So Over It (20 page)

Jodi shrugged, but the shadows on her face told me how I’d hurt her. “Like you said, it was a long time ago. And everything’s worked out okay.”

I picked at my muffin, no longer hungry. I wished for a warm, soothing drink of my latte but didn’t dare. “You think she spit in them?” I asked, nodding at our untouched cups.

She smiled. “Probably. And then drugged them.”

The back of my neck tingled. I waited until I was sure I could keep my voice even and casual. “Why do you say that?”

Had that sounded casual enough?

She laughed. “Oh, I hear rumors about that guy she’s dating. That he’s the one to go to if you wanna get hooked up.”

“That guy she’s dating,” I said slowly. “Like, Aaron’s friend?”

Jodi nodded. “That’s the one.”

22

Since my conversation with Jodi that morning, I couldn’t think about anything but Sarah’s boyfriend, the go-to guy. Could I assume Aaron got the roofie from him? When Aaron came to talk to me, was the pill in his pocket, waiting for just the right time?

And why did this make any difference to me? It didn’t change what’d happened, or who I was now. It meant nothing.

And yet the questions lingered.

“You okay?”

I blinked and forced my mind back to the here and now—the waning sunlight, the hard bleachers, whining cicadas.

I matched Amy’s wide smile. “Yeah. Just zoned out, I guess.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot tonight.” She gestured to the field. “Connor’s on third.”

Sure enough. Last I remembered, there’d still been several batters in line before him. “Oh. How’d I miss that?”

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

I shrugged and peeled my hands off the bleacher. They ached from gripping the edge so hard. I must have looked like a psycho sitting there with white knuckles and glazed eyes.

I double-checked our surroundings. Two other wives and sets of kids had come to watch the game, but the women stood at the base of the bleachers, involved in their own conversation. Their kids, plus Cameron and Curtis, screamed and ran and did all the other things kids did.

“I assume you know things with Jodi and me have been kind of weird for a while. I saw her at the mall today and we talked.”

“How was it?”

“Okay. It’d been about a year since we had a conversation without either of us being . . . What’s the word?”

“Snarky?”

“Sure, yeah. We talked through some stuff that needed to be talked out. I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends exactly, but it was nice to get everything on the table.” Or almost everything.

Amy nodded, her eyes still on the game. When she started clapping, I did too. I didn’t know what had happened, but Connor crossed home plate.

“God doesn’t call us to be friends with everyone,” Amy said. “Of course it’d be nice if you and Jodi could be friends again, but I’m very happy to hear you’re at peace with each other.” She always articulated things so much better than me. No fair.

“Peace is a good way to put it,” I said. “I don’t feel angry with her. Maybe if we met each other for the first time today, we could be friends, but too much has happened between us.

She knows way too many embarrassing things about me.”

Amy gave me a closed-mouth smile, as if amused. “Sometimes those are the best people to have as friends. They understand you in ways others don’t because they lived with you through those hard, weird, and embarrassing times.”

I sighed. “You totally should’ve had a daughter. You’re really good at this stuff.”

Now her smile faltered. “I’d have liked a daughter.”

Amy had never before said it so plainly, but we’d had enough conversations that I could have guessed it. Why’d I have to say something so dumb? “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t. I know how you meant it.” She took a deep breath. “And you’ve been around our family long enough that it’s probably time I told you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Great. I’d apparently rammed my foot further in my mouth than I’d originally thought.

“I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us, though.”

I nodded. “But Amy, if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.” If anyone understood wanting secrecy, I did.

“I don’t mind.” Amy’s face took on a determined expression. “Brian and I lost a baby between Chris and Cameron. A little girl. Abigail. When I went in at twenty weeks for a sonogram, I assumed they’d tell me she looked good and healthy, same as they’d done with Connor and Chris.” Amy took a wobbly breath. “But instead the technician poked around for a long time, and then she called in my doctor. He said it looked like our baby had a chromosomal abnormality, trisomy 18, but they’d need to do an amnio to be sure. When the results came back positive, he said if she made it to full-term, the chances of seeing her first birthday were less than 10 percent, and we should decide if we wanted to continue the pregnancy.”

I swallowed and tried to think of something noncliché to say to Amy. When she’d regained control of her vocal cords, I still hadn’t come up with anything.

“Connor and Chris had both been such easy, by-the-book pregnancies. I just sat there and stared at the doctor, thinking this couldn’t be happening. And Brian, sweet, dear Brian, said we needed to go home and talk it over. I looked that doctor in the eye and told him nobody was coming near my baby. Of course, it’s not that Brian
wanted
to abort the baby, but he worried she’d cause health problems for me. The guilt of aborting her would’ve killed me.”

Amy took another breath. “I had a couple more months with her. Terrifying months. All I wanted to eat was pancakes. I dreamt at night about pancakes, but I forced myself to eat healthy stuff. Lots of salad and chicken and whole grains. As if somehow I could . . .”

She bit her trembling lower lip and I reached for her hand. When she gripped mine, she squeezed my fingers so hard it brought back memories of Abbie laboring with Owen.

“Around thirty weeks, Abigail stopped moving. They couldn’t find a heartbeat, and I knew even before they induced labor that we’d lost her. She was so tiny, barely two pounds. Brian and I held her and cried, and then hours later when my parents brought Connor and Chris to visit, we held them and cried. Chris was two and didn’t understand much of what was going on, but Connor . . .” Amy’s fingers danced along her neck. “He was devastated. He hugged me so tight, sobbing that he was sorry, as if he’d done something wrong.”

She wiped away tears and took a deep breath. “Sometimes Brian and I talk about Abigail, but not often. On her birthday every year, we go out for pancakes. The older boys understand why, and Cameron’s starting to piece it together, but mostly he and Curtis know it’s a rough day for Mommy and pancakes help me feel better.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said. Sorry I’d dredged it up, that I’d made Amy feel bad. “I think you’re really brave to talk about it.”

Amy laughed a little, still raspy with emotion. “I don’t know if
brave
is the right word.”

“It takes a lot to share a piece of yourself like that.” I swallowed back tears of my own. “You’re brave.”

Amy considered this. “I never
like
talking about Abigail, but over the years I’ve gotten more comfortable with it. It helps that it’s such a popular name. I’ve gotten used to having lots of Abigails around me.” She gave a sad smile. “It makes it extra special having you and your sister around so much.” She sighed. “I still always lose it when I think of Connor at the hospital.” She smiled at him in the outfield. “He’s always had such a tender heart.”

“How long was it?” I asked. “Before talking about it got easier, I mean.”

Amy frowned as she thought. “You know, it’s never gotten ‘easy,’ but the first time was by far the worst. Abigail and her little life had been cramped in my brain all those months as I stubbornly tried to figure things out for myself.” Amy shrugged. “I don’t think I really started to heal until I forced myself to talk about it, to share the details. I hate to think of what might have happened, of the stunted person I might have become, if I hadn’t opened up.”

“Your mom told me about Abigail tonight.”

Connor looked up from his turtle sundae. “Really?”

“Yeah. I stuck my foot in my mouth by saying she should’ve had a daughter, and then she told me.”

He scooped his cherry into my cup. “That’s a really big deal. You should feel honored.”

“Do you remember much of what happened?”

“Not really. I was only four, so . . .” Connor shrugged. “I wish I remembered better. It’s this really huge thing that happened in our family, and I feel a little guilty for not feeling affected.”

“Like you said, you were four. The only thing I remember from that age was when Abbie and I were taking a bath together and she mistook the bathtub for a toilet.”

Connor made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“Tell me about it.” I stirred the soupy remains of my custard. “I kinda wish you’d told me about Abigail. I felt really stupid bringing up something so painful for your mom.”

“It’s not mine to tell.”

I turned that statement over in my mind, along with Amy’s words of wisdom. Was it stunting me, not talking about Aaron? Was I hindering God from working in my life? I didn’t want that. I wanted to be over this.

“I think I’m ready to talk. About what happened at Jodi’s.” I swallowed. I didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it. I just wanted to lay out the events of that night as I remembered and let the healing begin.

Connor turned to me as casually as if I’d said we should see a movie later. “Go ahead.”

23

On July 14, a year ago yesterday, my friends and I showed up for Jodi’s party fashionably late. Alexis had wanted to come earlier. She cared much more about being there for every gossip-soaked second than she did about making an entrance.

When she spotted us, Jodi charged in from the kitchen. “Where have you guys been?” She talked way too loud, clearly several drinks ahead of us.

“Have we missed anything?” Alexis asked.

Jodi rolled her eyes. “No. I swear this’ll be the last party I throw. It sucks having to be here from the beginning.” Her eyes accused me. “You said you’d be here an hour ago.”

I shrugged. “I thought we’d leave the Plaza earlier.”

“They practically kicked us out,” Lisa said. “The store clerks were irritated. You could totally tell.”

I accepted the cigarette Eli offered me, ignoring how he’d unnecessarily brushed his fingertips against my wrist. “The sign says they’re open till nine. Why should I rush out of there? Hello, it’s their job.”

Now Eli’s fingertips grazed my lower back. “Absolutely.” “I need a drink.” I wove through the crowded room, escaping him.

“So you left at nine,” Jodi said as she walked next to me. “What’ve you been doing for the last hour?”

“Getting ready.” Did she think I’d dressed like this for an afternoon of shopping?

She leaned against the kitchen counter as I grabbed myself a red plastic cup. “So, Danny’s here.”

I didn’t have to look to know she’d rolled her eyes. “Yeah?”

“He’s being all sulky and annoying. I wish he’d just leave.” She refreshed her beer as I sipped mine. “Him being all pathetic is making me look pathetic for dating him so long.”

Though if he’d acted normal, she’d have been miffed about that as well.

“Well, you can’t blame him,” I said. “You
are
pretty fabulous.” “Who’s fabulous?” Eli leaned close as he filled his cup. “Jodi.”

“Of course she is.” He winked at her. “Dated me, right?” Jodi rolled her eyes again, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Through the breakfast bar and sea of people, I spotted Lisa waving me over. I left Jodi and Eli to their conversation and maneuvered my way to Lisa. She leaned against an ugly but very expensive sage wingback chair. John’s arms circled her waist, but he was turned away from us, talking to some guy I didn’t recognize.

“Guess who’s here!” Lisa yelled over the thumping bass. I followed her line of vision and saw him, the guy we’d dubbed TDH—Tall, Dark, and Hot. We’d gone to a handful of parties since the summer started and seen him at most. He’d seen me—I knew he had—but TDH had yet to make a move. Maybe tonight would be the night.

He caught my eye then, and I held his gaze for a second. Tonight his six-plus feet of yummy boyness was clad in cargo shorts and a black graphic print tee meant to look like he’d had it forever.

I turned back to Lisa and shrugged. “He may be cute”—hello, understatement—“but I still refuse to talk to him.”

“
This
is why you don’t have a boyfriend. A modern girl’s got to be willing to make the first move.”

“I’m old-fashioned,” I said wryly.

Lisa looked back at TDH. “He’s totally into you. Can’t you offer him a friendly smile so he knows it’s cool to come talk to you? Sometimes guys need a little encouragement.”

John had dropped out of his conversation halfway through Lisa’s statement. “Who are we talking about?”

“That guy by the stereo.”

“Which guy by the stereo? There’s about a billion guys by the stereo.”

“The one with dark hair and skin—”