I dream that Mae Martin and I are in a hot tub. I asked them to do stand-up at my poetry reading, which was also to be held in the hot tub. The hot tub was behind my parents’ house in the parking lot of the church that backs up to the pine trees that line the yard. It’s very important that we were in a hot tub because I was so self-conscious in my bathing suit. Poetry is vulnerable; put me in a two piece in front of my crush and see what happens. So, I tried to read poetry before they started their set, hot water swirling around my thighs, and I wrecked it. I mean, there were also these guys set up in the stands, these men around the hot tub, and I was trying to read them poems about motherhood and mothers and they were cheering like they were at a football game where State plays, I don’t know, Another State, and something seems to be at stake, and they were heckling me. My poems flop and Mae is so kind about it, comforts me, writes me a sweet note. They may even be into me, I start to think. Somehow, it’s unclear to me now, I mess it up, and by the end of the dream a month has passed and they’re having a baby with someone else. I’m devastated, as one tends to be when they find out their celebrity crush is dream-dating (let alone dream-procreating with) someone other than them. In the dark of the bedroom, I wake: my husband’s soft breathing, the dog pressed along my side.