“You won’t be.” Lauren takes her hand. “Three months, you’ll be fine.”
“I’ve been fucking starving myself for months, doing those fucking arm exercises.” Sarah can feel she’s about to cry: that terrible heat on her face, that damp in her eyes.
“You’ve been doing arm exercises?” Lauren’s tone is mocking.
“Hired a goddamn trainer. Jake. He’s expensive.” Sarah starts laughing.
The waiter brings their drinks. She picks three ice cubes from her water, drops them into the wineglass, cooling it but also diluting it. She tastes it, and it is wonderful. The very taste of relief. “I was working really hard at this. It’s stupid. I am excited about being a mother. For Christ’s sake, I realize that’s more important than being skinny at my wedding. But I just wanted to be skinny at my wedding. To drink champagne, and do tequila shots with the caterers when everyone had gone home.”
“Tequila shots?” Lauren sips her gin. “Isn’t that kind of racist?”
“I’m sorry I took you away from work.” She’s not crying. She’s not laughing. She just is.
“Please. Work is stupid. This is much more exciting.”
They are quiet for a moment.
“Are you going to find out the sex?” Lauren asks.
“I don’t know.” She hasn’t considered this: it being not an it, but being a he or a she. “I guess I should talk to Dan.”
“Wait, what did Dan say? Is he excited?”
Work Dan isn’t the greatest at having conversations but he knows Sarah well enough to interpret that there was something behind the terseness of her “Hello.” Dan had excused himself from the office, she could hear him, stepped out into the hallway then, finding people there as well, gone into the stairwell, his voice echoing in the emptiness. You’re sure?, Dan had wanted to know. I love you. This is wonderful. I’m so happy. I hope you are, too. This is the greatest. All the right things to say, but Sarah had wanted more, which is why she’d called Lauren. “Well, he’s thrilled of course. I mean, he sees how this isn’t the best timing, but yes, he’s excited.”
“It’s great news, Sarah. It’s magic.” Lauren dips a finger in the trail of condensation her drink has left on the table. “You’re in shock. You’ll feel totally different in about one day.”
“I’m not mad about the wedding, it’s just . . . Why do anything if you’re not going to do it the right way? I was trying to do it the right way.”
“You always do.”
“I’m supposed to be jumping for joy at this news, but it’s supposed to be separate news. My two milestones are blurring into one.” Another sip of the wine. That’s three. She wants a fourth, but not brain damage. She pushes the glass toward Lauren. “Drink this please, so I don’t.”
“Glad to oblige. I’m double fisting it. Because this is cause for celebration. Fuck the wedding. You’ll look beautiful. Who cares?”
“I’ll look beautiful.” Sarah pauses. She is not the kind of person who likes to spend a lot of time talking about what she looks like. It’s like Meredith, talking about being single. It’s a bore.
“I’m going to be Auntie Lauren,” Lauren says, then, “You’re not telling Huck and Lulu.”
“I am not telling Huck and Lulu. This is going to be complicated, though. I’ll need to keep this under wraps for . . . ten weeks? It’s going to be like a British sex farce. Mistaken identities, going in and out of doors.”
“Just say you’re tired from wedding stuff. You’re golden.”
“Huck’s already bought a case of wine he wants at the rehearsal dinner. At your rehearsal dinner. He says the rehearsal dinner is always more fun than the wedding. It’s the A-list. The out-of-towners and the friends you actually like. There’s less dress code and more drinking and better speeches.”
“That’s why your amazing matron of honor is in charge of it. Because he’s right, it’s going to be more fun than the wedding. And if Huck wants a case of wine at this thing, he better call me and we can get that sorted out.”
“Maid of honor, you idiot. But if I don’t drink the special wine it’s going to be . . . suspicious.”
“Oh, come on.” Lauren sips Sarah’s wine, then goes back to her gin. “We used to be very accomplished liars. You’re forgetting.”
“We did lie.” Sarah remembers: missed curfews, forged excuse notes, twenty-dollar bills from Lulu’s purse.
“All little girls lie, it’s what little girls do. So lie. Do teenage Sarah proud. Besides, if Huck loves this wine that much, he’ll be trashed. People never notice if other people are drinking, unless they’re alcoholics, and if there are any alcoholics watching you, they’re going to think you’re an alcoholic, not knocked up.”
“I find this weirdly reassuring.”