Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Twenty

I probably knew it was a mistake when I made the decision, but I also think I needed to find that out for myself. It had been months since I'd been in a social situation that didn't involve stale cookies and heavy usage of the word "feelings." Months since I'd seen any of my past-life friends but Julia. Four months since Al died, five months since my baby girl began, and one month since my non-wedding. Four months until my baby girl became a real baby. My life was being tracked in these mostly-bitter sometimes-sweet monthly reminders.

But now was the time for In-Control Jennifer, not burrowing-under-blankets Jennifer. In-Control Jennifer embraced bad decisions, because at least they were decisions and not the avoidance of anything resembling responsibility. So I picked out a black dress that was, if not completely flattering, slimming to the point that I only looked as if grief had driven me to consume tubs of ice cream, not as if I were unbearably knocked up. Just mildly knocked up, I admitted to myself. At five months it was getting impossible to hide completely, but at least I could give others a semblance of a chance to ignore what was staring them in the eye. The part of me that enjoyed discomfiting others wanted my friends to notice I was pregnant and to see them struggle to avoid looking at or discussing the awkwardly obvious. But the part of me that was rooting for a healthier approach to life insisted on ignoring the meaner part of me. I was grasping desperately for a foothold in a climb out of my sinkhole of self-pity, and now that life had handed me some positive turns, I was going to hold on to that upward climb for all I was worth. And tonight that meant going to Cassie's wedding.

Julia was coming to pick me up and, being my ride each way, had promised to leave if I started to feel uncomfortable. It worked out well for her too—in my current condition, I was the quintessential designated driver. Minus, of course, the latest development in my litany of pregnancy ailments: The sudden and all-encompassing onset of car sickness whenever I was in a car for more than 5 minutes. It didn't make me the best driver, or even passenger for that matter, but I'd gotten better at holding back the hurling until I pulled over and opened the door. Just in case, though, I wore a long sweater over my dress to protect against any wayward vomit.

"You shouldn't be feeling nauseous anymore," Mom had told me, as if I were doing it on purpose to toy with her.

"Oh," I said. "Okay. Thanks." It was helpful to be told that my pregnancy symptoms were not only annoying and painful but also unwarranted.

"You look beautiful!" Julia exclaimed when I opened the door. I snorted. It wasn't that she was lying—Julia wouldn't dream of lying—it was that she was so damn sweet that anyone she liked automatically looked beautiful to her. I was sweating stains under my pits and my hair was already frizzing around my face. I was wearing the only shoes that fit around my cankles, and they went out of style approximately along with frizzy hair. I was objectively the opposite of beautiful.

Julia, on the other hand, looked casually stunning. Julia wore her natural beauty like an old T-shirt, without effort, but that didn't stop her from exuding more allure without makeup than any store could ever hope to sell in a bottle. It was exhausting trying to compete with her, so we just never did. She genuinely thought all men were nice, because all men were nice to her. "He was just being friendly," was a common protest of hers from our college barhopping days, when the man in question had just dropped $100 on drinks for us, drooling profusely into his own as he stared at Julia. In other words, she led the charmed life of a model without the ego of realizing why. If I make her sound perfect, it's because she is. To men, though, she was intimidating; they tended to ask her out in droves, then drop her when they realized there was a personality as beautiful as her body once you got to know her. They wanted a face, not a girlfriend. So she considered herself undateable, which had always been the greatest irony for someone who had the whole package.