34th Street bundled in a Burberry scarf wrapped around her neck like the muffler her mother used to tie when she was a little girl. Entering Barnes and Noble, Liz smells the scent of fresh cotton pages, greets the company of fellow bibliophiles, and scans hundreds of pristine hardcovers uncorrupted by mustard stains from library borrowers. Side stepping moms pushing strollers, there are tykes of assorted genders darting up the stairs to the second-floor children’s section. Suddenly, Liz is nauseous. Envy stabs at her veins like the jab of an intravenous needle in the frigid operating room. Pain, sorrow, still raw from her last failed in-vitro. She’s hollow, like the trunk of a stressed red oak, starved by drought. Liz longs to be a mother, to hold little fingers, inhale the sweetness of a baby’s scalp, and sing lullabies into the night.
The aisles of the book titles have been rearranged. Liz walks through the center of the bookstore, and stops to have a look at the New Releases table. A glossy book jacket with bold turquoise letters, Adopting Single, beams like a signal on a lighthouse navigating her home. She grabs the book, clutches it to her chest, and saunters to the cookbooks. While browsing, she spots Peter in the philosophy section. Liz wants to run. The anonymity of the big city has betrayed her. She’d counted on not seeing anyone she knew, especially an old boyfriend.
Tilting her head downward attempting to hide her face, faded blonde highlights rest on her shoulders. Liz pretends to be reading, words blurring into her agitation when Peter comes toward her. His thinning hair laden with pomade, greasy strands tied back in a short ponytail. She wonders how she’d ever thought him appealing.
He lands next to her. “Hey girl, how are you?”
“Wow, this is a surprise, I thought I recognized you.”
“It’s a small world,” Peter sings to the Disney melody, “after all.”
“Yea, it certainly is.” Liz clinches her teeth.
“I heard from Cortney that you got married. Then you get divorced, so what happened?”
Staring at the industrial tweed carpet, the onset of moisture in her soft brown eyes begins. It would be exhausting to expand on the details of her divorce, and explain the nuances of her marriage. The constant clashes over moving into a larger apartment, repeated disappointments with infertility treatments, and her ex-husband’s stubborn resistance to discuss alternatives for her to become a mother, leaving Liz heartbroken and depleted.
Peter’s lanky arm touches her shoulder, “That’s too bad.” She’s sick to her stomach from his Armani aftershave, and wants to move away, but customers are crowding in the tight cookbook section. “What are you reading?” he asks.
She tucks Adopting Single under her armpit, and displays the cookbook. “Bolder Beef, a carnivore’s catch.”
“You must be kidding. I thought you were vegetarian,” he said.
“I want to try something new, and eat like my Paleolithic ancestors, craving foods that need to be hunted.” Her tone is akin to a defense attorney delivering a summation.
While married, Liz never cooked Beef Bourgogne or Louisiana Ribs. She wanted her body as healthy as possible thinking it would help her conceive. She ate vegetables, beans, and whole grains. On occasion, salmon, or shrimp, and became a pescatarian, hoping omega3 would boost her ovaries into action.
Liz extends the book, Bolder beef, to Peter. “Want to take a look inside?”
“No, thanks, I’m vegan.” He puts his hands in his pockets.
“Really? You always loved Angus burgers and rare rib-eye.”
“Well, my girlfriend’s a yoga teacher.”
“Your girlfriend is probably just like you, doesn’t want kids interfering with her lifestyle.”
“Don’t be catty, Liz. We’ve given up all animal products to help save the planet.” His tone is condescending. “Let’s get lunch sometime.”
Liz snickers, certain that will never happen. Why doesn’t Peter just say goodbye? Liz would rather be alone than with a man who finds understanding her needs baffling. “Take care of yourself. Gotta go.” Liz hurries to the cashier.
Peter rushes after her. “I’ll call you to set up lunch at my favorite vegan restaurant.”
“No thanks, I’m a Paleo.”
“Whoa girl, you’ve changed.”
Peter’s right, she thinks, I’ve stopped resisting, instead I’m moving on to what I need. She hustles out of the bookstore keeping her back turned, and returns to the harmonies and discord of city life. Liz walks east toward Park Avenue, north toward 40th street, then west toward Fifth, any direction to be away from the bookstore. Her expectations of a quiet visit at Barnes and Noble disappointed. Her iPhone sings, Jersey Girl, message from Courtney. Liz answers, “Hi.”
“Peter texted he ran into you, he’s concerned. You, okay?” Courtney’s speech is rapid.
“Are you serious? He’s worried about me, he never gave a shit about what I wanted, now suddenly he thinks I’m off.”
“He said you bought a book about adoption.”
Liz’s chest tightens. “Oh, he noticed, what a jerk.”
“Are you crazy to adopt without a husband?” Courtney said. “It would be too hard alone.”
“But I want to be a mother. “I’ll die if I don’t have a child of my own,” her heart is hammering. “Bye, I’m going now.”
A cramp deep in her abdomen strikes, her legs grow heavy. The spasms get stronger, then knot into her thighs. When she turns her eyes south, she notices Starbucks on the corner of Madison Avenue, and ducks into the woman’s restroom. In the bathroom stall, a warm flow pools between her legs. The familiar feeling of the end of another cycle, the dark red discard of a disappointed uterus on her underwear staring back at her. How can I move onward when the blood between my legs drains me? Flashes of all the treatments stick in her mind. Fibroids cut out of her uterus making room for sperm to seduce her eggs, Fallopian tubes forcibly blown open. And her womb remains empty.
Liz makes her way to a corner table near the window. She puts the frothy Frappuccino to her lips, when a dark-haired woman looking to be in her forties sits on the banquette next to her. The glossy white covered book, Adopting Single, rests on the table.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Where did you get that book?”
“At Barnes and Noble.” Liz answered, her tone flat.
“The one on 34th street?” the woman asks.
“Yes.”
“Was it on the New Releases table?
“Yes.” Liz’s space has been invaded.
“Do you like the book?”
“I just started reading it, I can’t tell yet.” Liz turns away hoping the woman will stop this twenty questions game.
The woman leans in toward Liz. “That book has a lot of helpful information.” She sips her coffee. “I’m leaving next week for Peru to adopt my baby.”
“That’s wonderful.” Liz smiles, for a moment her jealousy dissipates. The woman slides out of the seat, and reaches into her Micheal Kors handbag. “Here’s my card, call if you want to talk to me. Support is important, it’s lonely out there.”
Liz watches the woman disappear into the grid of Manhattan streets. She examines the business card, Dr. Deborah Block, PhD, LMSW. On the jacket of her book is a picture of a woman who looks familiar. Oh God, I just met the author. She clings to the business card, and pulls out her phone. Can I do this? Her finger taps the screen and for a second, she is about to dial the number. Then, stops. Maybe Peter’s right. Maybe I’ve lost it. Adopting alone? Is it just a fantasy? Am I torturing myself with hope. Was meeting Dr. Block meaningless, or a serendipity? Liz clings to the author’s card. She inhales then exhales a long-extended breath, and leaves a text for Dr. Block, “Please call me when you have time.” Liz opens the book, and with each new chapter, she decides there are possibilities. I can birth a child beyond my womb; I can conceive with my heart.
Liz usually mulls things over before deciding on a course of action. But today’s trip to the bookstore propels her onward. She clasps her iPhone, taps search, and types Adoption. A New School University calendar pops up with a 5pm event, Adopting Single, author series. Shrouded in the smoky aroma of coffee, Liz leaves Starbucks, her hands trembling. She’s moving away from everything that could hurt her, and everyone who could stop her from the joy that lies ahead. She focuses inward, thoughts accelerating as she heads down Lexington Avenue to catch the subway for 12th street. On the way a homeless man lies on iron grating, hopeless and exposed. That’s not where she belongs, there’s no room for her beside him on the cold concrete. Instead, the heat of exhilaration rushes through her body on her way to The New School. The auditorium is full. She finds a seat in the fifth row among other women listening to the lecture on what steps to take for a foreign adoption. There is a baby in the universe for her, she believes, unsure where her baby is, but certain her dream will be a reality. That soon she too, will become a mother.
Edna Schneider holds a bachelor’s degree in Dramatic Arts from Emerson College and master’s degree in Speech-Language Pathology from Long Island University. Her short stories have appeared in The Jewish Literary Journal, Bright Flash Literary Review. Prior to a career in Speech-Language Pathology, Edna Schneider worked as a professional puppeteer.