Mommy Brain

“What kind of friend was Bobbie? We couldn’t go to museums. She talked in front of pictures. There you’d be, lost in a painting or a sculpture, and she’d be babbling her brains out, ruining it. “The Standing Woman’s name was Isabel Dutaud Nagle. She was ten years older than Gaston Lachaise. It took him seven years to talk her out of her clothes. She came from Boston. He first saw her standing on a bridge in Paris.” And Bobbie hated going to museums with me. “You know what you are?” she’d say. “You’re a Museum Martinet.”

I can go to museums with Jill, but I can’t eat in a restaurant with her. “Is the pastrami fatty or lean? Is the coleslaw made with vinegar or mayo? This coffee doesn’t taste fresh. Could you make another pot? Could you fill my cup to the brim?”

Dana can keep a secret, and better yet, knows when to shut up about it. As opposed to Carol, who brought things up long after they’d been buried. If a child failed a math test in the third grade, when the kid was a senior, Carol would still be asking in a sad, worried voice, “How is poor so-and-so doing in math?” No one was better when you were home with the flu.

Bobbie had a special place. We brainstormed challenging cases. She was a gifted therapist. We loved each other’s daughters. We took trips. I was the funniest with Bobbie. We’d crack up in the chemo room. Was that everybody’s experience with her? She saw me the way I hoped I was.”

from To My Dearest Friends by Patricia Volk