Chapter 12

It is better to know as little as

possible of the defects of the person

with whom you are to pass your life.

 — Pride and Prejudice


Why was it that when you finally decided you really, truly wanted something, it seemed as though everyone but you had it already or was on the verge of getting it?

Four months later, it was April. Di was five months pregnant, expecting a boy (or so said the ultrasound) and newly attuned to what was happening in the Wide World of Pregnancy.

“Guess who’s having triplets?” she said while we were sorting infant clothing at her place one morning.

WXRJ’s Wild Ted was spinning top hits of the 1980s, which brought back some memories. I cranked up the volume on Journey’s “Stone in Love,” tossed a fuzzy blue sack-like sleeper atop the pile of already-washed items and said, “Who?”

“You will never guess.”

“Spit it out, Di.”

She grinned. “Angelique.”

“No!”

“Yep. No one’s supposed to know yet because she isn’t telling Aunt Candice and Uncle Craig for another month, but she let it slip when I was talking to her on the phone yesterday. She made me promise to tell only you.” Di’s grin broadened. “Seems those fertility treatments of hers finally kicked in.”

Our cousin had experienced secondary infertility after Lyssa’s birth so, once she and Leo reached the five-year mark, they began experimenting with more-medical, less-natural conception strategies. This latest one must’ve proven fruitful.

“Wow,” I said. “I’m so happy for her.” And I really was. She’d gone through several years of heartache and trauma for this.

“I know.” Di gently rubbed her growing belly. Then she rolled her eyes. “But triplets? C’mon. Angelique was always such an overachiever.”

I laughed. “You never know, Di. Your son could be one of those go-getters, too. There’s no way to say what combination of genes a child will inherit.”

“Especially in my case,” she said, a hint of defiance in her voice. Di had staunchly refused to try to determine the baby’s exact paternal source and claimed to have no intention of doing so later. “All I can tell you for sure is that my kid’s not gonna grow up to be some loser man. I’m gonna teach him to treat women with respect. No sex before the first date. No belching or farting on purpose in the car. No jars of anchovies for Valentine’s Day.”

I looked at her. “Jars of anchovies?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I won’t.” I folded an outfit with yellow footies and added it to the ready-to-wear pile, then I watched Di inspect the tiny socks and T-shirts and hats. She touched each one with reverence, her love for this unborn baby palpable. “You’re going to be a terrific mom,” I told her. “No chance your little guy will turn out to be anything but a great man.”

She glanced up at me. “Thanks, El. He’s lucky to have you for an auntie, too.” She paused then said, “’Cuz you sure as hell won’t be anything like Aunt Candice.”

We giggled like teenagers at the thought. To this day that woman still didn’t like either of us. But Di and I had changed how we viewed each other. And more than marginally.

Although we remained fundamentally dissimilar in personality, we’d each gained an almost grudging admiration for the other and, more recently, we’d further bonded over our various dating trials and anxieties. She’d even suggested poisoning Tim’s morning latte when she heard what he’d done to me. And, though I turned her down, I appreciated the offer.

The phone rang.

Di stood and waddled over to pick it up, dancing the whole way to Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf.” I fell backward laughing.

“Yeah?” she said, grinning into the black plastic receiver.

There was a long pause. I turned my gaze toward her and saw the color drain from her face and the bright smile replaced with a scowl. I flipped off the radio.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled.

Another extended pause.

“Well…maybe I could.” This time she looked to be on the verge of a panic attack, and I started to worry. Was someone hurt? Mom? Dad? Gregory? Dear God, had someone died?

“Um, okay,” Di said. “Bye.” Then she stood there, the phone still in her hand, staring at the receiver as if it might bite her.

I jumped up, took the phone from her and clicked it off. “This seems bad. What happened?”

“I’m not sure.”

I shook my head, my pulse racing in my veins. “What aren’t you sure of, Di? Was it a family member? Is someone in the hospital?”

“It was Alex.”

“Oh,” I said, but I thought, Screw that jerk. He had me worried for nothing.

“He wants to ‘do lunch’ with me this week.”

“What? After all this time? Why?”

“Because he misses me, or so he says. And he just wants to get together and talk.”

I wasn’t sure what emotion Di wanted me to feel at this news. Happy for her? Nervous on her behalf? But what I did feel was anger. Fury, in fact. What made that idiot think he could waltz back into my sister’s life now, when she was finally kind of happy again, and just pick up their conversation where they’d left off? Sure, she’d been the one to leave him, but why hadn’t he tried harder all those years ago? Why hadn’t he fought to get her back?

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice betraying just how mystified she was by her own decision.

Then I remembered something. “I didn’t hear you say much to him, Di, so maybe I missed it, but did you tell him you were pregnant?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. That’s probably going to surprise him. You might want to call him back and mention — ”

“He already knows.”

My jaw dropped and I had to instruct it to shut again. A moment later I managed to say, “He does?”

“Yeah. He saw me in the parking lot when he drove by Baby Utopia last weekend. “He — he asked me if I was okay, and he said he wants to hear all about the pregnancy and stuff when we have lunch.”

“Umm…” I couldn’t think of anything to say beyond this. What were Alex’s darker motives? I didn’t know. Did it have to do with some possessive, territorial thing a man channeled when he knew “his woman” had moved on?

As my sister stood still, the gears in her mind doubtless spinning faster to assimilate this late development, Jane offered her company in Di’s place.

Why must Mr. Evans’s motives be ominous? Jane inquired. Might he not simply wish to enjoy the liveliness of your sister’s company once more?

I snorted — internally, of course. He’s a GUY, I told Jane. His motives are to get laid, to be waited on or to find some alternate entertainment in post-football season. In that order. Real life doesn’t provide women with many Mr. Darcy types.

Your Mr. Farthington III had some elements of Darcy, Jane said.

Keyword: “Elements,” I retorted. Dammit. She always defended Tim to some extent, but I was pretty sure it was only because he’d gotten me that Peacock Edition of her book. Tim had Bingley manners and a Darcy family, it’s true. But he sure didn’t have Darcy’s strength of character or Bingley’s determination to commit to a woman in marriage —

Or your heart, Ellie. He did not have your heart either, Jane said. You did not give your soul to that man any more than he gave his to you.

This was not entirely untrue, but I really hadn’t planned on confessing it. It may well have been the reason why my breakup with Tim, while painful, wasn’t as ultimately devastating as it’d been with Andrei…or with Sam. Anyway, we’re not talking about Tim, we’re talking about Alex, I insisted.

Exactly, Jane said. They are two different men. Perhaps you ought not to judge one by the faults of the other. Most particularly when some blame with the former belongs to you.

I shrugged. Maybe I’d been a tiny bit emotionally, oh, careful with Tim, but he still refused to make a commitment to me. And he used the I-don’t-want-a-kid thing as an excuse, which was despicable.

Might you consider that your very detachment, which you term “carefulness,” may have added to young Mr. Farthington’s indecision?

What? So, you’re saying I should’ve acted more affectionately than I felt, especially at the end when I suspected he was lying to me? C’mon, Jane, I’m no Charlotte Lucas. Dammit. She was making me out to sound almost as mercenary as the Pride and Prejudice character who married odious Mr. Collins for a life of relative comfort. I didn’t appreciate the comparison.

True. But you DID wish to secure him. And you must admit that your desire for marriage was, perhaps, stronger than your desire for the man himself.

I don’t want to get married just to get married, I said, even though the loneliness was so strong sometimes and the temptation to settle overpowering. I want to be head-over-high-heels in love.

Then you will need to open your heart again to welcome that love, Ellie. When your relationship with Mr. Farthington ended, you opened your heart to the pain, but you have not, as yet, opened it to the possibility of joy.

I really hated it when Jane was right. “Okay,” I whispered aloud.

“What’s okay?” Di asked, her complexion still wan, but it looked like she’d recovered somewhat.

I’d nearly forgotten she was still standing there, but I said, “Us. We’re going to be okay. And if Alex does anything to upset you or the baby, Gregory and I will hunt down the creep and dislocate every one of his fingers. Slowly.”