Attach ments(72)

Without erasing everything. Without throwing out all of your assumptions.

Now that he knew what Beth looked like, he couldn’t remember what it was like to have not known.

He couldn’t remember picturing her any other way. She was nothing like Sam, physically. And Sam was his only frame of reference. What would it be like to be with a girl, a woman, who could just barely tuck her head under his chin? “Your own size”—was that what Doris had said? He’d loved how small Sam was. Little bird. Little slip. How he could cover her, swallow her. How it had felt to hold back so that he wouldn’t break her.

What would it be like to hold a different girl? A girl whose hips and shoulders nearly met his, who wouldn’t disappear beneath him. A girl whose kiss wasn’t always so far out of reach.

He ended up working out too long or too hard or too hungover. He felt weak and dizzy in the shower and ended up buying three of those horrible protein bars from the front desk. The girl working there talked him into drinking something with electrolytes that was supposed to taste like watermelon. It didn’t. It tasted like Kool-Aid made with corn syrup and salt.

Lincoln was embarrassed to have given in, even for a moment, to the frenzy of the new year. To have believed there were cosmic forces at work in his favor. His moment had come and gone last night in the newsroom. And Lincoln had dropped the ball.





From: Beth Fremont

To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder

Sent: Tues, 01/04/2000 1:26 PM

Subject: Is it just me, or is the new millennium a lot less cute than the old one?

Serendipity is not my friend. It’s been five days since my last Cute Guy sighting. I saw Doris in the hall yesterday, and my stomach jumped. I don’t want to start getting excited about Doris sightings.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> My world is plenty cute. Mitch and I went crib shopping last night. We didn’t plan to go crib shopping—we were supposed to be looking at dishwashers—but we walked by the cribs, and there it was. Cream-colored with a rocking horse carved into the headboard. Now we can’t afford a dishwasher.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> A crib? Already? I wanted to help pick out the crib. Can I help pick out the bedding? You can’t do all this baby stuff without me. I’m trying to have a vicarious pregnancy here.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m sorry. It was unplanned. I’m probably picking out paint for the nursery this weekend, do you want to come?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> You know that I do. And that I can’t. This weekend is the big wedding.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Oh, right. Are you looking forward to it?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Looking forward to it being over.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Does Kiley know how cranky her maid of honor is?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> She’s too deliriously happy to notice.

I picked up my dress on Sunday. It’s deliriously ugly, especially with me in it, and I still haven’t come up with a Kiley-approved way to hide my upper arms.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Your arms are fine.

Wasn’t this wedding supposed to have a millennium theme? Is that still happening?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> It was indeed. Kiley was going to make 2,000 paper cranes to strew about the reception, but she fizzled out at 380. Now the theme is Winter Wonderland. (Hence the strapless dresses, I guess.)

And, by the way, you only think my arms are fine because I keep them covered up. Because I’ve mastered the art of misdirection. All of my clothes are engineered to draw the eye away from my arm- shoulder area.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Now that I think about it, we’ve known each other six years, and I’ve never seen you in a bathing suit. Or a tank top.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Not a coincidence, my friend. I’ve got the arms of a Sicilian grandmother.

Arms for picking olives and stirring hearty tomato sauces. Shoulders for carrying buckets of water from the stream to the farmhouse.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Has Chris seen your shoulders?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> He’s seen them. But he hasn’t seen them.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I get it, but I don’t get it.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> No sleeveless negligees. No direct sunlight. Sometimes when I’m getting out of the shower, I shout, “Hey, look, a bobcat!”

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’ll bet he falls for that every time.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> It’s Chris. So recreational drugs are a factor.

Anyway, I bought a dressy cardigan that I thought I could wear with my bridesmaid dress, but Kiley said it was too “frumpy” and that it was the wrong shade of sage. And then she said, “God, Beth, no one is going to be looking at your arms.”