You Were Meant For Me (31 page)

“O
ut!” Celeste clamored. “Out!”

“All right, sweetheart. You can get out.” Miranda knelt in front of the stroller, unbuckled Celeste and, taking her hand firmly, set her down on the sidewalk while she attempted to push the stroller with her other hand. Bundled into her fuchsia snowsuit—it was a Saturday morning in March, and although the light looked like spring, the air was still nippy—Celeste teetered along happily. Now that she had just started walking, she wanted to walk everywhere, all the time, even when it would have been so much more convenient for Miranda if she stayed in the stroller.

A man with a big, shaggy dog ambled by; Celeste lunged, and Miranda grabbed her just in time. The dog looked friendly, but who knew? He might not appreciate the onslaught of one small, fuchsia-clad girl. “Woof!” Celeste said, tugging at Miranda's hand as she attempted to follow the dog. “Woof, woof!”

“Yes, that's a dog,” Miranda said. “Dogs go
woof
.” Had she thought having a baby was exhausting? Well, that was only because she hadn't experienced life with a toddler yet. And with Celeste's first birthday coming up next week, toddlerhood was right around the corner.

Miranda led Celeste into the party store on Seventh Avenue. She had planned a birthday celebration at Baby Space on McDonald Avenue in Brooklyn, and she was going to order the balloons—Celeste loved balloons. “I'd like two dozen,” she told the young girl behind the register. “And can you mix the colors—some pink, some red, and some white?”

“Sure thing.” The girl began writing the delivery information on the order pad. Miranda was about to take out her wallet when she looked down to see that Celeste, though still holding her hand, had discovered some brightly colored jelly beans in small plastic bags at her eye level and was just about to yank down the entire display.

“No touching, honey.” Miranda quickly scooped her up. In response, Celeste began to wail. “Sorry,” said Miranda to the girl, raising her voice above the sound. She dug into her bag to find her credit card but succeeded only in dumping the contents onto the floor. Wallet, keys, phone, a package of Life Savers, several crumpled tissues, and a handful of pens landed in a heap near her feet; a tube of lipstick rolled off and stopped several inches away.

“Hey, let me help.” The girl came out from behind the counter and began picking everything up. Miranda opened her wallet, paid for the balloons, and hustled Celeste—still wailing—out of the store. Once they were outside, her despair evaporated and she began tugging on Miranda's hand again, eager to wander off. They came to the bagel store; Celeste was
a big fan of bagels. Miranda bought her a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese; she knew the cream cheese would end up everywhere, but it was worth it because Celeste would tolerate being in the stroller while she ate.

With Celeste contentedly chewing the bagel, Miranda was able to finish the rest of her Saturday-morning errands. She ran into someone from the Zumba class she'd recently started taking, and also Heidi and Auggie, who was in his stroller napping. “We'll see you at the party next week.” Heidi adjusted Auggie's blanket to cover him better. “I haven't been to Baby Space, but I hear it's great.”

“It looks perfect for their age group.” Miranda debated whether she should try to wipe the cream cheese from Celeste's chin now or wait until they got home. “No bigger kids to contend with.”

“Soon these guys will be the bigger kids,” said Heidi. “Auggie is just growing like crazy. He wears something once and the next time I put it on, it's too small.”

“This one too,” Miranda said fondly. “But since she's the birthday girl, I bought her a new dress for the party and I don't care if she only wears it once.”

“Of course not,” said Heidi. “A first birthday is a real milestone.”

“Yes.” Miranda looked at her daughter; white flecks of cream cheese were now dotting her face and she was patting her hair with a cream cheese–smeared hand. “It certainly is.”

*   *   *

Back
at home, she cleaned Celeste off and put her down for a nap. That was one of the upsides of her new insistence on walking: she tired herself out and succumbed to long, luxuriant bouts of sleep. Then Miranda quietly left the room, picking
her way around the cardboard boxes whose number was increasing by the week. Much as she loved her apartment in Mrs. Castiglione's house, she and Celeste had outgrown it. So with the money her father had left, she'd put a down payment on a proper two bedroom in an elevator building on Eastern Parkway. The apartment was well proportioned and light, but it was in terrible shape; Miranda would have a lot of work to do. It was a daunting and even terrifying task, but Jared had strongly encouraged her to make the move, and he'd already connected her with a contractor who was a personal friend—and who would give her a good price on the renovation.

While Celeste slept, Miranda went over the details of the party. The guest list included all seven of the children from her single mommies group—along with their mothers—as well as Bea, Lauren, and her husband and kids. She'd invited several people from her office, Mrs. Castiglione, Supah, and, of course, Jared. Courtney and Harris were out of town and Sallie couldn't make it, but it would still feel festive.

Something was nagging her. Evan. Though she hadn't seen him in some time, she still had faith in his connection to Celeste. Those photographs he took. The way he'd looked at her, held her. He belonged at this party as much as anyone. And without stopping to second-guess her decision, she quickly shot off an e-mail to invite him.

In her obsessive replaying of their final conversation at Courtney's wedding, Miranda kept fixating on the sentence he'd said about not being able to father children. She knew he had not been married before, so how would he have found out? And why hadn't she pressed him for more information? As it was, she was left with a mystery. She also replayed the moment in which she'd asked if he loved her and seized upon
the fact that he had not said no—not in so many words. He had said there was someone else. But not that he no longer felt anything for her.

Well, she wasn't going to sit here and go over all this—again—or wait for his reply. She got up, made a cup of tea, allowed herself to be distracted by cleaning out her kitchen drawers. Was there a reason she had three can openers? And really, her knives were so dull they wouldn't cut Wonder Bread. Organizing was one of those easy-to-put-off but ultimately satisfying domestic chores. And when she returned to the laptop, there, as easy and as casual as could be, was Evan's response:
Thanks for the invite. See you on Saturday.

She stared it for several seconds. He'd spent months ignoring her messages and now, just like that, he'd answered. What could it mean? The brightening hope his words engendered was immediately dimmed by her next thought: Thea. She had not said anything about her, but what if he brought her along? Miranda would not allow herself to ask; the question was almost craven. No, she would have to believe he'd arrive solo. And if not, she would have to deal with it.

Celeste woke Miranda early on the morning of the party. “Mamamamamama,” she crooned from her bedroom. She'd pulled herself up and was hanging on the crib's railing with both hands, and when she saw Miranda, she stamped her feet in a tiny flurry of excitement.

“Up you go.” Miranda hoisted her in one arm.

“Up!” said Celeste; she had taken to echoing the words Miranda spoke to her.

After bathing her, Miranda put Celeste in the smocked dress with the Peter Pan collar. The label read Bonpoint, the children's shop on Madison Avenue, but Miranda had found
the dress—pale pink with tiny, starlike red flowers—at a thrift store on East Eighty-fourth Street for a fraction of its original cost. In the same store, she had also bought a pink, stretchy headband with a bow on one side. It looked darling on Celeste's soft mass of hair, but Celeste kept yanking it off, and after a few attempts, Miranda gave up. Then she deposited Celeste in her crib while she slipped into the fluid, dark red jersey dress she'd bought for the occasion; after all, it was a milestone for her too.

Bea came with her car and drove them, along with Mrs. Castiglione, to Baby Space; the two women entertained Celeste while Miranda made sure everything was ready. The balloons had arrived and so had the tea sandwiches; Supah, Miranda saw, was already there, and she went over to give her a hug.

“Big girl today.” Supah beamed. “This for her.” She handed Miranda a box wrapped in metallic pink paper and a silver bow.

“Thank you, Supah.” Miranda put the box off to the side, to be opened later. Then she saw Heidi and Auggie come through the doors, and Max and Sophie too, with Lauren right behind them. She went to retrieve Celeste and set her down in the enclosed baby ballroom, where dozens of plastic red, yellow, and blue balls filled the space; Auggie joined her, along with three other members of the mommy-baby group Heidi had started. Celeste slapped at the balls with her open palms and laughed when she sent them flying; the party was in full swing.

After the visit to the ballroom, there was a ride on a “train” whose cars were all stenciled with cartoon characters and many trips down a baby slide. Auggie had a minor tantrum and Heidi had to take him off for a little while to settle down,
but Celeste seemed to be the life of the party; every time Miranda looked at her, she was smiling.

Over the sandwiches, cornichons, and fruit salad, Miranda mingled with the guests. She spent a long time talking to Jared, who had flown up from Louisiana. “You've given her such a great day,” he said. “You're giving her a great life.” Miranda absorbed the praise quietly—she had transformed Celeste's life, just as Celeste had transformed hers. This last year had not been easy, and at the start of it, she could not have predicted its direction, or the unfamiliar paths she would take to arrive at this surprising new destination. And now here they were, mother and daughter, united by accident but bound by love.

After the meal, they opened presents: a plush teddy bear and a baby doll, two puzzles, a busy box, a set of blocks, a whole slew of dresses, pajamas, and other things to wear. Courtney and Bea helped Miranda dispose of the wrapping and put the gifts off to one side. “Are you ready to serve the cake?” Lauren asked when everything was cleared away.

“Didn't I tell you? There isn't going to be a cake.”

“No cake? What are you talking about it?”

“Come on.” Miranda started walking. “I'll show you.” And she led Lauren to the kitchen area, where, on three trays, were thirty-six cupcakes, each one covered with a cloud of marshmallow frosting, sprinkled with shredded coconut, and capped by tiny 1's fashioned from pink marzipan.

“Oh!” Lauren said. “Did you make these?”

“Not this time. They're a gift from Alan Richardson, cupcake king.
Domestic Goddess
is doing a story on him and we've become friends.”

“Well, they are perfection.” Lauren helped Miranda carry the trays into the main area, where they were greeted with a
chorus of oohs and aahs. Then Miranda lit a single candle—pink, of course—and they all started to sing.

When the song was over, Miranda turned to Celeste. “Now you blow, sweetie pie.”

“Bow,” said Celeste; the letter
L
was not yet in her oral repertoire.

Miranda demonstrated and Celeste, eyes fixed on her face, puffed her cheeks in imitation and blew. Together they vanquished the small flame and everyone started to clap. Miranda handed Celeste to Jared as she began handing out the cupcakes.

“Let me give one to the birthday girl.” Jared was still holding Celeste, who was reaching for a cupcake.

“Of course; just see if you can keep her from getting it in her hair, okay? I have a feeling marshmallow is going to be
very
sticky and
very
hard to wash out.” She handed him the cupcake, and when she looked up, there was Evan, trademark camera on his shoulder. And as far as Miranda could tell, he was alone.

When Evan saw her looking at him, he smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Miranda returned the smile and kept handing out cupcakes. No one else seemed to register his arrival, and he remained on the periphery, camera held up to his eye, shooting quietly and unobtrusively. Miranda had been taking photographs all day with her phone—snapshots, visual notes. But Evan's photographs aspired to so much more; she hoped she'd get to see them.

Finally, everyone who wanted one had a cupcake and Evan made his way over. “Hey, Miranda.” He leaned down and kissed her on both cheeks. How very European. “Good to see you.”

“It's good to see you too,” she said. “It was nice of you to come.”

“It was nice of you to invite me. I didn't want to miss Celeste's first birthday.”

While they talked, Miranda registered how good he looked: new haircut, black turtleneck, black leather jacket. Like one of the Beatles. Only taller. She was about to say something else when she felt someone touch her elbow. Jared.

“I think you should take her.” He handed Celeste to Miranda. “She's been doing that
mamamamamama
thing.”

Miranda positioned Celeste on her hip and introduced Jared to Evan. She could feel Evan scrutinizing him, looking for signs—of intimacy, of erotic connection—but she knew he would detect none. She and Jared were in a good place now, and Miranda would never again allow anything to jeopardize it. Jared moved away, distracted by another guest.

“Celeste is looking great.” Evan smiled down at the baby. “She's gotten so big. And her face has changed a lot. I might not have recognized her.” He covered his eyes and began a game of peekaboo. Every time he emerged from behind his fingers, Celeste emitted a little yelp of delight and tugged on the bright red balloon clutched in her fist. He turned to Miranda. “I have a present for her.” He took his backpack off, reached inside, and handed Miranda a tissue-wrapped package.