“I enjoyed that tour,” the older guitarist told her. “Some of my best memories are from that year. But every tour has its own highs and lows. I’m guessing you weren’t even born when we released Pseudochromatic Effect, and now here we are.”
“Elder Dragons is the best work we’ve done yet, though,” his drummer said from across the table. “And that’s as it should be. Our best work should always lie ahead.”
“Matchett’s right,” said Zam. “Every band should strive for better each time.”
“That’s our hope for our next album,” Angel said. “We’ve started working on some new stuff, but we signed a wretched contract with Arleigh Hayward back when we were newbies lured with champagne and girls, and we just can’t see a way out of it.”
“I’ll talk to our guys at Valancy,” Zam offered. “They’re old-school, mostly-legal gangsters, but their loyalty and support for us are through the roof. Maybe they can help you.”
Angel nodded thoughtfully as waiters circulated with bottles of Chateau Montelena Chardonnay and Mayacamas Cabernet Sauvignon.
The food was overwhelming perfection. Baskets of fresh sourdough bread sat on the table, with oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping. To begin, everyone was served a choice of crispy spring rolls or delicate pâté en croûte with apricot relish, followed by heirloom tomato salad or avocado gazpacho. Mandy and most of the men opted for grilled filet mignon with horseradish cream, but Crys and Zam chose the Pacific halibut, and Nell decided to try the seared maitake mushrooms on a bed of zucchini risotto. All of these were accompanied by crisp green beans with toasted almonds and truffle frites with parmesan aioli.
Sitting across the table from Nell and a couple of seats down, Crys sipped her cranberry and soda and picked at her fish. When Blade offered her a bite of his steak, she shook her head and rubbed her belly. Just how pregnant is she? Nell wondered. Could she be going into labor?
Later, as everyone dipped their dessert spoons into delicate vacherins, peach and champagne sorbets layered between rounds of crunchy meringue, Crys wasn’t at the table. Nell ate a few bites, then got up, leaning down to murmur next to Eamonn’s ear that she’d be right back.
Nell found Crys in the bathroom — at least, there was muffled sobbing coming from the only occupied toilet stall. Oh, crap. Tears. Sometimes students in the children’s class cried; it was best to be practical with them. “Uh, hey, Crys? The fact that you’re crying tells me something’s wrong. Can we troubleshoot?”
The wet sniffles stopped, followed by a nose-blowing sound, and then the younger woman emerged from the stall, red-eyed but in control of herself. “Could we just… pretend this moment never happened?” Crys asked, her voice a bit shaky.
Nell put a cautious hand on her shoulder, thinking that some comfort was in order but not knowing her well enough to offer a hug. “Is the baby okay?”
Crys looked down at her belly with a watery smile, her eyes shining with love. “Thank God, yes! Lots of kicking tonight.”
“Well, that’s good. Are you feeling sick? In pain?”
That prompted a small snort of amusement. “Only the usual for thirty-six weeks pregnant. We’re both healthy and it’s almost over, so I shouldn’t complain.”
Nell could respect that. From training in a male-dominated, relatively stoic sport, she knew all about putting a good face on discomfort and pain — she might joke or grumble, but never whine or cry. So, if Crys faced things that way too, why the tears? “You want to talk about whatever’s wrong, then?”
This got a moment of hesitation, then Crys’s eyes welled up again and she pressed her lips together to hold back more tears.
“It’s okay. Breathe. Baby’s fine, you’re fine, Blade is fine.”
Crys nodded.
“Better. Good. Now, tell me what’s bugging you, hmm?”
The words tumbled out of Crys then, a bit jumbled and sob-interrupted, but Nell could follow the gist of it well enough. “I’m sorry — it’s just hormones — I’m not normally like this but the last couple of months I’ve been all over the place. I love Blade so much, I just want to be married… so people like that awful radio show can’t talk, but… Mummy will think I gave in to what she wanted… and I’m tired all the time and I feel like a whale and everything hurts…”
“Okay, right. So, hormones. Let’s just accept that you wouldn’t be crying if you weren’t flooded with a preggo-chemical cocktail.”
Crys gave a weak chuckle at that. “Truer than you could imagine.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to experience that,” Nell said with a shudder. “But look, if you don’t want to rush into a wedding this weekend, I’ll back you up, talk to people for you. No one should push you into—”
“No! I don’t want to wait,” Crys said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Blade is the other half of my soul, and… I guess I could be married in a potato sack if I had to. It’s just that… right before we left for dinner, I overheard Sally telling Erva she doesn’t have time to find or make a wedding dress this weekend. It shouldn’t matter — it doesn’t matter — but…” The younger woman swallowed against another upswelling of emotion, then very quietly said, “It was just the last straw, you know? I guess a part of me did want to feel pretty on my wedding day! I can let that go — I can — but it broke me a little, and I have to put myself back together and pretend I don’t mind.” She looked down at herself, fingering the ruffles on her lilac smock. “I just expanded again, it seems, and this is the only pretty dress I have that fits, so I guess I’ll be wearing it again on Sunday.”
Nell felt a surge of grim sympathy. She’d never wanted a wedding dress, but she knew how right her uniform felt at a tournament: crisp, gleaming white,
