My phone rings and I’m surprised to see that it’s Luis. Should I answer? After everything that went on between me and Evans, I don’t want to jeopardize anything else between us. But Evans did say that he’s over it, and that he wants me to have my own life. I pick up the call and put it on speaker. I hope Luis doesn’t ask me about the prostitute rumor or Evans. I know I need to tell him the truth, but this isn’t the way I want him to find out about my stupid lie.
“Hey, Luis.”
“Ciara!” Luis sounds happy that I picked up. “I’ve been thinking about you. How are you holding up?” he asks.
“Things are okay.” I pull into the driveway. “Just trying to move forward.” I wait, but thankfully Luis doesn’t bring up the gossip.
“Listen, I wanted to call because I remembered how upset you were when you went to that mommy group. I have another option. I have a friend that joined one and she absolutely loves it. Maybe you’d like to give it another try?”
* * *
By the next morning, I’ve managed to put the nasty gossip behind me and am focusing on the things that are important to me—my family and making new friends.
“Evans? I’m heading out soon,” I called. He comes into the bedroom, freshly showered and shaved, and gives me a kiss. He’s meeting Murphy for lunch and I’m going to the mom group that Luis recommended yesterday. I’m really nervous, and I hope they’re not snotty and mean like the last group. “Fingers double crossed for a better group this time,” I sigh.
“If these women have any sense at all, they’ll love you. You’re a great person and a great friend,” Evans says firmly. He puts his arms around me and I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.
“Thanks, babe,” I whisper, and tilt my head upward to kiss him again. We spend the next few minutes in our own little bubble of happiness. When I pull my lips away from Evans’s, I see him glance mischievously towards the bed. I smack him playfully. “There’s no time for that now, but tonight?” Evans smiles at me.
“It’s a date.
Once Evan’s left the room, I put a quick pop of pink on my lips and a swipe of mascara on my lashes. I glance at myself in my full-length mirror and smile. I think I look okay. I would be friends with me. I just have to hope these women feel the same way. Alfred, of course, is his usual adorable self, wearing a fresh onesie with stars on it. “Ready to make some friends, little man?” I ask him. He babbles and laughs, which I take as a good sign.
I walked with Alfred to a nearby coffee shop. He falls asleep after a few minutes in his stroller, and I’m lost in thought about how great it would be to have some mom friends. Of course, I have Grace and Caroline,but as much as I love them, they’re Evan’s family. It would be nice to make friends on my own, new people outside of me and Evan’s current circle.
When I reach the coffee shop, I pause outside to smooth my hair and check my lipstick. “Here goes nothing,” I whisper, and pull open the door.
This particular coffee shop is beautiful and modern, with exposed brick and bright lighting. I weave through wooden tables filled with people typing away on laptops, couples sharing lattes, and college students buried in books. God, I don’t miss those days. Mainlining coffee and praying it would keep me up long enough to get through my classes and work and studying. It seems like a lifetime ago.
Eventually, I see that there’s a bunch of strollers crammed in the back around a big wooden communal table. I see newborns in swaddles, sleeping against their mothers’ chests, toddlers coloring with big crayons, a little girl wearing headphones and watching a cartoon on her tablet, and moms. So many moms and there’s not a nanny in sight. All of the kids are attached to their moms, or sitting around the table amusing themselves.
Whew! This is definitely more my type of group.
All of the moms seem to be dressed similarly to me as well. There are sleek bobs and ponytails but no fancy blowouts. One woman’s head is still damp from the shower. And no one is in Prada or huge sunglasses, They’re in tailored jackets, jeans, and cute shoes. I feel my lips curl into an excited smile. These are exactly the types of moms that I’d like to befriend.
“Let’s make a good impression, kiddo,” I whisper to Alfred. I try not to look nervous as we approach.
“Hey, I’m Ciara Damien, and this is my son, Alfred. I’m hoping to join your mom group.” All at once they stop talking and stare at me.
One of the women turns and points directly at me.
“You must be the baby-mama hooker.”