for noticing that she was a little chubby and her dress clung around her belly.
Oh, holy shit. She wasn’t fat. She was pregnant.
My ex-boyfriend’s child bride was pregnant.
Jeff wasn’t just married, he was having a baby. And here I was, dressed like a very expensive stripper, waiting for my co-dependent flatmate to finish whoring herself out over a handbag so we could go home, order pizza and sob ourselves to single sleep. I pressed my hand to my forehead and stumbled back over to the coat check. Free bags and roommates be damned, I had to get out of there. Sadie would understand as long as I bought the pizza.
I might as well stop by the shelter on my way, I reasoned. Pick out a couple of unwanted cats and call it a day.
‘I still can’t believe Jeff is having a baby.’
Erin, my boss and non-Brit BFF, picked up a beautiful Proenza Schouler handbag and turned it over in her hands. I watched as every assistant in Barneys straightened their spine, only to slump back down when she put it back on the shelf. ‘He was such a dude. Can a bro have a baby?’
‘Uh, you have two, and I can think of a time when I wouldn’t even bother calling you on a Friday night, I would just head straight to Bungalow 8 and there you were,’ I pointed out, picking up the same PS bag and barely getting a shrug from the assistants. I didn’t give off the same rich vibe that Erin did. Because no one was as rich as Erin.
‘That’s not true,’ she said, turning her attention to the Saint Laurent collection. ‘Sometimes I was at Tunnel.’
‘I stand corrected.’
Barneys was a cut above the rest of the Manhattan department stores when it came to seasonal cheer. You knew what time of year it was, they had the requisite holiday window displays, but they weren’t all in your face with holly-jolly-happy crap as soon as you walked through the door. It was a safe place when you were ambivalent towards the fat guy in the suit, and ever since my coffee with Angie the day before, ambivalence was pretty much the most positive emotion I could muster.
‘Anyway, that’s not my point.’ Erin smoothed her long, honey-blonde ponytail and tucked it inside her beautiful navy blue wool coat, the collar turned up against the harsh weather. Last-minute Christmas shopping had seemed like a great idea when she’d suggested it, but I had agreed before I remembered how badly the weather sucked and that Erin had a private driver. All I had was Uber, and of course when I left the apartment there were no cars available. ‘My point is, what does it matter if he’s having a baby? You have an awesome life. All he has is a wife.’
‘My life is not awesome, Erin,’ I said, trying not to show the rage my voice. It wasn’t right, not in the hallowed halls of Barneys. And not with the hangover I had from sinking one too many homemade cocktails with Sadie after that shit-show of an afternoon. ‘I have a great job, sure, but what else do I have? You’re married, you have two kids, you own your own business. Angie has the magazine and Alex, even Sadie is gonna be snatched up before I know it. All I have is a vague promise from the flakiest gay dude I ever met to put a baby in me when I get desperate. And that’s a significantly downgraded offer from where we started out.’
Erin pursed her lips and carried on touching up the handbags. She had never approved of my arrangement with Angie’s friend James to co-parent, but I could only see an upside. I really wanted to start a family, and given that I made Taylor Swift look like someone who had her romantic life together, the idea of having a baby with a really rich, really attractive man who would never cheat on me, break my heart or steal my money kind of appealed. But of course, like everyone else but me on this planet, he met a man and was suddenly cured of his baby fever, so here I was, back at square one.
‘When was the last time you went on a date?’ Erin asked, unbuttoning her coat to reveal a beautiful snow-white cashmere sweater. I left my jacket zipped up so she so wouldn’t see where I had spilled coffee down myself on the way over. I was not a spiller, but the morning had been tough. ‘You can’t complain that the fish aren’t biting if you aren’t dangling any bait.’
‘I dangle,’ I protested. ‘It’s just been a while.’
‘What about that guy you were talking to at my holiday party?’ she asked. ‘He seemed super into you.’
‘Erin, he was a magician,’ I said, not even faintly amused. ‘It’s one step up from clown and that’s one step up from suicidal homeless guy. No thank you.’
‘Yeah, okay,’ she relented. ‘You’re not marrying a magician − I can’t have that around my kids. But we need to get you back on track.’
I nodded, reaching out for a beautiful black leather Alexander Wang backpack, wondering whether or not it was the kind of purse that said strong, successful woman looking for Mr Right. Without a word, Erin snatched it out of my hands and set it back on the shelf. Apparently it was not.
‘No backpacks,’ she said, cutting me off as I opened my mouth to defend myself. ‘I don’t give two shits what Vogue says, you’re not in high school, you’re not Cara Delevingne, no backpacks.’
‘I do have her eyebrows,’ I said, peering into a nearby mirror. ‘And, like, three of her ass.’
‘She’s a child,’ Erin replied. ‘She has no ass. Don’t worry about it.’
‘See, this is why I need to have a baby,’ I said, marvelling at my friend. ‘I remember when you wouldn’t wear pants unless you could bounce a quarter off your ass. I need that Zen attitude.’
‘It’s not Zen,’ she said weakly. ‘It’s giving up. You could bounce a roll of quarters off my ass these days and they’d just sink right in. It’s devastating.’
‘Maybe I’ll get fat over the holidays,’ I said, pinching at the stubborn flesh on my thighs that no number of squats could get rid of. ‘I’m pretty sure working out is killing my will to live.’
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked, blatantly ignoring my pity-party. ‘Spending it with Angie and Alex again?’
Again. Ew.
‘Way to make me sound like a super loser,’ I said. ‘As it happens, Angie yes, Alex no. He’s still on tour, remember?’
‘Oh yeah.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘I suck. Why is it that I can manage fifty women with one hand tied behind my back, but when you leave me at home with two kids under three, I lose my mind inside two days?’
‘You have me to help out in the office,’ I reasoned. ‘I’m pretty great.’
‘It’s true,’ she said, holding up a black crocodile Lanvin box bag. ‘You like?’
‘I love.’ I didn’t want to even look at the price tag. I was making good money in my job now, but I’d only just paid off all my credit cards and the exciting debt I’d managed to work up during my making shitty money period. I did not have inexpensive tastes, and living by a budget was killing me. ‘I just need a rich husband to buy it for me.’
‘What about that guy?’
