SHE DIDN’T CRY AT BILL AND MC KAY’S WEDDING, either. Her tasks as maid of honor and event coordinator kept her too busy for tears. As they spoke their vows in front of each other and the assembled group of friends and family, she kept her eyes on their faces, wanting to remember every second of this moment. They were at a B&B in Provincetown owned by three Finnish brothers, at least two of whom, Pru thought, were gay, though she couldn’t really tell them apart. The Unitarian minister performed the service in the back parlor of the house. They were going to do it outside, in the garden, but the weather had turned cloudy and cool at the last minute. Bradley Bond, the pet therapist, was there. He sang “The Wedding Song” in a man’s suit, and, later that evening, “Dim All the Lights, Sweet Darlin’” in a lovely, shimmering white dress. Somehow he looked perfectly right, both times, as at home in his linen trousers as in the three-inch platform heels.
It helped a great deal that John and Lila were no-shows. McKay, when they had a moment alone together, said that no explanation had been offered, but Pru knew why. John had decided to spare her. It gave her a bittersweet feeling, to think that he’d felt the need to protect her feelings. She still wasn’t used to them being so entirely on display.
She came home from the weekend to an in-box full of chatty, descriptive e-mails from Patsy, still at her yoga retreat. She’d found an Internet café in town that enabled her to talk to Annali via webcam. She was having what she called a “life-changing” experience. She sounded so bubbly that, if Pru didn’t know better, she’d say Patsy was getting more than her chakras realigned. If she didn’t know better, and if McKay had been around to say that to. But he was heading off with Bill for their two-week honeymoon in Italy.
Sitting at her desk, now in the new living room, Pru read the most recent e-mail from Patsy. Suddenly, an Instant Message window popped open. She saw the name on the screen: jowen32. Who is Jowen? she thought. Then her hands froze above the keyboard. Her computer pinged softly, as he sent each line of text:
The screen door slams
Mary’s dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch
As the radio plays . . .
She couldn’t breathe. The heat was rising in her face, her blood pounded in her ears. The next lines, she knew, were “Roy Orbison singing for the lonely, Hey that’s me and I want you only.”
My friend, he wrote, where did you go? Okay, so it wasn’t going in that direction, then. She felt the heat drain from her face, and her heart rate stabilized.
Whoop, who hadn’t been more than a yard away from her since she’d gotten back, jumped up and pushed his head under her hand for a scratching. John wasn’t lonely, and he didn’t want her only. With the memory of McKay and Bill standing up in front of God and the world to declare their love for each other fresh in her mind, Pru knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t half-quoted Springsteen lyrics. She sat there for a minute longer, then closed the messaging window and turned off the machine.
Twenty-three
A week later, Patsy came home. She was, indeed, transformed.
She was mellow, glowing, flexible, serene, contemplative. Blissed out. And, she announced, holding up the margarita Pru had just poured for her, she was pregnant.
They were sitting on the balcony, at a little green table Pru had purchased at the flea market in Georgetown. It was their first night out on the deck. To celebrate, Pru had made melted cheese tortillas and the pitcher of margaritas, pretty much the full extent of her culinary expertise.
Pru had brought up her glass in preparation for a toast. It froze there, stopped cold by Patsy’s news. “You’re what?”
“I know,” Patsy said, smiling happily and leaning across the table to clink Pru’s glass. “Are we fertile or what?”
“Who’s we . . . Jimmy Roy?”
“I know, it’s crazy. We just can’t keep our hands off each other.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s a sign. He’s a sexy little bastard, that’s for sure.”
“But . . . when did you even see him?”
“The night of the opening. Just the once, can you believe it? Oh, no, wait. Three times, technically—”
“Patsy!”
“I guess it must be some kind of biological imperative. You have to admit, we make amazing kids.”
“You’ve been sleeping with him? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Yeah, well, I thought it was just a sex thing. Besides, who’s seen you to tell you anything?”
Patsy drank a huge mouthful of her margarita, and so did Pru. “Oh, that was good,” Patsy sighed. “My last mouthful of alcohol for the next eight months.”
“So, this is good?” Pru said, when she could talk again. “It’s not just a sex thing? You’re happy?”
“Yeah,” Patsy said. “I can’t tell you what it was like, finding out I was pregnant, then doing all that yoga. I was fucking blissed out, I’ll tell you that.”
“Annali’s going to have a little sister! Or, I guess it could be a brother. Oh, she’ll love it, don’t you think?” Annali loved seeing the babies at the playground. She’d pat their heads and coo, “Oh, you cute li’l fella!”
Patsy smiled. “Let’s hope for a sister,” she said.
Pru was mentally scanning the apartment they’d just moved into, a month ago. “Oh my God, we’ve already outgrown this place!”
“And then there’s Jimmy Roy,” Patsy said, half closing her eyes.
“Him, too?”
“Yeah. We’re going to see how it goes living together. He got into one of those midwifing programs he applied to. He can live here and commute. If it’s okay with you, that is.”
“Patsy, of course.” Everything was moving
