<<Beth to Jennifer>> It was nice of him. He was nice all day. He came back home about an hour after they cleared out, and I was still sitting on the couch, feeling sorry for myself and thinking about how every one of those idiotic girls is going to get married before me, and about how Diet Coke and rum is the most moronic drink of all time. They should call it a Moron, so that girls who order it would have to call themselves out at the bar.
Chris walked in and sat next to me, and was all, “don’t worry about it” and “pearls to swine” and “you don’t even want to impress girls like that.” And I pointed out that they seemed to like him well enough.
“What does that say about me?” he said. “That I’m attractive to women who drink rum and Diet Coke?”
“Isn’t that the stupidest drink of all time?” I said. “Their faces lit up when you offered it to them.”
“I can spot a Skinny Pirate–drinker a mile away.”
And I was, like, “Huh. So there’s already a name for that.”
Then he reminded me that there were dozens of sandwiches left in the kitchen, most of them containing cream cheese. So we drank tea and each ate enough finger sandwiches to feed an entire sorority.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Sometimes, I really like him.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Me, too. If he was always the person that he was on Saturday, I would be leading a charmed life.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Who is he usually?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> It’s not like he’s somebody else. It’s like he’s usually nobody at all.
That sounds terrible. I shouldn’t say that.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Do you feel like he ignores you?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No. I feel like he doesn’t see me. Or anything. I’d say it was like living with a ghost, but ghosts haunt you, right? Chris doesn’t usually do anything that engaging.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Do you think he’s that way with everybody?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No. I think he makes more of an effort with strangers. When he’s performing, he sort of pretends to interact with the crowd …I think that wears him out. I think he’s relieved to come home to someone who doesn’t expect him to fake it. Who doesn’t expect anything.
Anyway. How are you? How was your weekend?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I have some news: I broke Mitch the bad news about Cody.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I thought you were going to ignore that and hope it went away.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I was going to, but he started calling my stomach “Little Cody.” I couldn’t handle it, I had to tell him to stop. I had to tell him that no part of my body—or anything that came from my body—would ever be called Cody.
“What about Dakota?” he asked.
“Never. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be Cody … ,” he said. “What names do you like better?”
I told him that I didn’t know, but that I liked names that are classic, distinguished, like Elizabeth for a girl. Or Sarah with an H. Or Anna. And for a boy, John or Andrew or even Mitchell. I told him that I love the name Mitchell.
He wasn’t disappointed at all, that I could tell. He said he liked all those names. It was such a relief.
I like this baby better already, knowing that it won’t be called Cody.
Mitch is so happy that this is happening, I think he’ll let me pick whatever name I want. He was being so sweet that I almost told him that Dakota might work for a middle name …
Then I decided I needed to start thinking like a mother with a child to protect.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I knew your maternal instinct would kick in eventually.
LINCOLN READ THIS exchange more than once. More than twice. More than he should have. And every time he read it, his stomach knotted a little tighter.
He still couldn’t see this girl. This woman. But he could picture Chris clearly, and for the first time since—well, since all this had started—Lincoln was angry.
He hated to think of Chris being so tender with Beth. Making her tea, soothing her nerves.
Preferring her. And he hated, too, to think of Chris neglecting her, being nobody with her. He hated to think of their eight years together. Lincoln hated to think that even if he could talk to Beth, even if it was possible, even if he hadn’t backed himself into this corner, she would still be in love with somebody else.
He was so agitated at dinner that he let Doris eat his share of pumpkin cake.
“This lemon icing is wonderful,” she said, “so sour. Who would have thought to put lemon icing on pumpkin cake? Your mother should open a restaurant. What does she do for a living?”