Frenemies(68)
“Hi, baby,” Georgia whispered at Amy Lee’s belly, and then leaned over to place a soft kiss there.
We all laughed a little bit, and when Georgia sat up again she was glassy-eyed too.
“You’re going to set me off,” Amy Lee wailed.
“I’m already set off,” I replied, and sniffled.
“We don’t cry!” Amy Lee said. “I don’t cry!”
“I think we’re allowed to take a small break from being completely and totally kick-ass, here,” Georgia said, wiping at her nose. “It’s not every day we get to meet the next generation.”
We were all laughing and weeping, sometimes at once, when the door swung open, and Oscar appeared with bags on each arm.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, looking alarmed. He dropped the bags where he stood. “What now?”
chapter twenty-two
Georgia and I had a little bit of time to whisper to each other as we got ready, but mostly we just made faces and shrugged as we tripped over ourselves and Linus to and from the bathroom. Amy Lee was pregnant. She and Oscar were going to be someone’s parents in just a few months. It was going to take a bit more time to process.
When we’d finally squeezed ourselves into our black-tie appropriate gowns (no royal blue taffeta, thank you), located our wraps, adjusted our control-top pantyhose (maybe that was just me—I swore by control top because it alone tamed the belly, even as I loathed it for that restricted, uncomfortable feeling), and lectured the dog on the importance of being quiet (again, that was probably just me), we assembled in the hallway. It was a very different group from the angry one we’d been before. For one thing, Oscar was there, looking very James Bond-ish in his tuxedo. Amy Lee smiled at me, I smiled back gratefully, and I felt more emotional about that than I thought I should as Amy Lee led the way downstairs.
There was something about wearing formal clothes that encouraged you to behave, I thought as we made our way down toward the lobby, where the other guests were beginning to converge. I was still concentrating on everything that had happened with Amy Lee—because while part of me felt giddy and a little bit weepy with relief that the worst was over, there was still a large part of me that simmered with unresolved anger. She had been horrible—unjustifiably so, I thought—but then, what was the point of talking about it? Hashing things out would only prolong the nastiness. It seemed that she wanted to use being pregnant as an all-purpose excuse for everything that had happened between the three of us, and though it went against the grain, I wanted to let her.
I remembered Minerva’s story about her fight with Dorcas then. It had seemed so foreign to me—the idea that you could move forward without a painful airing of grievances on both sides. But maybe Minerva had it right—maybe it wasn’t necessary to pick apart pain. Maybe some things just weren’t worth fighting about. Some friends weren’t friends anymore, but family—and there were different rules for family. It didn’t make sense to sit down with family and detail all the reasons they’d upset you—for many reasons, not least among them the fact that they could whip out a checklist of your transgressions themselves. And after you’d both picked apart the carcasses, why would you want to be friends again? Maybe the important thing was to recognize that everyone felt wronged and slighted—but the point worth concentrating on was that everyone loved each other. If we worked from that premise, we should be fine. Or anyway, I hoped we would.
“What’s that face about?” Georgia asked from beside me. She looked particularly regal with her hair in an updo. “You look entirely too pensive. Don’t tell me you’re already having the post-holiday blues. It’s not even midnight yet.”
“I’m not,” I said immediately.
“Every year right around your birthday you get depressed,” Georgia reminded me. “It’s like clockwork.”
“Okay, maybe I am, a little.” I shrugged. “Next weekend will be my first free weekend in a long time.”
“Next weekend I plan to lie on my couch and revel in the brand new year, enjoying the fact that you will be a decrepit thirty while I remain a young and vital twenty-nine,” Georgia said with a blinding smile. “I have it all planned.”
“Really? Because I plan to lie on my fabulous new couch and think about how, as the older and wiser one, I will choose to forgive you your transgressions even though you really don’t deserve it,” I said with the same smile. “You poor little lost soul.”
“Yikes,” Georgia muttered. “That’s horrifying.”
Forgiveness and acceptance, I thought as we found a spot near the largest tree in the lobby. Although I’d been kidding with Georgia, I was pretty sure those were the keys to relationships. Everything else was just ego and hurt feelings.
I had to remind myself of my commitment to adulthood—sternly—when I looked across the glittering lobby to see Nate, Helen, and Henry standing together near a selection of robust poinsettias. Nate and Helen were holding hands, exactly the way they had long ago at the party at Henry’s house. She was dressed to accentuate her fragility and big, sad eyes, and the only difference in my reaction was that this time I could see how skillfully she’d achieved her goal. It was still annoying.
Although—if I thought about it—not personally annoying. So. Progress.