“We were all mooning over you that night,” McKay said. “Laced up on your Percocet.”
Pru groaned. “Don’t remind me. Was I a complete idiot?”
“Not at all,” said Bill. “You were cute.”
“Let’s talk about your wedding,” Pru said. “Something happy.”
“Okay,” said Bill. “First thing is, we want you to be our maid of honor.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, happily. “Of course! You guys, I’m so . . . I’m so touched!”
“There’s one hitch,” added Bill.
“Hold on,” said McKay. “I think we need another round first.”
Bill disappeared into the kitchen, then emerged with a fresh pitcher of Billtinis. He refilled their glasses, and Pru saw them exchange another look.
“Oh, no,” she said. “What now? Just tell me.”
“We should tell you,” McKay said. “John’s bringing her to our wedding.”
Pru groaned. “Oh, no,” she said. “You have to be kidding me.”
“I didn’t know what to say,” Bill said. “Apparently she’s really pushing for it. I’m so sorry, Pru.”
“Oh, whatever,” Pru said. “It’s fine. I’ll be glad to get a chance to see them together. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into my head.”
When she returned home, Patsy was busy arranging things on a shelf in the living room. Pru noticed that the moving boxes were all gone, and the furniture was arranged in each of the rooms. She’d been so busy at the shop that she hadn’t so much as unpacked a box.
“Hey,” she said. “This looks great. We’d never have gotten through this move without you.”
“We wouldn’t have the new apartment without me.”
“We wouldn’t need it without you.” She saw that Patsy had a drink going, and took a sip. Sadly, it was only ginger ale.
“Speaking of ‘without me,’” Patsy said, sitting on the floor, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. You know the day you found me in the bath? I never would . . . you know . . . kill myself. I mean, I thought about it, but . . .” She sighed, and drank her ginger ale. “I guess I must think Annali’s better off with half a mommy than no mommy at all.”
Pru pushed her sister’s foot with her own. “You’re more than half a mommy. You’re at least three-quarters of a mommy.”
“Wah wah waaaah,” Patsy said, like a rueful trumpet.
“You are a wonderful mother,” Pru said.
“Really? Am I?”
“You are. I don’t think I could have done what you did. I never realized how rough it must have been for you. I don’t feel like I did much to help.”
“Oh,” Patsy said. “Well. That’s all right. She wasn’t your mistake . . . I mean, blessed child.”
Pru’s mouth was still buzzing from the Billtini. She remembered John’s face when she’d told him she was in love with him. She could still summon his exact expression. “What did you decide about Jimmy Roy?” she said. “Are you going to give the guy another chance?”
“Oh, Jimmy Roy.”
“He cleans up good, you have to admit.”
“He cleans up okay.”
“He is clean, right?”
Patsy shrugged. “Says he is. And one thing Jimmy Roy isn’t, is a liar.”
“Jacob was the liar,” Pru said, yawning. “Wasn’t that a book?”
“Jacob never lied, either,” Patsy corrected her.
“Jacob the bigamist? Jacob the weak?”
Patsy was quiet, looking off into space. Then she said, “Well, Jacob the something, anyway.”
Twenty-two
Pru found herself alone in the new apartment for the first time ever.
Patsy was away at a yoga retreat in the Berkshires—a thirty-third-birthday present from Jimmy Roy, Pru, and their mother. Jimmy Roy had shown up earlier in the week to pick up Annali. They were going to stay at the beach house while Patsy was away. Pru had decided to give more hours to Phan’s girlfriend, Chuckie, to work at peach, so that she could have some time to herself.
It was full-on spring in D.C., now. The tourists were arriving, to see the cherry blossoms. As Pru stepped out onto the balcony, her neighbors waved from their respective decks. Whoop was still a little freaked-out, but before the move Pru had gone to see Dr. Bond, who told her how to minimize the trauma. Trauma. She still had a hard time assigning words usually associated with Vietnam vets or burn victims to a being whose biggest challenge was which spot of sun to lie in. But she did what Dr. Bond suggested, and both Whoop and Jenny seemed minimally “traumatized.” Anyway, they weren’t tooling around the neighborhood in little wheelchairs, swearing at everyone.
She spent her day off arranging her bedroom, putting her clothes away, and unpacking the boxes that had been sitting there for weeks. When she was done, she fell asleep on the couch, next to an open window, where she could hear the neighborhood kids calling to one another. She woke up late and famished, and decided she’d just pop into the café for a sandwich. John had finally taken some of Lila’s ideas about the menu to heart, and, although she’d hoped to be disappointed, Pru had become somewhat addicted to a particularly satisfying arugula sandwich.
She’d been avoiding John since telling him she was in love with him. She knew he usually left the café before nine, so she assumed it was safe. The girl behind the counter, who was new to Pru, was just handing her the bag that contained her sandwich when Ludmilla pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, and she saw them. There, in front of the six-burner industrial-grade Viking stove, stood John, embracing a woman she knew instantly was Lila. Because it was her job to size up women’s bodies, it registered that Lila was a luscious, curvy size ten, possibly even a twelve. She was wearing a stretchy top that showed off her curves, and a flowy skirt and sandals. She had fabulous curling hair that cascaded down her back. Enviable hair. The overall impression was of a salsa dancer. If she had come into Pru’s shop, Pru would have reached for the
