Pineapple Street(26)
“No idea,” Cord laughed. “I’ve never seen this one in my life! I think Pip must have bought it on eBay.”
Sasha pursed her lips. If you weren’t related by birth your name wasn’t worth knowing. Got it. She picked her way over to the desk to look at the file folders. Through the cloudy plastic Sasha recognized a face. She unwound the bit of twine and flipped the file open. It was Darley and Malcolm’s New York Times wedding announcement, clipped from the paper. They looked perfectly glamorous in their small, cropped headshot, Darley wearing a pair of glittering diamond earrings, Malcolm in a suit and tie. She skimmed the write-up. “Darley Colt Moore Stockton, daughter of Mr. Charles Edward Colt Stockton and Mrs. Matilda Baylies Moore Stockton, will be married this Saturday . . .”
“What’s that?” Cord peered over her shoulder.
“It’s Darley’s wedding announcement.”
“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose.
“You didn’t want one,” Sasha reminded him. She had mentioned it once when they were engaged, and he had immediately dismissed the idea.
“It’s just so gross and snobby.” Cord peered down at the photo of his sister. “So-and-so’s rich parents work in investment banking and so-and-so’s rich parents work in private equity and they are all just going to marry their children until they’re as inbred as King Tut.”
“Cordington Stockton, son of the New York real estate Stocktons, marries Rhode Island girl descended from barflies and fishermen,” joked Sasha.
“The service will be conducted at the Cap Club bar by the train station, and the bride’s brother, drunk on Narragansett, will officiate.”
“The reception will feature all-you-can-eat quahogs for those who know the proper way to pronounce the word for a water fountain.”
“It’s a bub-lah! And clam chow-dah!” Cord hollered.
“Hmmm, should we raise our kids to speak Rhode Island?” Sasha mused.
“Nope, Tilda would cut them out of the will.” Cord kissed her.
“We can’t throw any of this stuff away, can we?” Sasha took one last dismayed look around Cord’s room.
“We definitely cannot. Sorry. But now that we’ve had some wine and done some cleaning, we get to do your other favorite thing . . .” Cord batted his eyes playfully and took Sasha’s hand. She relented. Maybe she’d sneak some of the clippings into the shredder while he was at work. With that, Cord led her down the hall to their bedroom, to the four-poster bed she would always think of as his parents’.
* * *
Sasha had a pregnancy scare her freshman year of college. She and Mullin had been teetering on the cusp of another breakup, and things were tense between them. She was coming home for Thanksgiving, and she hoped that it would be easier where everything was familiar. She couldn’t shake the feeling that New York put Mullin on edge, that he somehow felt insecure or uncomfortable around the sophisticated and often rich kids she’d met at school.
It was tradition for everyone in town to go out to the Cap Club that Wednesday night—college kids who had moved away were home for the long weekend, eager to show off how well they were doing outside the confines of their little town. The Captain’s Club was nothing fancy—it was a long brick building across from the train station, where they served beer and cocktails and, if you really wanted it, a glass of wine that tasted like vinegar and probably had bits of cork in it. There were red leather stools along the bar, booths in the back, a jukebox, and a dartboard. Her cousins were there, the fact that most of them were under twenty-one politely ignored by the bartenders, who were all friends of the family. That was the thing about living in a small town—you got away with less, but you also got away with more.
Mullin was in a weird mood, laughing too loudly and drinking fast. Her younger brother, Olly, was wasted and being an idiot, wearing a T-shirt that said eat pussy, it’s organic, trying to light a cigarette inside and complaining when Sasha pushed him out into the alley to smoke. There were other kids from their class there too—kids who were at school in Boston, in Maine, in Connecticut. Sasha could tell it embarrassed Mullin that he still lived at home. He was smarter than nearly anyone in there, but instead of living in a dorm in New Haven or Princeton, he was sharing his childhood bedroom and driving back and forth to classes, mowing lawns in the early mornings and cleaning up the empty bottles his father left in the kitchen. She slung an arm around his waist and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go find a place we can be alone. I miss you.”
She had only had half a beer, so she drove them out to the causeway, where they parked on the gravel and looked out at the ocean. It was too cold to get out, so they kissed in the car, moving to the back seat to peel off their clothing. “I don’t have condoms, do you?” she asked.
“Nah, but I won’t finish,” Mullin promised. They started having sex and at first it felt wonderful, but then Sasha began to worry. “Don’t forget to pull out,” she whispered, but Mullin moved faster and faster. He came inside her with a groan and she shoved him off her body.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry, sorry. You felt so good.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“Mullin, I’m not on the pill.”
“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’m sorry.”