Is There Still Sex in the City?

“Please Max. I’m not being rude. I love having you guys. It’s just that I’ve got to work.”

“You always have to work,” he said accusingly, as if this might be the reason we’d broken up fifteen years ago.

I tried to hold my tongue. The thought of writing gave me a sickening helpless feeling, similar to how one feels when a pet is ill. I was on a deadline for a book that wasn’t working, which meant I had to somehow work even harder.

And I needed the money.

I didn’t want to tell Max, but the house wasn’t renovated because I couldn’t afford it. At the rate things were going, I might never be able to afford it.

And I certainly wasn’t going to tell Max that I had visions of myself in this same unrenovated house thirty years from now alone and wearing these same old clothes—and that was the good version.

Nevertheless, I still felt guilty.

Day Six

The bike with the training wheels arrived!

The people at the bike shop magically put the bike together, and within about three minutes, with no help from his father, the boy was pedaling around the parking lot.

And the smile on his face. I could say it stretched from ear to ear, but it was more than that. It was the smile that makes it all worth it. All the mess, the fuss, the inconvenience of having to feed, clothe, entertain, shepherd, and most of all think obsessively about a small person. When you see the look of joy on a kid’s face that tells you that they get it—there’s nothing like it.

You know you’ve lived.

And then, like a real parent, I ran back to the car, grabbed my cell phone, and began recording the momentous event.

Day Seven

They say that having children makes you a better person, and, just as I’d hoped, this was happening to Max.

Seeing that his son was a fast learner, Max became determined that the boy would master a number of skills. He would learn how to fish, play tennis, make new friends, and improve his reading level by a grade.

And to prove it, Max and the boy went into the Village on their bikes. They returned with all the Roald Dahl books and also scissors and some construction paper for a diorama. And then—bless them—they took everything out to the barn.

A half hour passed and suddenly the house felt empty. Curious, I went out to see what they were doing and to perhaps offer suggestions.

They shooed me away.

They didn’t need me.

And this, I realized, is one of the realities of not having kids. No one needs you. Sure, your dog and your friends need you, but it’s not quite the same.

And taking it one step further, when you die, who is going to be bummed out about it? Yes, your friends will be sad but not for that long. And while friends are usually happy to go to your funeral, they don’t necessarily want to have to plan it. And finally, who are you going to leave your IRA to?

Assuming you’re lucky enough to have an IRA.

That night, as I got ready for bed, I thought about Max and how he suddenly had a purpose in life: his son.

As I closed my eyes, I wondered if I’d missed out.

So the next morning, when Max started talking about his plans and how much fun they were having and how great it would be if he and his son could stay an extra few days, I readily agreed.

Day Ten

“Hey buddy, move it,” I snarled under my breath at the slow moving vehicle ahead of me. Why oh why was I in the car again?

I was in the car because it was good for the kid. He was going to sports camp on the grounds of the local private school, and since it was too far to bike, I was driving him. And Max.

The boy was no trouble. Max was another story. He wouldn’t stop talking about this stupid Burner wedding he was going to in California and how he needed to dress up like a polar bear but still hadn’t ordered the costume from Amazon.