Chapter 58 - The Light We Lost

One of the things I’ve found the most interesting about being pregnant is that no one seems to experience it quite the same way. And symptoms can change from one day to the next. I’d always heard that the same woman could have different symptoms with different children, too, which seemed especially odd to me. Shouldn’t a body react the same way each time? But it’s true. Each of my pregnancies has been slightly different—though the exhaustion and the nausea have been there each time. But with Liam, even though I was exhausted, I was also an insomniac. That’s how I ended up watching The Daily Show alone in the living room, while Darren was already getting ready for bed. That’s how I ended up seeing you.

After the commercial break, Jon Stewart came on and said, “Welcome back. My guest tonight is a photographer with the Associated Press who has just come out with his first book, Defiant, a pictorial narrative of the Arab Spring. Gabriel Samson, everybody.”

And there you were, in my living room, a year and a half after I’d left you in that Starbucks on Montague. As Jon Stewart displayed pages from your book, and you talked about your experiences, I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride. The recognition you’d gotten for your work was huge—awards, it seemed, lots of them—and from the questions you were being asked, it appeared that the response to your book was magnificent, too. Apparently a Times review was due out the following weekend, and you had some offers from museums and galleries to stage an exhibit of your photographs.

“It looks like they want you everywhere from London to New York to Omaha, Nebraska,” Jon Stewart said. “I’d suggest Omaha. Great steaks.”

You laughed, and then you said, “As much as I like a good steak, the offers I’m considering the most are in New York. That city means a lot to me.”

“New Yorkers get a bad rap,” Jon said, picking up the banter. “But we’re pretty great people. And I’d choose New York pizza over an Omaha steak any day, if you want to get down to it.”

“Absolutely,” you said. “New York women, too.”

And then the segment was over, but I kept staring at the screen. You looked great. You seemed happy. And I was glad for you. But I couldn’t help wondering who you were talking about when you mentioned New York women. Was it me? Someone else? Or just a funny thing to say on TV? I tried to put it all out of my head. But that’s hard to do when you’re lying in bed, still staring at the ceiling at three a.m.