Page 7 of From Maybe to Baby

"My ex never wanted to settle down. Always chasing the next adventure." He sighs dramatically. "Some women just don't understand how lucky they are to have a good man."

I should warn him. I really should. I am never in the mood for bullshit like this, but at the moment, I’m inches from a homicidal rage he really shouldn’t push me closer to.

He jiggles the ice cubes in his empty airline cup. "You remind me of her, actually. All that solo travel..." He gestures at my phone, where I'm trying to write the world's most passive-aggressive out-of-office reply to Ryan. "But you'll understand when you have kids."

And there it is. The universal battle cry of the condescending parent. I lower my phone to my lap with more force than necessary.

"Actually—" I start, ready to launch into my carefully crafted response to uninvited life advice, but his words trigger a memory so vivid it stops me cold.

Mom, standing in our kitchen, hands shaking as she holds a PTA schedule. "You'll understand when you have kids," Dad says to me, not looking up from his newspaper. "Being a parent means sacrifices."

"I've sacrificed enough." Her voice is quiet, but it carries weight I wouldn't understand until years later. "I gave up Paris for PTA meetings. Art galleries for bake sales. My dreams for your version of normal."

"Kids need stability," he argues.

"Kids need a mother who isn't dying inside."

I was twelve when she left. Watching from the stairs as she packed her easels instead of photo albums, her paints instead of family memories. Dad called it selfish. She called it survival.

Two weeks later, she sent her first postcard. Paris, just like she'd always dreamed. Then Rome. Barcelona. Each one signed the same way—Choose adventure. Love, Mom.

"Hello? Anyone home?" 3B waves his hand in front of my face, snapping me back to present.

"Sorry, just remembering where I buried the last guy who gave me unsolicited life advice." I smile sweetly. "Quick question—do you have any next of kin who might come looking for you?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Good. He’s not a total idiot.

My phone buzzes with text from the very woman I was just thinking about. Thank God for onboard WIFI access.

Mom:

How's the escape from paradise going?

Currently sitting next to a divorced dad who thinks I need saving from my child-free lifestyle. Want to share some wisdom about the joys of traditional family values?

Tell him I left a miserable marriage and now I date gorgeous Italian men who don't know my real age.

Pretty sure that'll just reinforce his 'women these days' attitude.

His loss. You packed for kid-mageddon yet?

If by 'packed' you mean 'considered faking my own death,' then yes. I’m on the plane there right now.

It's two weeks, baby. Not a life sentence.

That's what you said about marriage, if I remember correctly.

And I was right. It wasn't a life sentence—it was a choice. Honey, you know I support your choices, right? The travel, the freedom, all of it. I'm your biggest fan.

But?

But don't let fear of becoming me—the old me, the suburban mom me—stop you from experiencing things. I didn't regret the family part. I regretted losing myself to it.

I'm not afraid. I just know what I want.

Funny thing about knowing what you want—it can change. One day you're a happily married suburbanite who drinks box wine and votes on bake sale prices, the next you're selling art in Paris and dating a man who owns his own vineyard.

Please tell me Gerard finally proposed.

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