Motherhood Made a Man Out of Me (20 page)

I also bought them a thirty-seven-dollar chocolate cake. Stella ate the purple flowers from around the edge one by one—she's as meticulous as her father—then suffered a terrific case of diaper rash the next day. We got some nice pictures, however. Of the birthday, not the diaper rash.

While Mary Rose and I were in the kitchen making fresh coffee for the moms and filling bottles with juice for the babies, she confessed that she'd started seeing Rex. Remember Blushing Rex, anesthesiologist? He turned out to be an outdoorsman, also newly divorced.

“Mary Rose, Mary Rose. That is fantastic. Divorced guys are great because they've experienced the miracle of cause and effect.”

She raised an eyebrow, said nothing.

I told Mary Rose it would be good for Patricia to have as many adult males in her life as possible. I said it takes at least four adults to raise one baby, and wouldn't I know?

Mary Rose said there was Derik.

I said, no,
really
in her life: refusing to change her diaper, holding her only when she's happy. Remembering how much I championed poor Ward, Mary Rose didn't think much of my ideas.

Anyway, I believe a girl should have a father so, if nothing else, she can see what men are like, up close. I told Mary Rose that Patricia would come to idolize Derik because he was never around. Mary Rose shrugged her wide shoulders and lit a cigarette, blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth.

“And what about you, what's new with you?” She narrowed her brown eyes, looked at me very closely. “I think you're pregnant. I'm a mother. I can tell these things.”

Acknowledgments

FOR REASONS THAT ESCAPE ME, THE FIRST EDITION OF
this novel lacked acknowledgements. It's possible that since both my editor and I were living at the bottom of the rabbit hole that is new motherhood it may have slipped our minds. Now the sweet babe who inspired this story is all grown up and out of the house, and I have plenty of time to thank people properly.

To Karen Rinaldi, then editorial director at Bloomsbury USA, who took a chance on me the first time around: I'm forever grateful for your humor, support, friendship, and general badassery.

To Rhonda Hughes, publisher of Hawthorne Books, who finds my work timeless enough to invest in a second time around: thank you for your devotion, passion, cocktails, and bacon, lettuce, and avocado sandwiches at the pub.

To Adam McIsaac, designer extraordinaire, who gave this book the cover it deserved (that arched eyebrow says it all): I'm in awe of your wit and taste. And also to Scott Parker, possibly the world's most exacting copyeditor: thanks for taking the time to make sure everything was perfect.

To Fiona Baker, my dear girl, it's been my life's joy and honor to be your mom.