Best Friends Forever (40 page)
Read Best Friends Forever Online
Authors: Jennifer Weiner
Tags: #Female Friendship, #Contemporary Women, #Humorous, #General, #Fiction, #Literary, #Illinois, #Humorous Fiction
That would be interesting, I guessed.
I rubbed my back again, then scratched my bel y, which itched al the time. In the wake of our adventure—and that was consistently how she referred to it, as “our adventure”—I’d seen a lot of my best friend. After her month off, Val had gone back to work, and back to her condo in Chicago, but she’d signed up for improv classes—in case, she said, she decided to leave the glamorous life of a meteorologist for the even
more
glamorous
life
of
a
thirtysomething wannabe actress. Every weekend she came to Pleasant Ridge, taking over the guest bedroom where no guests had ever slept, fil ing the house with her music, her chatter, her self-help books and baby books, the bags of designer maternity clothes and crates of kale, her running shoes, unlaced and stuffed with her socks, by the door. Once in a while, she’d join me and Jon for Wednesday-night pierogi. Jon was delighted that he was going to be an uncle—he’d made a sign with the baby’s due date for his room, and one for the refrigerator, and a reminder card for his wal et—and he’d used his employee discount at Walgreens to buy a NUMBER
ONE BABY onesie, a state-of-the-art wipe warmer, and more diapers than I’d need for a year.
“Who cares what people think?” Val asked impatiently. “Jeez. You can’t worry about that.
You should see what they say about me on the Internet.”
I grinned at her new-and-improved, post
–Key West attitude. The truth was, Jordan and I had talked about it. He’d told me I was worrying too much—“buying trouble” was how he put it. There were kids who didn’t look like their parents al over the place now, and nontraditional arrangements were normal—“practical y normal,” I thought he’d said. He knew of kids with single moms, with two moms, with two dads, which meant that nobody would look at us strangely, or comment on how the two of us and the baby didn’t match. “If anyone asks, tel them you got her at Target,” he’d said. I figured at some point I’d have to come up with an explanation: for the world, for my daughter, maybe even for Vijay, whom I hadn’t been in touch with—but that could wait. For now, I was painting the bedroom, assembling the strol er and the crib, instal ing the car seat, taking classes in infant first aid and CPR
…and being with Jordan, who came by every night after work.
Val stood up, groaning dramatical y (she’d been weeding for al of seven minutes). Then, shading her eyes, she looked out across the street. “Check it out,” she said, pointing across the street. “New neighbors.”
“Real y?” The DiMeos’ house—for that was how I would always think of it, no matter how many times it changed hands—had gone on the market in April. The FOR SALE sign had come down six weeks later, but in the euphoric blur of my pregnancy and being with Jordan, I hadn’t spared the new homeowners a thought. Now I watched as a moving van pul ed up to the curb, and two men got out of the cab. One of them had a braided goatee and an iPod strapped to his arm. The other had rubber plugs the size of wine corks in his earlobes. They walked around to the back of the truck and pul ed open its gated door.
A hybrid car whispered to a stop behind the moving van, and a man and a woman got out. She looked to be about our age—in her early thirties—and she was pregnant. Valerie squealed and gave me a little shove. “Oh my God, it’s perfect! Go say hi!”
I shook my head, feeling my little-girl shyness rushing back. The woman was staring at the DiMeos’ house—her house now. Then she turned, said something to the movers, and turned again and looked at us.
“Go on,” Val said. I took a deep breath and crossed the street to the DiMeos’ front yard, where our new neighbor was waiting.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Addie Downs. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
The woman’s face lit up. “Hey, you too!”
she said.
I patted my bel y. “Me too.”
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“A girl,” I said, and her smile widened.
“Me too!” Her name was Pam Rol ins, wife of Sean, twenty-two weeks along. “It’s so pretty here. I didn’t think I’d like it. Sean and I lived in a high-rise, so this…” She looked around and made a wry, funny face. “Big change. We’re not used to al this green. But, you know, the city…” Her voice trailed off. “We wanted to start our family somewhere safe.”
I nodded. I could have told her that places that look safe sometimes aren’t. I could have said that pretty houses and neatly kept lawns didn’t mean that bad things didn’t happen in the basements or the backyards or the woods…but I kept my mouth shut. Maybe someday she’d learn for herself. Or maybe she’d be lucky and she would never find out.
Valerie, who’d pul ed off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket, crossed the street to join us. “Valerie, this is Pam Rol ins.
”
“You’re living in my old house,” said Val. Pam nodded…then, shyly, she said,
“You’re on Fox News, right?”
“I am,” said Val, and turned to me. “See, not everyone gets the weather on their cel phone.”
“Right,” I said, and smiled at my friend before turning back to Pam. “Do you need anything? Directions to the grocery store? Pediatricians’ names?”
“We’re al set,” she said. “This is just so perfect!”
“Perfect,” Val agreed. “Maybe your girls wil be friends.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I am grateful for the hard work and stewardship of my agent, Joanna Pulcini, who is dedicated, enthusiastic, and given to writing “make this more poetic!” in my margins (which, it turns out, does not mean that the passage in question should rhyme). Joanna believed in me six books ago and believes in me stil , and I’m so happy that we’ve built our careers together. And that I can stop trying to gratuitously insert the word “Nantucket” into my novels.
My amazing editor, Greer Hendricks, has been with me for every book I’ve written. Greer is a shining star for her good judgment, humor, generosity, kindness, and endless reservoirs of calm.
My thanks to Joanna’s assistant, Mol y Ahrens; Greer’s assistant, Sarah Walsh; and my assistant, the funny, friendly, and altogether fabulous Meghan Burnett.
I am grateful to work with everyone at Atria Books, the most enthusiastic, attentive, and hardworking publishers in the business. My thanks to my publishers, Judith Curr at Atria and Carolyn Reidy at Simon & Schuster; to Nancy Inglis, who has the unfortunate job of copyedit-ing my manuscripts; and to Deb Darrock, Natalie White, Kathleen Schmidt, Lisa Keim, Christine Duplessis, Craig Dean, and Jeanne Lee. Across the pond, I am very lucky to work with Suzanne Baboneau, Julie Wright, Ian Chapman, Jessica Leeke, and Nigel Stoneman at Simon & Schuster UK. Lucky is the writer who has publicist Marcy Engelman and her girls, Dana Gidney Fetaya and Emily Gambir, on her team, and who gets the fabulous Jessica Fee to arrange her speaking gigs.
For technical expertise, my thanks to Detective Sergeant Gary Pierce of the Haddonfield, New Jersey, Police Department and Detective Sergeant John Stil wagon of the Lower Merion Police Department; to Sara Jacobson for explaining the legalities of fictitious hit-and-runs at high school reunions; and to Sue Serio of Fox 29 Philadelphia for details on the secret lives of on-air personalities.
Curtis Sittenfeld and Elizabeth LaBan were generous and perceptive first readers. I am lucky to have wonderful friends and family, near, far, and on Facebook, who supply me with laughs, companionship, and raw material (a special shout-out to Jeff Greenstein for being hil-arious and helpful and loving Harry Crews’s Body as much as I did). Jake and Joe Weiner are not only my little brothers, they also take care of me out on the coast, and my sister Mol y is an endless font of inspiration and amusement. I’m grateful to my Nanna, Faye Frumin; to my mom, Fran; and to my mother’s partner, Clair Kaplan, for laughing with me and at me. Thanks also to Terri Gottlieb, who takes care of my girls while I’m working.
Last but never least, al my love to my husband, Adam, and our girls, Phoebe and Lucy, who make everything else worthwhile
…and to al of my readers, who’ve come with me this far.
