The Album: Book One (36 page)

Pete’s apartment is in the coveted neighborhood of Chelsea – which is convenient to his job at Chelsea Market and his dream job at the Food Network. He lives on the twentieth floor of a high-rise overlooking the Hudson River, and his small balcony is a prime spot to watch the fireworks. Anthony brought a date – a cute bubbly brunette that works as an industrial designer for an architectural firm. Pete’s sister and several of his buddies from high school have also arrived to celebrate the birth of a nation and/or the birthday of a stranger.

Natalie sits quietly on the sofa, the very
familiar
sofa, listening to Anthony’s date talk about concrete countertops and tin ceilings. She’s trying desperately to pay attention to the monotone conversation while discreetly staring at Pete. She glances toward the kitchen occasionally, watching him prepare cocktails, but her eyes never linger longer than necessary.

He notices. But Pete is smitten, and he’s willing to wait for the affection from Natalie LeGrange.

Chloe squeezes in next to her cousin, shaking her new bracelet in front of Natalie. “Nice, I will probably borrow that next week.” Natalie watches Adam as he joins Pete in the kitchen . . . she wonders how much Adam knows about the Pete-thing.

Chloe nudges Natalie’s arm and asks, “Hello? Did you have any problems finding Pete’s apartment?”

Natalie was in this apartment less than seven hours ago . . .

“Your directions were excellent,” Natalie responds. She jumps up from the couch and pats Chloe’s head. In the kitchen, she casually drapes her arm over Adam’s shoulder and smiles. Her tone sexy and flirtatious, she asks, “Whatcha making boys?” Natalie learned long ago that her best defense in awkward moments is to use her blatant sexuality as a distraction.

“Cocktails. Here, taste this.” Pete passes Natalie a red glass garnished with blueberries and star fruit. “You’ll like it,” he adds. Their hands brush against each other, nothing to cause a panic, but exciting nonetheless.

“Deliciously tart – like Chloe!” Natalie winks, her witty declaration an excuse to flirt with Pete.

“Chloe, get over here,” Adam beckons.

Chloe makes her way to the kitchen and takes a red version of the cocktail – complete with raspberries and mint leaves. She squeezes in among the group of friends and smiles, taking time to silently acknowledge each of them. “I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on the Fourth of July,” she says.

Adam places his arm around Chloe and then raises his glass. “To Chloe.”

“To freedom,” Pete adds, lifting his glass.

“To dreams,” Natalie whispers.

Chloe raises her glass and toasts. “To liquor and fireworks.”

Yes, fireworks.

T
ANGO FRANTICALLY DIGS
through the diaper bag, searching for a pacifier. “Beth, where is it?”

Bethany and Tango Rizzo brought their little family to New York City for the holiday weekend. They plan to visit cousins in Queens after a quick trip to the Bronx Zoo. Their oldest, Hutch, is playing stickball with some kids while the middle one, Gracie, climbs the monkey bars. Baby Cole is crying and kicking inside the Baby Bjorn fastened snugly against Tango’s chest – hungry, tired and hot.

Bethany removes a blue pacifier and hands it to Tango, patting his head like a pet. “Here, I always keep them in this side pocket.” Bethany walks back to the bench near the playground while Chloe pushes the empty stroller.

“Well, now I know dear,” Tango shouts after her.

Adam and Chloe met the Rizzo family at a park in Brooklyn Heights. Chloe’s heard all the crazy stories about the infamous Tango Rizzo, but this is the first time she’s actually had the pleasure of . . . being disappointed. Tango is a dad. Dad hair. Dad clothes and dad stories. It’s expected of course – Tango’s been a dad since he was eighteen.

Tango sits on the bench next to Adam and exhales loudly. “Dude, don’t have three. Better yet, stop after one.”

“T, your family’s great. How are things in Buffalo?” Adam politely asks. There are a million reasons friendships can start to fade, teenage pregnancy being one of them.

Tango strokes the cheek of a cranky Cole and laughs. “Buffalo fucking sucks. I work ten-hour days at a job I hate and then come home to kids screaming and Bethany in pajamas with spit up crusted on the shoulders. Hutch has baseball practice twice a week and Gracie has speech therapy every Wednesday . . . shit, then I wake up and do it all over again.”

“So, Buffalo hasn’t changed?”

“It ain’t never gonna change! Hey, your mom showed me some pics from your wedding – really wish I could’ve been there, man. At least for your bachelor party.”

Adam nudges Tango in the side. “Come on, you guys had just had the baby. That’s more important than the wedding of your oldest friend.”

“Maybe, but we can’t do shit anymore, man. The kids always come first and Beth
still
wants more.” Tango leans into Adam and whispers, “I have an appointment to get snipped next week.”

“But Bethany’s never looked happier – you’re doing something right,” Adam retorts.

“Happy? Kids fucking change everything. Even the sex is kid-friendly – I’ll be right back.”

Tango walks to the playground area, swiftly handing off the baby to Bethany. She lays Cole in the stroller, kissing his feet and caressing his toes. “Gracie wants a Popsicle – there’s a truck parked over there.” Bethany points to the other side of playground where kids are lining up to get a mid-afternoon snack. “You want something, Chloe?” she asks.

Chloe watches as the two interact with each other. It’s playful and cute and very real. “Oh, no thanks,” she answers.

“Have Hutch help you, I’ll keep an eye on Gracie,” Bethany adds.

Tango kisses the top of Bethany’s head and then strolls through the playground, excitedly waving over his oldest. All kids like the ice cream truck.

Chloe strokes Cole’s bare foot and smiles. “Bethany, Cole is an angel!”

“He’s a stinker and he constantly wants to feed. My boobs are a mess,” she admits.

Chloe glances at Bethany’s full chest before asking, “Oh, how long does that last?”

“I did six months with the other two, so I guess I have a few more months to go. You get used to it, though. Tango doesn’t, he looks away.” She sighs and shrugs her shoulders.

Chloe fidgets uncomfortably on the bench, smiling politely, but clearly affected by hearing the boob news. She stares ahead at Gracie on the swings, her dark hair shimmering in the sunlight, and her little legs pumping with determination. Kids could be fun . . .

Sensing Chloe’s uneasiness, Bethany lightens the subject. “Did Adam ever tell you we dated? Nothing serious.”

Chloe’s eyes grow wide and her mouth opens in disbelief. “Really? Omigod, tell me what he was like in high school!”

Bethany lowers the stroller’s canopy, shading Cole from sun. “Adam was Adam. Mr. Popular, but in a good way. He was the captain of the soccer team and class president – I was a cheerleader, can you believe it?” Bethany laughs as her hand skims over her flaccid stomach. “We only went on a few dates, mostly as friends – there wasn’t any sort of attraction. God, the girls loved him, though. But he never seemed to care . . . Gracie, do not walk up the slide!” Bethany shouts toward the playground.

Chloe is amazed by this insight into her husband. “And what about Tango – how’d you two get together?”

Bethany laughs and shakes her head. “Tango, Tango, Tango. Adam and Tango always had this competitive streak between them – they were so cute together . . . anyway, Adam was planning to ask me to prom our senior year, probably because he didn’t want to get involved with anyone before leaving for college. But when Tango found out, he jumped in and asked me first! I lost my virginity that night . . . and the rest, well, it’s Rizzo history.”

Fate has a funny way of changing the narrative.

“Wow.”

“Nothing romantic or sexy, but I’m glad that little pest asked me to prom,” Bethany adds.

Tango sneaks up behind Bethany with a rainbow-sprinkled ice cream cone. “For my bride,” he says, presenting her with a melting, gooey scoop. “Were you talking about me?”

“Yep, I said,
I hope that dork gets some napkins
!”

“What fun is ice cream with napkins? Right Hutch?” Tango tousles his oldest son’s hair, clearly proud of his achievements as a father and husband. “Beth, honey, we need to start packing things up.”

Chloe glances at Adam and he nods, knowing that she’s about to ask. “You’re leaving so soon? Let’s go for pizza!”

Tango pats Adam’s back and says, “Next time, promise. We gotta be in Whitestone by five. Big Italian feast in our future.”

“Gracie,” Bethany yells toward the playground. “Come on sweetie.”

Adam helps Tango load up their minivan, chatting about the old days at Lake Erie during all those Buffalo summers. Friendship, like any relationship, is hard work. Wrought with good memories, but inevitably compromised by changing variables.

Tango hugs Adam and then shakes his hand. It’s awkward, men that were once boys sneaking into R-rated movies, are now just passing acquaintances. They exchange pleasantries and emails, vowing to keep in touch – Bethany promising to come watch Chloe perform – Adam inviting Tango to a Yankees game – and then they’re gone.

Adam puts his arms around Chloe as they walk back to their apartment. He kisses the top of her head and says, “Can you imagine being parents? I don’t think we’re ready for that.”

“Totally,” Chloe mumbles.

But they totally need to get ready . . . because Chloe’s pregnant.

Natalie jumps up and down claps her hands. “Holy shit! Chloe, are you serious?”

Chloe falls dramatically on the couch of her former apartment and groans. “Where is Sabine anyway?”

“She moved out weeks ago – I thought I told you.” Natalie sits on the couch and places Chloe’s head in her lap. She runs her fingers through Chloe’s hair and smiles. “A baby! Jesus, Chloe – can I be the godmother?”

“Of course you can be the godmother. Are you getting another roommate?” Chloe closes her eyes, soothed by Natalie’s soft strokes.

“Hell no. I’ll just have to make do – maybe it’s time to use some of the money.” Natalie hasn’t touched a cent of the money Zach left her. It’s too difficult to justify a need when everything seems shallow in comparison. But this apartment is the last connection she feels with Zach, and she will do anything to keep it.

Chloe opens her eyes and smiles up at Natalie. “I think that’s a great idea, Nat.”

“Tell me everything. Are your boobs sore? Are you sick? Do you barf at the sight of sardines and mayonnaise?” Natalie cringes with each question.

“Gross, sardines and mayonnaise would make anyone hurl – and no, I feel fine.”

Natalie cocks her head and holds up her hands. “Wait, how many weeks are you?”

“I don’t know, nine maybe.”

Natalie taps the air with her fingers, counting back to nine weeks. “Holy shit! On your honeymoon?”

Chloe shrugs her shoulders and exhales. “Possibly. Maybe before.”

“How is that possible?”

“I didn’t take the pill regularly – you know that. And then I needed to lose a few pounds for my dress so I didn’t take it for a solid week before the wedding, and well, all the sex we were having – it happened.”

“Omigod – does Adam know?”

“Not exactly.”

“Yes or no?”

“No,” Chloe whispers.

Natalie’s mouth widens into an enormous smile. “He’s going to freak! Actually, no – it’s Adam, he probably knew the moment of conception.”

Chloe sits up from her relaxing repose and stares at the ceiling. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t even know until last night.”

“Well, then when are you telling him?” Natalie snaps her fingers in front of Chloe’s dazed face.

“I can’t.”

Natalie narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “This isn’t like buying five hundred dollar shoes and telling him you bought them at the Flea Market. I think he’ll notice when a baby falls from your cooter in nine months.”

“Nat, he doesn’t want kids yet – he made that very clear. Shit, he’s going to be so pissed.”

“Maybe, but he
loves
you.”

“He
loves
control,” Chloe insists.

“Then
he
should’ve taken birth control. Things happen – Adam should understand that by now . . . especially with a flake like you!”

“You’re not helping.”

“Okay – how can I help?”

Chloe sits on her leg and grabs Natalie’s hand. “Well, do you think you could talk to him? Like, meet him for lunch and talk about babies.”

“Just stop by and talk about babies? That sounds like a Laverne and Shirley shenanigan. Which by the way, you’re totally Shirley.”

“Really? I think we’re more like Tootie and Natalie.”

Natalie snorts. “Gag, no! How ’bout Blanche and Rose? You’re definitely as dumb as Rose.”

“True, and you’re definitely a slut like Blanche.”

Natalie arrives at Adam’s office with a tray of Starbucks and a well-thought out plan. She smiles politely at the secretary and says, “Hello, I would like to speak with Adam . . . briefly.”