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More of an old-fashioned cute. And he got cuter, the more I looked at him. He’s built like a tank. I half expected him to lift my car with his hands.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Built like a tank, dressed like he just won the science fair. How cute is that guy.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Very cute.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> So, I’m totally going to start parking in the gravel lot. You know that, right?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Don’t. That parking lot is spooky. Stick with the break room.
CHAPTER 74
I’M STILL HER cute guy, Lincoln thought, as he drove home.
He went to the gym early the next day and ran until his knees started to buckle.
I’m still hers.
“LINCOLN! DUDE! YOU’RE alive!”
“Justin, hey.”
“Sorry to call you at work, but I’ve been calling your house so much, your mom probably thinks I’m trying to get into her pants. I feel like I haven’t seen you since the sixth grade.”
“Yeah,” Lincoln said, “I haven’t been …” He wasn’t avoiding Justin. He was avoiding Sacajawea.
“Do you remember how big you were in the sixth grade? You were ‘My Motherfucking Bodyguard.’ Look, you’re going out tonight. With me and Dena.”
“I have to work tonight.”
“We’ll wait up. We don’t turn into pumpkins at midnight. I don’t have to work tomorrow. Dena does, but she can get by on less than eight hours … Aw, you can, too,” Justin said. Dena must be right there. “You don’t need eight straight to suck spit out of people’s mouths …I meant with a vacuum …
Hey, Lincoln, we’ll see you at the Village Inn, all right? I’ll see if I can get our usual table.”
“Yeah, all right. I can get there by one.”
“One it is.”
JUSTIN AND DENA were just getting their orders when Lincoln got there. They’d already ordered him his French silk.
“That pie is on me,” Justin said, “and so is the next piece. We’re celebrating.”
“What’s the occasion?” Lincoln asked.
“Show him, honey,” Justin said.
Dena held up a hand with a ring the size of her knuckle. There must be money in hospital marketing.
“It’s beautiful,” Lincoln said. “Congratulations.” He leaned over to clap Justin on the shoulder.
“Congratulations.”
“I’m as happy as a pig in shit,” Justin said, “and part of that is thanks to you.”
“No.”
“Yeah. You were my wingman, first of all, and then you knocked some sense into me when I nearly let this beautiful woman slip out of my hands. Don’t you remember? You called me on all my bullshit about not wanting to settle down?”
“You would have figured it out on your own,” Lincoln said, “you were in love.”
“Maybe so,” Justin said, “but I still want to thank you, and I …Dena and I would like to ask you to be in our wedding.”
“Really?”
“Really. Would you be a groomsman?”
“Sure,” Lincoln said, surprised. And touched. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Well, all right,” Justin said. He took a big bite of mashed potatoes. “All right! I haven’t even told you the best part. Guess who’s playing at our reception?” He didn’t wait for Lincoln to guess.
“Sacajawea!”
“That’s the best part?” Dena asked.
“That’s the best part besides the marriage part,” Justin said.
“Sacajawea … ,” Lincoln said.
“Damn straight. I got in touch with them through the manager at the Ranch Bowl and talked to the lead singer. He said they’d play a f**king bar mitzvah if we could cover their fee.”
“It’s going to cost more than the open bar,” Dena said.
“It’s going to be awesome,” Justin said.
They told him more about the wedding. It was going to be a big wedding party. Dena had lots of sorority sisters. Lincoln could see how Justin might need to dig pretty deep to round up enough groomsmen.
“When’s the big day?” Lincoln asked.
“October seventh.”
“We’re shopping for a house now,” Justin said.
“We’re shopping for a barbecue,” Dena said.
“A grill,” Justin said, “and I don’t see why that’s such a big deal. I need to know what the grill looks like before we find the house, so I can picture it on the deck. I don’t want to move into a house and find out six months down the line that the f**king grill won’t fit. Why would you want to start our life together making compromises?”
Dena rolled her eyes and signaled to the waitress for another Diet Coke.
“We’ll have you over for steak, Lincoln,” Dena said.
“Fuck that,” Justin said. “I’m calling you when we move. Dena’s got a leather sectional that’s going to take three grown men and a rhinoceros.”
Lincoln figured he was the rhinoceros.
“It’s not that big,” Dena said.
“I’d be happy to help,” Lincoln said. “Really. Congratulations. Both of you.”
HE SPENT THE next three nights at his apartment. He bought a mattress and a box spring and a lamp. He bought a toothbrush cup and a soap dish and soap that smelled like vetiver. He stood for twenty minutes in the bedding aisle at Target, trying to choose a manly sheet set, then picked the ones with a violet pattern, because he liked violets and who else was ever going to see his sheets, anyway?
CHAPTER 75
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Wed, 02/16/2000 10:00 AM
Subject: Greetings from the most self-centered person in the world.
I realized last night, as I was lying awake telling myself what a despicable person I am, that I really am a despicable person. I’m at the very least a terrible friend. In all these weeks, I haven’t stepped outside of my wretched self even once to ask you about Kiley’s wedding. I am so sorry.
So please, tell me. How was the wedding?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Why are you lying awake, thinking that you’re a terrible person?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> To keep my mind occupied when I can’t sleep. Some people count sheep. I self-loathe.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I can see why you might have trouble sleeping right now, but I can’t see why you would be hating yourself.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> You can’t? Really?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No. What happened was terrible, but you’re not terrible.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> What happened happened because I’m terrible. How was the wedding?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No, it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Do you really believe that bad things happen to people because they deserve it?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> In general, no. In this case, yes.
Remember when my midwife told me to talk to the baby, that it could feel my emotions and intent?
And I said that was crazy, and you said you thought there was probably something to it?
Well, I agree with you now. There was something to it.
The baby could feel what I wanted. I was sending out maternal vibes through my umbilical cord or whatever. And for the first six or seven weeks, the message I was sending was, “Go away.” Go away, go away, go away. And it did.
You can disagree with me all you want and tell me that it isn’t my fault, that these things just happen. But I know that underneath your loving reassurances, you know better than anyone how negative I was, how anxious and angry and mean. I know that it made you uncomfortable.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I agree that you were conflicted and unhappy, but lots of unhappy people have children. You can’t turn off a pregnancy with negative thinking.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Not just negative. Corrosive.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> But you got through that. You accepted being pregnant. You more than accepted it, you were happy about it.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Ironic, huh? (Is that ironic or is it just sad? I get confused sometimes.)
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Please don’t. Don’t oversimplify everything you’ve been through like that.
You had to feel those awful feelings. You had to face them down—confront your bitterness and pessimism—and decide that you didn’t want to be that way anymore.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Just in time to be horrifically disappointed. That’s what I get.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> If you’re determined to see what happened as some sort of universal justice, consider that the lesson here might not be to retreat into cynicism, even if that’s where you feel most comfortable. Maybe the lesson is, rise up.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Well, that seems a bit harsh.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I thought you wanted me to be honest.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> If that’s how you are when you’re honest, I think I’d rather you stick to the usual sentiments, stuff I can file under “Encouragement,” “Cope,” or “Sorry something died inside of you.” I don’t really need “Snap out of it.”
<<Beth to Jennifer>> That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> How is that not what you meant? That’s what you said.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Then I shouldn’t have said it.
CHAPTER 76
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Wed, 02/16/2000 3:15 PM
Subject: Anyway …
How was the wedding?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for being insensitive?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> To be perfectly honest, no. I might not completely forgive you until one of us is on her deathbed. (I can’t help it, I’m fond of a grudge.) But until I make another friend, I can’t afford to be angry with you.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I really am sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about what happened.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Please. Who else am I going to talk to? Tell me about the wedding.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> All right. But I warn you, it’s a pretty long story. It might take me longer to tell you about the wedding than it did to actually attend the wedding, Catholic Mass included. Give me a few weeks to type it out.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’ll give you a few hours. I suppose I can find something to edit while I’m waiting.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are you sure we’re cool? Because I can apologize some more. I give great penance.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Just tell me about the wedding.
CHAPTER 77
From: Beth Fremont
To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
Sent: Wed, 02/16/2000 4:33 PM
Subject: To have and to hold.
All right, I actually typed this out in a News document and saved it on the system so that I wouldn’t lose it and have to start over. Make sure it doesn’t get filed for the bulldog edition, okay?
Now, you’re sure you’re ready for this? It’s a really long story.
And you’re sure you aren’t still mad at me? Do you want to talk more about the baby? Because the wedding will hold. (It’s not exactly breaking news at this point.)
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Yes, I’m ready, and no, I’m not mad. Now, out with it!
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Okay, well, here goes …
The wedding itself was perfectly lovely.
As expected, I looked fairly monstrous in my bridesmaid dress. But I seemed to be the only one who noticed, and even I was sick of hearing me complain about it, so I put on my brave face. Which turned out to be far more attractive than the faces most of the other bridesmaids put on. They all wanted “smoky eyes”—“you know, like Helen Hunt at the Oscars.” I’m pretty sure that my sister Gwen and I are the only ones who won’t look like domestic abuse victims in the wedding pictures.
The ceremony had its moving moments, but it was so god-awfully long—a full Mass, like I said— that it was hard for me to concentrate on anything but trying not to lock my knees so that I wouldn’t pass out. (That happened at my cousin’s wedding. One of the groomsmen fell into a chair and cut his ear. He bled all over his rental tux.) I thought that if I fainted into the tiny little Tri-Delt behind me, I might crush her.
Chris was a total trouper. He sat with my parents during the ceremony, and afterward, he met every single member of my extended family. He was so charming, I started calling him Stepford Chris.
And when it was time to take the big family picture with all of the spouses and grandkids, Kiley insisted that Chris be included. She didn’t even give him a chance to protest. “You’ve been around longer than any of these husbands,” she said.
Dinner was delicious—the old Italian ladies from my parents’ church made baked mostaccioli and Italian sausage with red peppers. My sister was so afraid of staining her dress that she wouldn’t eat anything but garlic bread. (Did I eat her pasta? Why, yes, I did.)
Kiley and Brian were adorable dancing to Louis Armstrong. She looked gorgeous. I had to dance with one of the Sigma Chis during the wedding party dance—the theme from Titanic—and he was totally looking down my dress, which was mostly gross, but a little bit flattering. Apparently, I’ve still got it.
As soon as my official duties as bridesmaid were done, I put on my cardigan and felt a million times better. I was in a fantastic mood, actually, relieved that the hard parts were over and truly excited to spend the rest of the evening with Chris. I felt as madly in love with him as I’d ever been.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Built like a tank, dressed like he just won the science fair. How cute is that guy.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Very cute.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> So, I’m totally going to start parking in the gravel lot. You know that, right?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Don’t. That parking lot is spooky. Stick with the break room.
CHAPTER 74
I’M STILL HER cute guy, Lincoln thought, as he drove home.
He went to the gym early the next day and ran until his knees started to buckle.
I’m still hers.
“LINCOLN! DUDE! YOU’RE alive!”
“Justin, hey.”
“Sorry to call you at work, but I’ve been calling your house so much, your mom probably thinks I’m trying to get into her pants. I feel like I haven’t seen you since the sixth grade.”
“Yeah,” Lincoln said, “I haven’t been …” He wasn’t avoiding Justin. He was avoiding Sacajawea.
“Do you remember how big you were in the sixth grade? You were ‘My Motherfucking Bodyguard.’ Look, you’re going out tonight. With me and Dena.”
“I have to work tonight.”
“We’ll wait up. We don’t turn into pumpkins at midnight. I don’t have to work tomorrow. Dena does, but she can get by on less than eight hours … Aw, you can, too,” Justin said. Dena must be right there. “You don’t need eight straight to suck spit out of people’s mouths …I meant with a vacuum …
Hey, Lincoln, we’ll see you at the Village Inn, all right? I’ll see if I can get our usual table.”
“Yeah, all right. I can get there by one.”
“One it is.”
JUSTIN AND DENA were just getting their orders when Lincoln got there. They’d already ordered him his French silk.
“That pie is on me,” Justin said, “and so is the next piece. We’re celebrating.”
“What’s the occasion?” Lincoln asked.
“Show him, honey,” Justin said.
Dena held up a hand with a ring the size of her knuckle. There must be money in hospital marketing.
“It’s beautiful,” Lincoln said. “Congratulations.” He leaned over to clap Justin on the shoulder.
“Congratulations.”
“I’m as happy as a pig in shit,” Justin said, “and part of that is thanks to you.”
“No.”
“Yeah. You were my wingman, first of all, and then you knocked some sense into me when I nearly let this beautiful woman slip out of my hands. Don’t you remember? You called me on all my bullshit about not wanting to settle down?”
“You would have figured it out on your own,” Lincoln said, “you were in love.”
“Maybe so,” Justin said, “but I still want to thank you, and I …Dena and I would like to ask you to be in our wedding.”
“Really?”
“Really. Would you be a groomsman?”
“Sure,” Lincoln said, surprised. And touched. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Well, all right,” Justin said. He took a big bite of mashed potatoes. “All right! I haven’t even told you the best part. Guess who’s playing at our reception?” He didn’t wait for Lincoln to guess.
“Sacajawea!”
“That’s the best part?” Dena asked.
“That’s the best part besides the marriage part,” Justin said.
“Sacajawea … ,” Lincoln said.
“Damn straight. I got in touch with them through the manager at the Ranch Bowl and talked to the lead singer. He said they’d play a f**king bar mitzvah if we could cover their fee.”
“It’s going to cost more than the open bar,” Dena said.
“It’s going to be awesome,” Justin said.
They told him more about the wedding. It was going to be a big wedding party. Dena had lots of sorority sisters. Lincoln could see how Justin might need to dig pretty deep to round up enough groomsmen.
“When’s the big day?” Lincoln asked.
“October seventh.”
“We’re shopping for a house now,” Justin said.
“We’re shopping for a barbecue,” Dena said.
“A grill,” Justin said, “and I don’t see why that’s such a big deal. I need to know what the grill looks like before we find the house, so I can picture it on the deck. I don’t want to move into a house and find out six months down the line that the f**king grill won’t fit. Why would you want to start our life together making compromises?”
Dena rolled her eyes and signaled to the waitress for another Diet Coke.
“We’ll have you over for steak, Lincoln,” Dena said.
“Fuck that,” Justin said. “I’m calling you when we move. Dena’s got a leather sectional that’s going to take three grown men and a rhinoceros.”
Lincoln figured he was the rhinoceros.
“It’s not that big,” Dena said.
“I’d be happy to help,” Lincoln said. “Really. Congratulations. Both of you.”
HE SPENT THE next three nights at his apartment. He bought a mattress and a box spring and a lamp. He bought a toothbrush cup and a soap dish and soap that smelled like vetiver. He stood for twenty minutes in the bedding aisle at Target, trying to choose a manly sheet set, then picked the ones with a violet pattern, because he liked violets and who else was ever going to see his sheets, anyway?
CHAPTER 75
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Wed, 02/16/2000 10:00 AM
Subject: Greetings from the most self-centered person in the world.
I realized last night, as I was lying awake telling myself what a despicable person I am, that I really am a despicable person. I’m at the very least a terrible friend. In all these weeks, I haven’t stepped outside of my wretched self even once to ask you about Kiley’s wedding. I am so sorry.
So please, tell me. How was the wedding?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Why are you lying awake, thinking that you’re a terrible person?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> To keep my mind occupied when I can’t sleep. Some people count sheep. I self-loathe.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I can see why you might have trouble sleeping right now, but I can’t see why you would be hating yourself.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> You can’t? Really?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No. What happened was terrible, but you’re not terrible.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> What happened happened because I’m terrible. How was the wedding?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No, it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Do you really believe that bad things happen to people because they deserve it?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> In general, no. In this case, yes.
Remember when my midwife told me to talk to the baby, that it could feel my emotions and intent?
And I said that was crazy, and you said you thought there was probably something to it?
Well, I agree with you now. There was something to it.
The baby could feel what I wanted. I was sending out maternal vibes through my umbilical cord or whatever. And for the first six or seven weeks, the message I was sending was, “Go away.” Go away, go away, go away. And it did.
You can disagree with me all you want and tell me that it isn’t my fault, that these things just happen. But I know that underneath your loving reassurances, you know better than anyone how negative I was, how anxious and angry and mean. I know that it made you uncomfortable.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I agree that you were conflicted and unhappy, but lots of unhappy people have children. You can’t turn off a pregnancy with negative thinking.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Not just negative. Corrosive.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> But you got through that. You accepted being pregnant. You more than accepted it, you were happy about it.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Ironic, huh? (Is that ironic or is it just sad? I get confused sometimes.)
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Please don’t. Don’t oversimplify everything you’ve been through like that.
You had to feel those awful feelings. You had to face them down—confront your bitterness and pessimism—and decide that you didn’t want to be that way anymore.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Just in time to be horrifically disappointed. That’s what I get.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> If you’re determined to see what happened as some sort of universal justice, consider that the lesson here might not be to retreat into cynicism, even if that’s where you feel most comfortable. Maybe the lesson is, rise up.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Well, that seems a bit harsh.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I thought you wanted me to be honest.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> If that’s how you are when you’re honest, I think I’d rather you stick to the usual sentiments, stuff I can file under “Encouragement,” “Cope,” or “Sorry something died inside of you.” I don’t really need “Snap out of it.”
<<Beth to Jennifer>> That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> How is that not what you meant? That’s what you said.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Then I shouldn’t have said it.
CHAPTER 76
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Wed, 02/16/2000 3:15 PM
Subject: Anyway …
How was the wedding?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for being insensitive?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> To be perfectly honest, no. I might not completely forgive you until one of us is on her deathbed. (I can’t help it, I’m fond of a grudge.) But until I make another friend, I can’t afford to be angry with you.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I really am sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about what happened.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Please. Who else am I going to talk to? Tell me about the wedding.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> All right. But I warn you, it’s a pretty long story. It might take me longer to tell you about the wedding than it did to actually attend the wedding, Catholic Mass included. Give me a few weeks to type it out.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’ll give you a few hours. I suppose I can find something to edit while I’m waiting.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are you sure we’re cool? Because I can apologize some more. I give great penance.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Just tell me about the wedding.
CHAPTER 77
From: Beth Fremont
To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
Sent: Wed, 02/16/2000 4:33 PM
Subject: To have and to hold.
All right, I actually typed this out in a News document and saved it on the system so that I wouldn’t lose it and have to start over. Make sure it doesn’t get filed for the bulldog edition, okay?
Now, you’re sure you’re ready for this? It’s a really long story.
And you’re sure you aren’t still mad at me? Do you want to talk more about the baby? Because the wedding will hold. (It’s not exactly breaking news at this point.)
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Yes, I’m ready, and no, I’m not mad. Now, out with it!
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Okay, well, here goes …
The wedding itself was perfectly lovely.
As expected, I looked fairly monstrous in my bridesmaid dress. But I seemed to be the only one who noticed, and even I was sick of hearing me complain about it, so I put on my brave face. Which turned out to be far more attractive than the faces most of the other bridesmaids put on. They all wanted “smoky eyes”—“you know, like Helen Hunt at the Oscars.” I’m pretty sure that my sister Gwen and I are the only ones who won’t look like domestic abuse victims in the wedding pictures.
The ceremony had its moving moments, but it was so god-awfully long—a full Mass, like I said— that it was hard for me to concentrate on anything but trying not to lock my knees so that I wouldn’t pass out. (That happened at my cousin’s wedding. One of the groomsmen fell into a chair and cut his ear. He bled all over his rental tux.) I thought that if I fainted into the tiny little Tri-Delt behind me, I might crush her.
Chris was a total trouper. He sat with my parents during the ceremony, and afterward, he met every single member of my extended family. He was so charming, I started calling him Stepford Chris.
And when it was time to take the big family picture with all of the spouses and grandkids, Kiley insisted that Chris be included. She didn’t even give him a chance to protest. “You’ve been around longer than any of these husbands,” she said.
Dinner was delicious—the old Italian ladies from my parents’ church made baked mostaccioli and Italian sausage with red peppers. My sister was so afraid of staining her dress that she wouldn’t eat anything but garlic bread. (Did I eat her pasta? Why, yes, I did.)
Kiley and Brian were adorable dancing to Louis Armstrong. She looked gorgeous. I had to dance with one of the Sigma Chis during the wedding party dance—the theme from Titanic—and he was totally looking down my dress, which was mostly gross, but a little bit flattering. Apparently, I’ve still got it.
As soon as my official duties as bridesmaid were done, I put on my cardigan and felt a million times better. I was in a fantastic mood, actually, relieved that the hard parts were over and truly excited to spend the rest of the evening with Chris. I felt as madly in love with him as I’d ever been.
