Have We Met Before?

sensitive content: abortion

She pretended she wasn’t looking at me when I caught her staring. There was something in the sky that was suddenly interesting. “Nora, do you want some juice,” she said the next time, removing herself from the grown-up section entirely. I suppose I could have dressed up a little, arrived in a billowy sundress, put on oversized sunglasses to accessorize a perfectly-painted face, like the other moms and the pretty lady staring at me. I was still new, but I should have known from the soccer games and parent drop-offs that T-shirt and yoga pants were not appropriate attire for a 5-year old’s birthday in Park Charles.

When I caught her looking the next time, she didn’t look away. Instead, she walked towards me, I hoped not to tell me to leave for violating the dress code. “I’m so sorry to keep staring,” she said when she neared. “I just…Have we met before?”

As I studied this woman in front of me, I thought she reminded me of a lot of people. A housewife or a movie star, none I’d actually ever met.  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m Jackie, Abby’s mom.” I scanned the field- or Jackson’s parents’ back yard- for the littlest one. “There. The tiny Rapunzel,” I pointed.

“Aww. And that one. Oh wait. Wrong Elsa.” She took off her sunglasses and waited for the right one to come into view. “There she is. That Elsa is mine. That’s Nora.”

“And I’m Allison,” she said, touching her subtly manicured fingers to her heart. “I swear we’ve met before. I just can’t…” She shook her head and let her voice trail off. “Well, anyway. Welcome to Park Charles!” She hadn’t asked me if I was new to the zip code. She smiled as she turned to me, as if to prove she was being sincere. I smiled back. In that moment when our eyes did meet, I felt an odd sensation, like I had just caught this stranger’s deja-vu. She was familiar. Before I could process the memory, Allison covered her eyes again with her Havana sunglasses.  

We talked while our kids and the other 15 princesses had their faces painted and jumped in the castle. Turned out, Allison was a lawyer at the same firm where my husband had started out. “Maybe that’s how I know you!” she said. “Hmm, maybe,” I said even though I knew she was wrong. Mark hated every second of that job and had left after only six months. I didn’t tell Allison that part or that I knew how much money she was making which was a lot. Nora was Allison’s oldest. They moved to the neighborhood just before they had her. It took us a little longer to get to Park Charles. Abby was my youngest.

Our conversation paused when Jackson’s mom ushered all of the kids back to the patio for cake and tea with real-life princesses. The parents were seated at an adjacent table and offered charcuterie and mimosas. I crossed my fingers that Abby was hitting it off with Jackson. Allison sat across the table from me, which was now adorned with designer sunglasses and a few sun hats. We ate in the shade because Jackson’s mom had thought of everything.

Mostly the parents talked about their kids. One mom in particular had a prodigy child who was better than even the third graders in her soccer, dance, and gymnastics classes. “Oh we just signed Abby up for lessons there.” I looked up from my plate of olives and cheese. It was Allison who I was interrupting. “What do you think of it?” I asked. I sipped my mimosa as she talked about how good the instructors were with Nora, and, as my eyes focused on hers, I caught it again. Only now, it hit me. I remembered how I knew Allison.

She was 17 when I met her. She had the same thick mahogany hair, though it had no style then. The same pale blue eyes that stunned against her darker features. Somehow, they looked younger now.

At first I didn’t notice. How scared she was. I hardly looked at her as she answered the questions I had asked a thousand times before.

Do you have any allergies?

No.

Are you taking any medications?

No.

Have you had any previous pregnancies?

Silence.

I looked up from my tablet at the young patient. She was shaking her head, almost imperceptibly, from side to side.

“No,” I said.

“No,” she repeated a few seconds later. Her voice was smaller.

I wheeled my table of gadgets closer to her and picked one up to clamp on her finger. I opened its jaws before I noticed the blotted purple of her fingertips. I remember touching her hand to unclasp it from the other. They were cold. It’s strange I remember that. I also remember holding them when I told her everything would be ok. “You will be ok,” I said, wanting her to really hear me.

“I know,” she said and inhaled a quick shallow breath to capture the sob needing to escape. She let her eyes, piercing and sad, meet mine. She attempted a smile that pushed the tears from her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I told her it was ok and I understood how hard this was. “I’m so sorry,” she said again though I knew it wasn’t her tears she was apologizing for or me to whom she was apologizing.

I asked her if there was anyone we could call. “You can’t call my mom,” she pleaded and fear froze her tears. Her mom was Catholic and would kill her if she found out. Her boyfriend was away at some big football game, or he would be there. He did give her money for the cab and the procedure though, so. A friend would pick her up, she told me, she just couldn’t miss school. Then she rattled off other reasons she was there, like she needed to justify it. She had a scholarship to some topnotch school and, meeting her again, I remembered she did say she wanted to go to law school. Good for you, Allison, I thought now, watching her across the table.

I’m not sure why I remembered Allison. Maybe it was her striking eyes I remembered. Maybe it was the tearful thank you she gave after I held her hand throughout. Maybe it was only because I got to know her now, in this life.

It was Allison who caught me staring this time. I wanted to tell her that we had met before, that I was happy she did all of the things she wanted to do and found her way here. I wanted to, but I knew I never could. Instead, I said “it was so nice to meet you” as I picked up my exhausted Rapunzel.

“Yes, we’ll see you soon,” she said. Before she turned from me to gather her own child, she folded her lips in on themselves and fixed her eyes on mine.

“Thank you,” she said and went to find her Elsa.