Robyn Carr - A Summer in Sonoma

“Wine?” Cassie asked as Julie sat down.

“No, thanks,” Julie said. “Carpool.” Of course, there was no carpool. “Beth? You’re not having a glass of wine?”

“On call,” she said, smiling. “Again. But I’m covered for lunch.”

“Is that how you keep your figure? Being on call?” Julie asked.

And then all four of them ordered salads, even Julie.

“I weigh the same, but they’re working me to death,” Beth said. “I’m delivering all the middle-of-the-night babies. The joys of being the new guy.”

“Speaking of new guys…any in your life?” Cassie asked, because this was Cassie’s main interest. And one of the only things that perplexed her was how a woman as accomplished and beautiful as Beth remained completely unattached. True, Beth was hard to please, a perfectionist. But still, with that in mind, she figured Beth would have landed the perfect man by now.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said, sipping her tea. “I went out with an anal, boring internist a couple of times, but I’d rather have been reading a good novel. He almost put me to sleep.”

“I guess he’s not getting an encore,” Marty said.

“Absolutely not. Honestly, I work, then I go home and sleep until the phone rings…”

“How are you liking the new clinic?” Cassie asked.

“I’m going to like it a lot better when I’m not the new guy anymore, but it’s a great little shop. Good staff. A lot of fresh-faced young pregnant girls as well as some older pregnant women—one of our docs has a real nice fertility practice.” Then to Cassie she said, “How about you? Any new guys?”

Cassie and Julie exchanged quick glances. Cassie hadn’t mentioned her incident to the others and, really, she just didn’t want to go through all that again, even in the telling. “I’ve sworn off men,” she said. “I draw only jerks and assholes.”

Beth just laughed. “The right one will probably turn up when you least expect him.”

“So everyone says. I don’t think I care that much about the man, but it’s going to be damn hard to have children without one.”

“You don’t need a man to have a baby, Cassie,” Beth said.

“Gee, I know I didn’t get the best grades in school, but according to my biology teacher, that’s one of the things you absolutely do need,” Julie said.

“What you need is sperm,” Beth said. And with a dismissive wave of her hand, she said, “Easy.”

“Holy smokes,” Julie said.

“Good idea,” Marty said. “Marriage is way overrated.”

Julie’s gaze shot from Beth to Marty, but Cassie was focused on Beth. “Would you do something like that? Have a baby without a husband?”

“I’m not in the market for a baby,” Beth said. “I have a feeling I’ll be better at delivering them than having them. But really, half the female doctors I know are married to doctors. They’re both under pressure, working long hours, and they do fine. It kind of looks like a good nanny is more valuable than a good husband.”

“What do you mean, marriage is way overrated?” Julie asked Marty. And then she reached for Cassie’s glass of wine, but before taking a gulp, she slid it back.

With precision timing, the salads arrived, along with a basket of warm, fresh bread.

Julie wasn’t done with Marty. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought you and Joe invented marriage! You’re not having trouble or anything, are you?”

Marty tore off a piece of bread and with a shrug said, “We’re fine. I guess. But I ask myself—is this it? Forever? This guy who lives like a slob and doesn’t want to do any of the things he liked to do before we were married? He used to take me out, you know. Movies, dinner, nice things. Now it’s sports or boating or camping. On his days off, he doesn’t bother to shower till he has to go back to work. I come home from work and it looks like some homeless guy broke into the house and tore the place up. And once he slipped the ring on, that was it for romance. Now foreplay at our house is, ‘You awake?’”

Julie actually sprayed a mouthful of iced tea as she burst into laughter. When she came under control, fanning her face, grinning, she said, “I can answer that question. Is this all there is? Yeah—this is it, girlfriend. And I signed up.”

“See, there’s a reason some women decide to just have the family on their own,” Beth said, lifting a forkful of lettuce to her mouth.

But Julie was more fascinated by Marty than Beth. “Marty, I’ve never heard you talk like this. I thought you were crazy about Joe.”

“Sure,” she said, chewing a mouthful of salad. “I am. Joe’s a great guy, a good father, a dependable man in his own way—and God knows the women he’s carried down the ladder out of a burning building are in love with him forever—but around home he’s a bum. He’s got sweats and gym shorts he hides so they won’t get washed until they’re so ripe they could walk to the laundry room. His whole closet stinks.” They have two closets, Julie thought jealously. “He spit shines the boat, but he can’t shave the bristle off his chin before he rolls over onto me. The yard has to be perfect, which by the way is sweaty, smelly work, and that vagrant-esque odor sticks to him—at the dinner table and when we go to bed at night. And believe me, he is limited to the yard, garage and the sporting equipment in his ability to clean things.”

“I’ve never seen Joe looking like a vagrant,” Cassie said.

“You would if you were married to him. He cleans up for company,” Marty said. “Really, what he gives F.D. is perfect. If we’re having people over, he’s all spiffed up. But when it comes to his wife, his marriage—he takes it totally for granted. He doesn’t even try. ”

“Marty, you should tell him,” Julie said.

“You think I haven’t told him? I’ve begged him!” Marty insisted. “He doesn’t care. He thinks it’s funny. He tells me to relax. Don’t you get sick of Billy sometimes?” Marty asked Julie.

“Uh, yeah. But not for the same reasons…”

“Well, what reasons?”

He’s too fertile. I’m too fertile with him. He’s too romantic, like we’re still in high school, doing it in the backseat of a car, like two kids who can’t help it, can’t stop it from happening. He’s disgustingly optimistic, like the world we live in doesn’t even exist—the world of too many bills, too little pay. She’d give anything if Billy worked only for F.D. and actually had days off to help around the house, help with the kids. But she said, “Well, some of the same reasons, but…”

“But?”

She shrugged. “That stuff doesn’t get to me so much.” Because I have real problems, she thought, feeling angry and envious. A house that’s too small with a mortgage too big, cars that are too old, out of control bills…“Okay, some of that stuff gets to me. But, Marty, it looks like you and Joe have a pretty good life.”

“Because we have a boat? ” she asked. “Jules, I didn’t want a boat. And I’d rather die than spend another week in that RV! I’d give anything for a vacation somewhere cool, just me and Joe. Like Hawaii or the Bahamas or something. I’d like to watch a movie that doesn’t involve fifty-seven people getting shot or out-of-control farts. I’d like to go out to dinner. Or to Las Vegas—to spend the night in a classy hotel, have a day at the spa, then lie by the pool—but Joe says, ‘Why go to Vegas to get a tan when we have a boat?’ Could it be because it’s up to me to shop, prepare food, fix everyone’s meals and then clean up everything when we bring the boat in? That’s not fun—it’s just more work!” Marty lifted some of her salad to her mouth, chewed and said, “You’re lucky. Billy still treats you as if he’d like you to marry him.”