Free Jackpot! by Jackie Pilossoph Page A

stroller.
    “Jill…hi!” I exclaimed in the sweetest voice I could manage, given the fact that my thigh was now throbbing. I wanted to ask her why the hell she would park her stroller in the middle of the sidewalk, but I didn’t want to be rude.
    “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”
    “Oh, I’ll be fine,” I said, trying not to think about the big bruise I knew I’d have in the morning.
    “So, how are you?” asked Jill in the same tone someone would use on a person who just found out she had six months to live.
    What I felt like answering was “Yes, I’m still single and I actually don’t want to commit suicide.” Instead, I went with, “I’m good, you?”
    “Great!” she responded, before adding in a condescending tone, “Glad to hear you’re well.”
    “How’s your baby?” I asked, wondering why its stroller was here, injuring me, and why the baby wasn’t in it. I got my answer an instant later when I heard the loudest, most piercing cry I’d heard in years. Up walked Jill’s husband, holding their one year-old little girl. The two had just come out of Lori’s Shoes (which has a bathroom and a changing table in it).
    “She had a big poopie,” shouted Jill’s husband. He actually had to yell, so we could hear him over the screaming kid.
    “Emma missed her nap today,” yelled Jill, “she’s a little cranky.” She took Emma from her husband. “Don’t cry, sweetie,” she said in a high squeaky baby voice. Emma continued to wail.
    I managed to fake sympathy, replying, “Aww…”
    Then the most unbelievable thing happened. As Jill tried to comfort her, Emma punched her mother in the face. Jill gasped and Emma kept screaming. The husband just stood there, not knowing what to do.
    Revenge can be so gratifying, I thought. “Well, it was nice seeing you guys,” I shouted enthusiastically, “Nice meeting you, Emma!” Then, with a wave and a smile, I was off.
    I practically ran down the block, the entire way wondering how the hell, after experiencing Emma, I could be doing what I was about to do. I was on my way to meet Max, get back together with him, and then get married and pregnant a.s.a.p. Was I going to have an Emma soon? The thought of that was making me crave a Xanax in a huge way.
    It wasn’t that I didn’t like kids. Even with what Emma had just done I thought she was cute. It was just that I was afraid of them. Having a child seemed like being out of control of a lot of things; something I wasn’t very good at. And let’s not forget the drilling in my head by my ex that I wasn’t meant to be a mom. “I was too selfish. I liked my freedom, my independence.” Looking back, I realized he was talking about himself. He was selfish. He liked his freedom, his independence. He also liked to sleep with other women (which I didn’t know at the time) so that gave him little time for kids. And even though I realized the damage he’d done to my mental state, it was hard to recondition myself that maybe I could be a good mother.
    When I reached the entrance of Topo Gigio , I pulled out my Bobbi Brown Truffle lipstick and reapplied. I realized I was sweating, combination nerves and Emma. Once inside, the smell of good old fashioned Italian cooking should have been appealing to me. Instead, I felt nauseous. I looked around the room and saw Max, already seated and drinking a glass of wine. He waved me over. It was funny. This was sort of déjà-vu of the Morton’s night, only for some reason, Max didn’t look nervous. He appeared relaxed.
    I took a deep breath and approached his table. This was going to be torturous. I was going to have to apologize, stroke Max’s ego and perhaps even grovel to get him back. Not that I thought it would be difficult. I was sure he’d get back together with me. Nonetheless, I would have to falsely admit I made a mistake and then tell Max I loved him, which was also untrue.
    “Hi, sweetie,” I said, just before kissing Max’s cheek and sitting down