The Dirty Book Club(72)

“It will,” M.J. said.

Then she stuffed the contract inside her crocodile purse, on the off chance that she was wrong.



* * *



ADDIE DRAGGED A hand sluggishly across her face. “You’re judging me,” she muttered. “I can feel your condescending glare widening my pores.”

“I’m not judging,” M.J. said, over her pinot grigio headache made worse by six hours in a middle seat, an in-flight chicken wrap, and a long crawl home from the Los Angeles airport in a Lyft that smelled like cumin. And now beeping machines and whiffs of steamed asparagus. She tried to open the window. It was sealed shut.

“If you’re not judging, why do I feel all hot and melty?”

“It’s the pain meds,” M.J. said. She needed a hot shower, a toothbrush, and an explanation as to why Addie had a baby-carrot-sized lump on her forehead and tubes in her arms. She sat in the nubby chair by Addie’s bed and refused to faint.

“What happened?”

“Cramps,” Addie said, her complexion beige as the curtain that divided the room. “One minute I’m helping Easton pack up the bookstore and the next, I’m on all fours.”

“Why?”

“Verizon is buying it, can you believe? Ew, right?”

“No, why all fours?”

“Worst. Pain. Ever. Like a cat inside my stomach clawing its way out. And the blood? It wasn’t a super-plus tampon amount, it was a shove-two-mattresses-up-there amount. The Wrath section looked like a crime scene.”

M.J. gripped her tingling knees.

“I don’t have insurance, so I called Dan. After that I’m not really sure what happened. I passed out at some point”—she indicated the lump—“and I woke up in here after a transfusion, CT scan, and surgery.”

M.J. hung her head between her knees while the nurse checked Addie’s vitals, changed her bags, updated her charts, and adjusted her tubes.

“Who knew miscarriages were so grizzly?” Addie said after she left.

M.J. lifted her head. “Miscarriage? You said you had an abortion.”

“Did I?”

M.J. helped herself to Addie’s ice chips. “Okay, now I’m judging. Why would you lie about that?”

“I didn’t want David to know I was keeping the baby, and you were like, the last person I trusted.”

“I’m lost.”

Addie rolled onto her side and faced the window. “When he found out I was pregnant he broke up with that little girlfriend of his and proposed.” The beeps on the heart machine quickened, the wavy lines became jagged spikes. “How messed up is that?”

“It’s not messed up, Addie, it’s sweet,” M.J. said. “He loves you. And I know you love him.”

“I do.” Addie breathed, her throat too dry for sound. “But I don’t want kids.”

“So you told him you had an abortion?”

Addie nodded, loosening her tears. “I’m going to Europe,” she said. “He never would have known, everything would have been fine.”

“Except for the part about you being pregnant and not wanting kids.”

“I was going to have the baby there and then put it up for adoption. Think of all those women like Liddy who wanted . . . and couldn’t—” Addie turned back and looked at M.J. for the first time. Her gaze was hollow and unsteady, her electric-green eyes dim. “It felt like the right thing to do.” The beeps on the machine slowed. “Did you come back from New York to tell me what an idiot I am?”

“No.” M.J. grinned. “I came back from New York to hold your hand.”

Addie thanked her with a weak squeeze and a grateful smile—a smile that returned one hour later when she woke up and saw that M.J. was still there.





CHAPTER


Twenty-Four


Pearl Beach, California

Friday, September 16

Full Moon

NOTHING SAYS REFUGEE camp like a hot paraffin wax treatment and two coats of Pink Flamenco,” M.J. said when she returned home from her mani-pedi, hands splayed to avoid smudging. “Wait,” she said to Addie, who was jamming the last of her satin robes—of which there were many—into her suitcase. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m not the one leaving, you are,” she said. “Unless you’re finally over this whole Africa thing.”

“Nope. We’re going tonight. But I thought you were staying here while we’re gone.”

“I was, until David said I could have Michael’s old room until I leave for London, which, according to Dr. Dan should be in about two weeks, and I’d rather not be alone.” Addie stood carefully, hand on belly as she scored her pain with an old person’s grunt. At least she could stand. It was progress. Color had returned to her face, which was thinner now, her cheekbones sharper, and yet her edge had softened.

Hands still splayed, M.J. began folding the sheets and blankets that Addie had used during her stay. “So why Michael’s room? Why not David’s?”

“Hannah’s back, and I’m not sure she’d like it,” Addie said. “Though I’m not opposed.”

“So, what—you’re, like, platonic now? How long will that last?”