<<Beth to Jennifer>> A crib? Already? I wanted to help pick out the crib. Can I help pick out the bedding? You can’t do all this baby stuff without me. I’m trying to have a vicarious pregnancy here.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m sorry. It was unplanned. I’m probably picking out paint for the nursery this weekend, do you want to come?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> You know that I do. And that I can’t. This weekend is the big wedding.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Oh, right. Are you looking forward to it?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Looking forward to it being over.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Does Kiley know how cranky her maid of honor is?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> She’s too deliriously happy to notice.

I picked up my dress on Sunday. It’s deliriously ugly, especially with me in it, and I still haven’t come up with a Kiley-approved way to hide my upper arms.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Your arms are fine.

Wasn’t this wedding supposed to have a millennium theme? Is that still happening?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> It was indeed. Kiley was going to make 2,000 paper cranes to strew about the reception, but she fizzled out at 380. Now the theme is Winter Wonderland. (Hence the strapless dresses, I guess.)

And, by the way, you only think my arms are fine because I keep them covered up. Because I’ve mastered the art of misdirection. All of my clothes are engineered to draw the eye away from my arm- shoulder area.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Now that I think about it, we’ve known each other six years, and I’ve never seen you in a bathing suit. Or a tank top.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Not a coincidence, my friend. I’ve got the arms of a Sicilian grandmother.

Arms for picking olives and stirring hearty tomato sauces. Shoulders for carrying buckets of water from the stream to the farmhouse.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Has Chris seen your shoulders?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> He’s seen them. But he hasn’t seen them.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I get it, but I don’t get it.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> No sleeveless negligees. No direct sunlight. Sometimes when I’m getting out of the shower, I shout, “Hey, look, a bobcat!”

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’ll bet he falls for that every time.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> It’s Chris. So recreational drugs are a factor.

Anyway, I bought a dressy cardigan that I thought I could wear with my bridesmaid dress, but Kiley said it was too “frumpy” and that it was the wrong shade of sage. And then she said, “God, Beth, no one is going to be looking at your arms.”

And my mom said, “She’s right, Beth, all eyes will be on the bride.”

Which just infuriated me. Why did that infuriate me? It’s true. But all I could think was, if no one is going to be looking at me, then why can’t I wear my f**king sweater? We were at Victoria’s Secret.

Did I mention that we were at Victoria’s Secret? My sister wasn’t happy with her strapless bra, so we all had to go to Victoria’s Secret. I’m not happy with my strapless bra either. Because I’m not happy with my strapless dress.

While Kiley was trying on bras, my mom patted me on the arm and said, “Honey, this is Kiley’s day. Just roll with it.” Have I also mentioned that neither of these women have large arms? I got them from my father’s mother, my own Italian grandmother, a woman who is now dead, but who, while alive, had the sense to never wear a strapless dress.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I can wait until next week to go nursery shopping.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Would you do that for me?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Of course I would. I’ll even let you wear your ugly green sweater.

Is Chris going to the wedding with you?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> And to the rehearsal dinner. And to Sunday brunch. He told me that he didn’t think I should do anything wedding-related by myself. He said, “Every time you talk about it, you go all blurry around the edges.” Which of course made me cry. He’s pretty good when I cry. He doesn’t get flustered.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Well done, Chris.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I know. Five stars. He’s even letting me buy him a new jacket and real pants.

Slacks. But I’m not allowed to call them slacks. That word gives him the heebie-jeebies. Normally, I’m not allowed to buy him clothes of any sort.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m relieved to hear you’re not the one who picks out all those tight jeans he wears. What will he do with his hair? Put it in a ponytail?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> There’s nothing you can do with that hair. You just have to let go and let God.

Hey, you know what? All this talk about my cute boyfriend is diminishing my cute cravings.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> As well it should.

CHAPTER 62

BETH MISSED HIM.

Lincoln thought he’d hit bottom on New Year’s, and it had been a relief. Wasn’t hitting bottom the thing you had to do to knock some sense into yourself? Wasn’t hitting bottom the thing that showed you which way was up?

CHAPTER 63

From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder

To: Beth Fremont

Sent: Fri, 01/07/2000 2:44 PM

Subject: Are you here?

Distract me.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Distract you? Gladly. Productivity-schmoductivity.

What are you supposed to be working on?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I don’t know. Writing headlines, I guess. Reading the same stories over and over to make sure some idiot reporter didn’t use “they’re” when he should have used “their.”

Changing “which”es to “that”s. Arguing with someone about sequence of tenses.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> What on earth is sequence of tenses?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> It’s top-secret copy editor stuff.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I didn’t know there was such a thing.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Are you kidding? Everything about being a copy editor is top secret—by default, really—because no one else cares.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Can I ask why you need distracting? Are they making you edit the sports section again?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> No, it’s not work.

I’ve been having these strange cramps for the last few days. Not even cramps—they’re more like assertive twinges. I called our midwife and described them to her, and she seemed pretty confident that nothing is wrong. She said that it’s natural to feel your uterus readjusting at the end of the first trimester. “This is your first pregnancy,” she said. “It’s going to feel strange.” She also told me that I might feel better if I talked to the baby.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> What are you supposed to say? Are you supposed to talk out loud? Or are you supposed to reach out for it on the astral plane?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m supposed to talk out loud. “Relax,” she said. “Put on some quiet music.

Light a few candles. Tune in to the life within you.” I’m supposed to tell the baby that it’s welcome and wanted and that it doesn’t have to worry about anything right now except getting big and strong.

I’ve tried it a few times, when I’m alone in the car. But I never get past small talk. I feel sort of like I’m invading the baby’s space or like it’s going to wonder, after two months of respectful silence, why I’ve suddenly decided we need to get all personal with each other.

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 with pregnant 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.

CHAPTER 64

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.

Lincoln ended up at the Village Inn, alone. When the waitress came, he ordered two pieces of French silk pie. She brought them on separate plates, which was embarrassing for some reason.

He had a copy of the next day’s paper, one of the perks of working at The Courier, but he was so agitated, he couldn’t read it.

He was so agitated, so at loose ends, he didn’t notice until his second piece of pie that Chris was sitting at the next booth. Beth’s Chris. He was actually facing Lincoln, both of them sitting alone at their tables.

Lincoln remembered the last time he’d seen Chris, on New Year’s Eve, and considered leaping across the table to follow up on smashing his face. But he’d lost the urge.

Chris looked different. Cleaned up. He was wearing a dress shirt, rakishly unbuttoned of course, and a jacket, and his hair looked smooth and shiny. Like a f**king Breck commercial , Lincoln thought.

And then, Right, for the rehearsal dinner. And then Lincoln started to laugh. A little. Mostly on the inside.

Because he shouldn’t know that, but he did. And he should hate this guy, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to kill Chris. He wanted to trade places with him. No, he didn’t even want that. If Lincoln had been Beth’s date to the rehearsal dinner tonight, he’d be home with her now. If he were her date to the wedding tomorrow, he’d be counting down the hours until she put on that dress. Until she took it off again.