Emily Giffin - Baby proof

Instead I muster up a weak, "I want you to be happy."

He can take it or leave it. It's the best I can do.

A long silence follows, one in which Ben fiddles with a packet of Equal, and I refold my jacket on the seat next to me. We look up at each other at the same second, and I'm shocked to see grief on Ben's face.

"I want you to be happy, too, Claudia. I do… But I just can't let you do this."

I try to process his words, but they make no sense. "Do what?" I say.

"Marry Richard," he says, pointing to the ring on my left hand.

"What?" I say, totally confused now.

His voice is low and his words come rapidly. "I know you came here to tell me you're engaged to Richard. And I know you think you found in him something we didn't have. A promise of the kind of life you want… the kind of life you deserve… I also know that I'm too late. Way too late. That vows have been broken and bridges have been burned. But I just want to tell you, Claudia… I must tell you that I love you with my whole heart and I'd do anything to get you back. I don't need a baby. I don't even want one if it's not with you… I don't want anyone or anything but you."

I am stunned and speechless. I simply cannot believe what I'm hearing. It is my speech-the words I thought about saying to Ben, so many times, at least until I saw Tucker's ring. It is too much to process at once so I start out with a simple question. I look at him and say, "What about Tucker?"

"What about her?" Ben says, looking as dumbfounded as I feel.

"Aren't you marrying her?" I say.

He laughs and says no.

"But I saw her ring," I say.

"Claudia. She's engaged to some guy named Steve," he says.

"A doctor at her hospital… Why in the world did you think the ring was from me?"

"But you… ran the marathon together," I say, feeling foolish with my flimsy Internet evidence.

"Well. That's what you do with running partners," Ben says. "You run marathons together."

I feel a surge of relief so great that it is more like joy. It is as if I've been living with a terminal illness and have just discovered that the diagnosis was all wrong. That I'm going to live a long life after all. Something escapes my throat, but I'm not sure whether I'm laughing or crying. I think it is both.

I say, "Well. I'm not marrying Richard, Ben. I'm not even dating Richard anymore."

"You're not?" he says. "But Annie told me he gave you a ring."

"He did," I say, twisting it off my finger and dropping it into my purse. Then I swipe at my tears and say, "But it wasn't an engagement ring… It was… nothing."

Ben breaks into a smile as he says, "So wait… you're single?"

"Yeah," I say. "Are you?"

He nods, still smiling. Then his expression becomes grave as he reaches out for my hands. I give them to him. A feeling of warmth and well-being fills me up and renders me speechless. I desperately want to tell him that I have come to the same conclusion about us. That I would do anything to get him back, even if that means having a baby. That I nearly might even want a baby with him. That all I want to do is share my life with him, in whatever form that takes.

And I will tell him all of that. Soon. But right now I just squeeze his hands and look into the eyes of the only man I've ever truly loved.

We are quiet for a long time until I finally say, "I can't believe you're single."

Instead I muster up a weak, "I want you to be happy."

He can take it or leave it. It's the best I can do.

A long silence follows, one in which Ben fiddles with a packet of Equal, and I refold my jacket on the seat next to me. We look up at each other at the same second, and I'm shocked to see grief on Ben's face.

"I want you to be happy, too, Claudia. I do… But I just can't let you do this."

I try to process his words, but they make no sense. "Do what?" I say.

"Marry Richard," he says, pointing to the ring on my left hand.

"What?" I say, totally confused now.

His voice is low and his words come rapidly. "I know you came here to tell me you're engaged to Richard. And I know you think you found in him something we didn't have. A promise of the kind of life you want… the kind of life you deserve… I also know that I'm too late. Way too late. That vows have been broken and bridges have been burned. But I just want to tell you, Claudia… I must tell you that I love you with my whole heart and I'd do anything to get you back. I don't need a baby. I don't even want one if it's not with you… I don't want anyone or anything but you."

I am stunned and speechless. I simply cannot believe what I'm hearing. It is my speech-the words I thought about saying to Ben, so many times, at least until I saw Tucker's ring. It is too much to process at once so I start out with a simple question. I look at him and say, "What about Tucker?"

"What about her?" Ben says, looking as dumbfounded as I feel.

"Aren't you marrying her?" I say.

He laughs and says no.

"But I saw her ring," I say.

"Claudia. She's engaged to some guy named Steve," he says.

"A doctor at her hospital… Why in the world did you think the ring was from me?"

"But you… ran the marathon together," I say, feeling foolish with my flimsy Internet evidence.

"Well. That's what you do with running partners," Ben says. "You run marathons together."

I feel a surge of relief so great that it is more like joy. It is as if I've been living with a terminal illness and have just discovered that the diagnosis was all wrong. That I'm going to live a long life after all. Something escapes my throat, but I'm not sure whether I'm laughing or crying. I think it is both.

I say, "Well. I'm not marrying Richard, Ben. I'm not even dating Richard anymore."

"You're not?" he says. "But Annie told me he gave you a ring."

"He did," I say, twisting it off my finger and dropping it into my purse. Then I swipe at my tears and say, "But it wasn't an engagement ring… It was… nothing."

Ben breaks into a smile as he says, "So wait… you're single?"

"Yeah," I say. "Are you?"

He nods, still smiling. Then his expression becomes grave as he reaches out for my hands. I give them to him. A feeling of warmth and well-being fills me up and renders me speechless. I desperately want to tell him that I have come to the same conclusion about us. That I would do anything to get him back, even if that means having a baby. That I nearly might even want a baby with him. That all I want to do is share my life with him, in whatever form that takes.

And I will tell him all of that. Soon. But right now I just squeeze his hands and look into the eyes of the only man I've ever truly loved.

We are quiet for a long time until I finally say, "I can't believe you're single."

"Yeah," Ben says. "But I'm thinking of asking someone out." "Oh, really?" I say, smiling. "Who might that be?" "My ex-wife," Ben says. "Do you think she'll say yes?" "I think she might," I say. "I think she might do anything for you."

It is Christmas Eve and nearly dark, possibly my favorite hour of the year.

Ben and I are in the car, crossing the Triborough Bridge on our way to Daphne and Tony's house. We are about to meet their son, Lucas, who arrived three days ago, right on schedule, the most divine Christmas present imaginable.

The radio is on low and Nat King Cole is singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Ben's hands are gripping the steering wheel, at ten and two o'clock, perfect driver's ed form. He is usually a more laidback driver, even in heavy traffic, and it occurs to me that he could be nervous about seeing my family again. I ask him the question, admitting that I am a bit anxious about our visit with his family tomorrow afternoon.

As if busted, Ben shifts to the single hand at six o'clock position and says, "Maybe a little nervous… but I'm mostly just excited to see everyone."

I smile and say, "Even my crazy mother?"

"Even crazy ol' Vera," he says, shaking his head. "I love everything that is part of you."

I lean over and kiss his cheek. We have only been back together for a month, and the little things still thrill me. Things such as the feel of his rough whiskers a mere few hours after he shaved. Being in a car with him. Listening to Christmas music. Everything with Ben feels new and sacred and exalted. I suspect that it will for a very long time. Maybe forever.

A half hour later, we are exiting the Long Island Expressway and approaching Huntington. It is now completely dark. Ben points out the sliver of a moon, and the multitude of stars not visible in Manhattan. The stars are the best part about the suburbs, I muse aloud. Ben says he agrees-but then adds, "Not reason enough to move out of the city, though."

He is full of such subtle, conciliatory comments since our reunion lunch. We both are, although we are still dancing around the real crux of our divorce. We don't speak of such serious matters at all, other than when we tell our friends and family the story of that fateful day at Pete's Tavern. We will likely be asked to tell it again tonight. I'm sure we will roll our eyes and say, "Again?" while secretly relishing every part of the story-our story. The sickening hours leading up to our meeting, our slow-dawning realization, our euphoric cab ride back to my old apartment after lunch. I am sure tonight we will add a new detail, as we do every time. Perhaps I will imbue it with the literary significance that was never lost on me: There we were in O. Henry's booth, playing out our own version of the "Gift of the Magi," Each of us willing to give up something for the other, for love. It seems a fitting twist for Christmastime.