Attach ments(74)

Also, I don’t want to let on that something might be wrong. So I try to keep it light. “I hope you’re comfortable. I hope I’m eating enough iron. Sorry I stopped taking the expensive vitamins, they made me throw up.” I usually end up crying and hoping that the baby isn’t actually paying attention.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I kind of like the idea of you talking to the baby. Even if it doesn’t understand you. There’s something living inside of you. It makes sense to be neighborly.

Maybe I’ll start talking to my eggs. Pep talks. Like William Wallace’s speech in Braveheart.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I think I’ll feel less ridiculous talking to it after it has ears.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> When does it get ears?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I don’t know. I’d ask Mitch, but I don’t want him to know any of this.

I feel like I’ve known all along that something was bound to go wrong at some point in this pregnancy. It’s all been too easy so far.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Nothing is bound to go wrong. Nothing is bound, period. And the chances are so much better that everything is going to be all right.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Easy for you to say. Easy for the midwife to say. It’s so easy for someone else to say, “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.” Why not say it? It doesn’t cost anything.

It doesn’t mean anything. No one will hold you to it if you’re wrong.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Your midwife says it’s going to be okay because she spends her whole life working withpregnant women. She’s speaking from experience.

And I say it because I trust her, and because I believe that being miserable about some bad thing that might not ever happen won’t do you any good.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I disagree. I believe that worrying about a bad thing prepares you for it when it comes. If you worry, the bad thing doesn’t hit you as hard. You can roll with the punch if you see it coming.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are you in pain? Maybe you should go home.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> No, it doesn’t hurt. It feels more like a muscle flexing. Besides, if I go home, I will obsess powerfully, with all my might. Even I don’t think that’s a good idea.

So distract me. Tell me more about your cute security guard. Complain about your sister’s wedding.

Pick a fight with me about ending a sentence with a preposition.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Okay, here’s something distracting: I’ve gone to a tanning salon twice this week. My brother’s wife said it would make my arms look thinner. I think it will probably just make them look tanner—but big tan arms do seem more appealing than big pale arms, so I’m doing it.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I hate to say this, because it’s advice I could never follow myself—in fact, this is probably the exact opposite of how I’d behave in your situation: But maybe the best thing for you to do is to let the arm thing go. Yes, somebody might notice that your upper arms are somewhat out of proportion with the rest of your body, but let’s be honest, almost nobody looks good in a strapless dress.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> So why has it become the dominant dress of our time? Do you know that they don’t even make wedding dresses with sleeves anymore? Everyone—regardless of weight, chest size, back acne, stretch marks, hunched shoulders, or over-prominent clavicle—is forced to wear one.

Why? The whole point of clothing is to hide your shame. (Genesis 3:7)

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Did you seriously just consult a Bible?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Derek has one on his desk, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Hey, I have to go now. I’m taking off early to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Call me this weekend if you still need distracting, okay?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> You’ll be caught up in wedding stuff.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> And grateful for the interruption, I’m sure.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’ll bet you’re going to have a really nice time at the wedding and feel bad for having dreaded it for months.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> It could happen, I guess. There is an open bar.





LINCOLN DIDN’T FEEL like going home that night after work. He kept thinking about Beth in a strapless dress. Creamy white shoulders. Freckles. Maybe he should go out with one of the girls Justin was always trying to hook him up with. Or with one of his sister’s Lutherans. Or with that girl who works at the gym, Becca. She’d been spotting for Lincoln lately on the bench press, and it seemed like she touched his arms a lot when she didn’t really have to. Maybe she was still impressed with his elbows.