Jennifer Weiner - Good in Bed

“Let’s all get to our feet,” she said, bending to put a compact disc into the player.

I stared, and blinked, for there, in front of me, was a bona fide Larger Woman… in a shiny electric-blue leotard and black tights, no less. She was maybe ten years older than me, with a deep tan, and brown hair that fell halfway down her back, held off her wide, unlined face with a band that matched her leotard. Her body reminded me of those little fertility dolls that archeologists dug out of ruins – sloping breasts, wide hips, unapologetic curves. She had pink lipstick and a tiny diamond stud in her nose, and she looked… comfortable. Confident. Happy with herself. I stared at her, unable to help myself, wondering if I’d ever looked that happy, and whether I could ever learn how, and how I’d look with a nose-piercing.

“I’m Abigail,” she announced. Abigail! I thought. My top female-baby name contender! This had to be a sign. Of what, I wasn’t sure, but definitely something good. “And this is self-actualization, meditation, and visualization. If you’re in the wrong place, please leave now.” Nobody did. Abigail smiled at us and hit a button on the stereo. The sound of flutes and soft drumming filled the room. “We’re going to start off with some stretching and deep breathing, and then we’re going to do what’s called a guided meditation. You’ll all sit in whatever position you find comfortable, and you’ll close your eyes, and I’m going to guide you through imagining different situations, different possibilities. Shall we begin?”

Maxi smiled at me. I smiled back. “Okay?” she whispered, and I nodded, and before I knew it I was sitting cross-legged on a cushioned mat on the floor, with my eyes closed and the flutes and drums ringing faintly in my ears.

“Imagine a safe place,” Abigail began. Her voice was low and soothing. “Don’t try to choose it. Just close your eyes and see what comes.”

I thought for sure I’d see Maxi’s deck, or maybe her kitchen. But what I saw as Abigail repeated “safe place,” was my bed… my bed at home. The blue comforter, the brightly colored pillows, Nifkin perched on top like a small furry hood ornament, blinking at me. I could tell by the slant of the light through the blinds that it was evening, when I’d come home from work. Time to walk the dog, time to call Samantha to see when she wanted to head to the gym, time to flip through my mail and hang up my clothes and settle in for the night And suddenly I was swept up in a wave of such wretched homesickness, such longing for my city, my apartment, my bed, that I felt faint.

I struggled to my feet. My head was full of pictures of the city – the coffee shop on the corner, where Samantha and I shared iced cap-pucinos and confidences and horror stories about men… the Reading Terminal in the morning, full of the smell of fresh flowers and cinnamon buns… Independence Mall on my way home from work, the wide green lawns crammed with tourists craning for a glimpse of the Liberty Bell, the dogwood trees full of pink blossoms… Penn’s Landing on a Saturday, with Nifkin straining at his leash, trying to catch the seagulls who skimmed and dipped low over the water. My street, my apartment, my friends, my job… “Home,” I whispered, to the baby – to myself. And I whispered “bathroom,” to Maxi, and made my way outside.

I stood in the sunshine, breathing deeply. A minute later I felt a tap on my shoulder. Abigail was standing there with a glass of water in her hand.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I just started feeling a little… well, homesick, I guess,” I explained.

Abigail nodded thoughtfully. “Home,” she said, and I nodded. “Well, that’s good. If home’s your safe place, that’s a wonderful thing.”

“How do you…” I couldn’t find the words for what I wanted to ask her. How do you find happiness in a body like yours… like mine? How do you find the courage to follow anything anywhere if you don’t feel like you fit in the world?

Abigail smiled at me. “I grew up,” she said, in response to the question I hadn’t asked. “I learned things. You will, too.”

“Cannie?”

Maxi was squinting at me in the sunlight, looking concerned. I waved at her. Abigail nodded at both of us. “Good luck,” she said, and walked back inside, hips churning, breasts wobbling, proud and unashamed. I stared after her, wishing I could whisper role model to the baby.

“What was that about?” asked Maxi. “Are you okay? You didn’t come back, I thought you were giving birth in the stall or something…”

“No,” I said. “No baby yet. I’m fine.”

We drove back home, Maxi chattering excitedly about how she’d visualized herself winning an Oscar and tastefully, graciously, and very emphatically denouncing every single one of her rotten ex-boyfriends from the podium. “I almost started laughing when I visualized the look on Kevin’s face!” she crowed, and shot me a glance at the next red light. “What’d you see, Cannie?”

I didn’t want to answer her… didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her that I thought my happiness lay approximately three thousand miles from the beach house and the California coastline, and from Maxi herself. “Home,” I said softly.

“Well, we’ll be there soon enough,” Maxi said.

“Can-nie,” Samantha wailed on the phone the next morning, sounded decidedly unlawyerly. “This is ridiculous! I insist that you come back. Things are happening. I broke up with the yoga instructor and you weren’t even here to hear about it”

“So tell me,” I urged her, staving off a pang of guilt.

“Never mind,” Sam said airily. “I’m sure whatever I’m enduring isn’t as interesting as your movie-star friends and their breakups…”

“Now, Sam,” I said, “you know that isn’t true. You’re my absolute best friend, and I want to hear all about the evil yoga guy…”

“Never mind that,” said Sam. “I’d rather talk about you. What’s the deal? Are you, like, on permanent vacation? Are you going to stay there forever?”

“Not forever,” I said. “I just… I’m not sure what I’m doing, really.” And I was desperate, at that moment, not to have to talk about it anymore.

“I miss you,” Sam said plaintively. “I even miss your weird little dog.”

“I won’t be gone forever,” I said. It was the only thing I knew for sure was true.

“Okay, subject change,” said Samantha. “Guess who called me? That hunky doctor we ran into on Kelly Drive.”

“Dr. K!” I said, feeling a sudden rush of happiness at his name, along with a twinge of guilt that I hadn’t called him since the day I’d signed with Violet. “How’d he get your number?”

Samantha’s voice turned chilly. “Evidently,” she said, “and despite my explicit request, you once again listed me as your emergency contact when you filled out some kind of form for him.”

This was a point of some contention. I always listed Samantha as my emergency contact when I went on bike trips. Samantha had been less than delighted to learn this.

“Honestly, Cannie, why don’t you just list your mother?” she asked now, reiterating the complaint she’d made many times before.

“Because I’m worried that Tanya would answer the phone and have my body buried at sea,” I said.

“Anyhow, he called because he wanted to know how things were going, and if I had your address; I guess he wants to send you something.”

“Great!” I said, wondering what it was.

“So when are you coming home?” Sam asked again.

“Soon,” I told her, relenting.

“Promise?” she demanded.

I laid my hands on my belly. “I promise,” I said, to both of them.

The next afternoon, the mailbox yielded a box from Mailboxes amp; More on Walnut Street, Philadelphia.