Good in Bed

“So when are you coming home?” my mother asked. I bit my lip. I still didn’t know, and I’d have to make up my mind – and soon. My thirtieth week was quickly approaching. After that, I’d either have to find a doctor in Los Angeles and have the baby here, or find a way to get home that didn’t involve an airplane.

“Well, please let me know your plans,” my mother said. “I’d be delighted to give you a ride home from the airport, and maybe even look at my grandchild before his or her first birthday…”

“Ma…”

“Just a motherly reminder!” she said, and hung up.

I got to my feet and walked down to the sand, Nifkin bouncing at my heels, hoping he’d get to chase his te

I knew that I’d have to figure it out eventually, but things were going so well that it was hard to think of anything but the next perfect, su

“You should stay here,” Maxi would say. I never said yes, but I never said no, either. I tried to figure it out the way I’d once investigated my brides, turning the question over and over in my mind: Could this life fit me? Could I really live this way?

I thought about it at night, when my work was done and the food was cooking, and Nifkin and I would stroll along the water’s edge. “Stay or go?” I’d ask, waiting for an answer – from the dog, from the baby, from the God who had failed to instruct me back in November. But no answer came – just the waves and, eventually, the starlit night.

On my third Saturday morning in California Maxi walked into the guest bedroom, flinging open the curtains and snapping her fingers at Nifkin, who darted to her side, ears pricked up alertly, like the world’s smallest guard dog. “Up and at ’em!” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We’re going to the gym!”

I struggled to sit up. “Gym?” I asked. She was dressed for it, I saw. Her auburn curls were drawn up into a high ponytail, and she was wearing a form-fitting black unitard, bright white socks, and pristine white sneakers.

“Don’t worry,” Maxi told me. “Nothing too exerting.” She sat on the side of my bed and pointed at a schedule from someplace called the I

“Self-actualization, meditation, and visualization,” read the course description.

“To be followed by masturbation?” I asked.

Maxi gave me an evil look. “Don’t knock it,” she said. “This stuff really works.”

I went to the dresser and started searching for appropriate self-actualization wear. I figured I’d tag along, and use the meditation session to see if I couldn’t come up with a plausible bit of dialogue between Josie, the heroine of my screenplay, and her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend. Or I’d contemplate my future, and what I’d do with it. Self-actualization and visualization sounded like New Age foolishness to me, but at least it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

The I

“You’re really going to like this,” said Maxi, as we made our way to the door. I’d wriggled into Maxi’s oversized T-shirt, which was becoming less oversized by the day, plus a pair of leggings and sneakers, and the obligatory baseball cap and shades – the one part of her look I’d been able to adapt for myself.

“You know, in Philadelphia this place would be a cheesesteak stand,” I grumbled.

We entered a large, airy room with mirrors on the walls, a piano in one corner, and the smell of sweat and, faintly, sandalwood incense. Maxi and I found spots near the back, and when Maxi went to fetch us folding foam mats, I checked out the crowd. There was a pack of supermodel-looking stu

“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 a

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 ci

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.