The Hollywood Ending
“Do you want to hold her?” The nurse who’d wanted to make small talk before my C-section placed
Rochelle in my arms before I could answer. I felt some of the worst pain I’d ever sustained until this
moment, but as I stared into my baby’s eyes, I knew: I’d dedicated my entire career to finding other people
love, but now I was experiencing a different form of it entirely. This conc ept of feeling pain to appreciate
pleasure was a common one for athletes. After intense physical exertion, opioids—a neurochemical
released in response to pain—are produced, often resulting in a feeling of euphoria (something known as a
“runner’s high”). Maybe that’s what heartache was all about: embracing some degree of it to be able to
fully cherish love. While I don’t think heartache is an inevitability, it doesn’t have to be in vain. As I
reflected on what brought me to this moment—a passion for my work, my husband, and now my child—I
realized that none of it would have been possible without the love I had for myself. I can’t always find
someone’s perfect match, but I know de ep down that if I can help someone find themselves, the rest will
follow.
“Rocky! It’s time to blow out the candles!” I summoned my pigtailed toddler to the gazebo at the
playground, where all her friends and family had gathered to wish her a happy birthday. Dave picked her
up, and I lightly held back her arms, not wanting a r epeat of the year before when she tried touching the
candle’s flame. As everyone sang, the moment felt surreal. After all, it wasn’t that long ago when we
believed a day like today might never come. I looked around at the sea of smiling faces and small children
running around, and decided to take a mental snapshot I could revisit anytime in the future. Then, off in the
distance, I thought I glimpsed a familiar face. “Everything okay?” Dave asked quietly, noticing my
wandering gaze. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” But as Rocky devoured her slice of cake and ran off toward the
slide with her Mom Mom, I had to find out whether my mind was playing tricks on me. As I slowly
approached the woman sitting on the bench, I saw that she was resting her hand on what appeared to be her
belly. “Callie?” She smiled at me widely, seeming not at all thrown by my presence. “Oh my gosh, how
are you? You’re—” I glanced at her baby bump, not wanting to mistakenly assume anything. But still, it
appeared to be quite obvious. “Yes.” She laughed at my awkwardness. “I’m pregnant.” I wanted to tell her
how worried I’d been years ago when she hadn’t shown up for that final, complimentary coaching session.
But instead I simply said, “You’re glowing.” “Thanks! Here, sit.” She slid over and indicated the spot
beside her. I obliged. “Is that you over there?” She gestured to the sectioned-off area on the playground
with balloons and a face painter. “My daughter just turned two. She’s super into P eppa Pig,” I referred to
the obvious theme of the party. “So’s my son!” she shared. “He’s obsessed!” She smiled, sensing my
confusion. “Sage?” She called out to a little boy around Rocky’s age who was playing with her and my
mom by the slide. As he bounded toward us, I
recognized the distinguishable wispy brown hair, along with a calm, confident energy, and it took
everything in me not to cry happy tears. The kid she’d always wanted was barely older than Rocky!
“Callie, wow. Does this mean—” “Yup.” She grinned. “I didn’t do IVF, though. At least not the first time.
I mean, I totally would have, since you failed to find me a husband and all.” My face fell, completely
missing her sarcasm. “Kidding, kidding!” she quickly added. “I got knocked up the good ol’-fashioned
way, right after our last session actually.” So that was it, I thought. No death in the family or poorly set
alarm clock. She had met someone. “It worked out for the best, though.” Sage approached before I could
ask any questions, and tugged at his mom’s pant leg. “Mommy, P eppa?” He stared in the direction of
Rocky’s British-pigthemed party. “Go ahead, check it out!” I encouraged Sage, who ran full speed toward
the festivities. “Callie, he’s adorable.” “You’d like his dad, I think. I can’t believe we’re already on baby
number two.” She smiled jovially. “Kinda backwards, I suppose.” “Order, schmorder.” I shrugged. “Are
you happy?” Callie nodded. “That’s all that matters then.” She told me her partner was a five-foot-seven
TV writer. When I’d set her up, she didn’t let me introduce her to any writers, let alone anyone “short.” In
fact, she’d hardly let me introduce her to anyone at all! Still, I wondered whether any of our conversations
had played a role in helping her connect with him. Like with most of my clients, I’d probably never find
out, but I supposed that wasn’t the point. “I was such a bozo back then,” Callie acknowledged to me. “I
don’t know how you do it.” Sometimes, I wasn’t sure either. But on days like today, I certainly knew why.