“Yeah,” I say, feeling a rush of internal peace and confidence, confirming that I’m making the right decision. “It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time….Motherhood, that is…I’m really excited.”
“That’s great, Josie. I think you’ll be a terrific mother,” he says, his tone sincere, but also filled with unmistakable guilt and pity—and maybe a trace of condescension. “I’m so glad to hear that things are working out for you…after all.”
“Thanks, Will,” I say, wondering how I can feel touched and offended at once. In an odd sense, I preferred his self-righteous silence to his sympathy, and I try to think of something else to say, something along the lines of I know that I’m going to have the baby I’m meant to have, the child I wouldn’t have had if you and I had stayed together. But then I hear the sound of clamor in the hallway and know that I’m out of time. One beat later, the door swings open, Edie’s sweet face the first to appear.
“Okay! Gotta go. My kids are back,” I say. “Well, your kid…my class…”
“Right…okay,” he says. “Thanks for the call, Josie. I appreciate it.”
“Thank you, Will,” I say. “And remember—there’s no reason for you to feel bad…or badly, for that matter.”
—
AFTER WORK, I come in the house and spot Gabe on the back deck with a girl. She is his usual petite-verging-on-emaciated type, but blond instead of brunette. They are playing Uno, drinking beer in frosted mugs, and laughing. I watch them for a second, trying to place her, but can’t.
“Hi, there!” I call out, through the screen door.
“Oh, hey,” Gabe says, glancing at me over his shoulder, his voice unusually chipper. “Come on out and join us.”
I slide open the door and step onto the porch as he says, “Meet Leslie.”
“Hi, Leslie,” I say, smiling. Getting a closer look, I decide that she is very pretty—and very young.
“Hi. You must be Josie,” she says, pushing aviator sunglasses up on her head and giving me a broad smile. Her teeth are disproportionately large for her face, but in a striking, not horsey, way. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You, too,” I lie as I admire her outfit—a feminine white eyelet peplum top, paired with faded boyfriend jeans.
She laughs a high Tinker Bell laugh, and Gabe gives her a smitten glance before looking back at me.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“We just met last night,” Gabe says.
“Oh,” I say with a shrug. “Well, then. Busted.”
“Yeah,” she says, laughing again. “But you’re a good roommate to cover for him like that.”
“Yeah,” I say, raising my eyebrows at Gabe, the noun roommate instead of friend not lost on me. “I try to be.”
At this point, she throws down a wild card and shouts, “Uno! Green!”
“Son of a bitch,” he says, throwing down his cards. “I give up.”
“That’s five in a row,” she says, looking jubilant.
“Yeah. Well, don’t play him in backgammon,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve beaten him in nearly twenty years.”
“You’ve known each other twenty years?” she says.
“Longer than that,” I say. “I’ve known him since we were kids. But we didn’t become close until college.”
“Ah, I see,” she says, nodding, then reaching out to put her hand playfully on his. I expect him to leave it there a beat, at most, before pulling away. Instead, he flips his hand over, rearranging their fingers in an intimate clasp. For Gabe, this qualifies as PDA.
“So where did you meet?” I say, trying to recall where Gabe went last night, but drawing a blank.
“The Iberian Pig,” he says. “Remember? I was there for Dale’s birthday.”
“That’s right.” I nod, wondering how she and Gabe got from Dale’s birthday to a game of Uno on our back deck in less than twenty-four hours. As Gabe continues to hold her hand with a goofy grin, I have a pretty good guess what’s happened in between.
“So, Leslie?” I say, feigning oblivion to the strong third-wheel vibe I’m getting as I walk around their chairs and plop down on the top step. “What do you do?”
“I’m in grad school,” she says. “At SCAD.”
“Fashion design?” I guess, eyeing her funky metallic espadrille wedges. They are open-toe, her nails painted a deep navy.
She shakes her head and says, “No. Sequential art. But I do love fashion.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding and smiling.
“Do you even know what that is?” Gabe says, calling me out for the second time.
I glare at him as she laughs and says, “Don’t worry, he didn’t, either.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t, actually. What is sequential art?”
“Broadly speaking, it’s an art form that uses images for graphic storytelling.”
“Like comic books?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “Although that’s not really my thing. I do animation.”
“Oh,” I say, nodding.
“Leslie just got a job with Pixar.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s exciting.”