Page 86 of For Eva

I squeezed his arms. “Tonight. I promise. But I’mnotgetting off the pill yet.”

“Just think about it,” he pleaded, pulling me closer and kissing my neck. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“How about you stop asking and let me make this shit to take to your sister’s,” I said as I wiggled out of his grip.

He twisted his mouth into a sly grin and picked up his wine before disappearing into the living room.

I sighed, examining the back of the can of green beans, trying to figure out how to make good on my promise of side dishes for Thanksgiving dinner. As I dug through the bottom cabinets for a mixing bowl, I wondered if a certain Hollywood actress was making a casserole for her boyfriend. Or if they were in bed, having the sex I may or may not have forgotten how to have.

FORTY-SIX

February 1998

From: Eva Mitchell

To: Denise Abbott

Date: February 16, 1998 8:05PM

Subject: Miss You

Hi, My Very Best Friend in the Entire World.

Just got Drew out of the bath. Aaron is putting him to bed, and I’m sitting here wishing you lived next door so I could sneak over and have a glass of wine and cigarette before I crash. Afraid if I whip out a smoke in front of my current neighbor, she’d never let our kids play together again.

Kidding. Kind of.

Although I probably shouldn’t do that at all. Because I sort of think I’m pregnant again. I mean, I guess I know I am. I missed my period, my boobs hurt, and I cried at lunch today because the lady at McDonald’s told me the milkshake machine was broken. I should know by now that fucking thing is always broken, but I peeled away from the drive-thru, drove ten miles to Sonic, andsobbed in the parking lot while I scarfed down a large order of tots AND a strawberry shake. Which I immediately regretted because I almost threw up when I got back to work.

God, Denise. Can I do this again? You know Aaron has been nonstop about having another since Drew turned two, and I somehow managed to put it off until now. I mean, it’s not that I’m not happy. I am, but I’m also worried. How do I manage my job, a kid who’ll be five this year, and a newborn? I literally just got promoted to VP of the whole damn marketing department, and now I have to go confess to my boss that I’m knocked up. You have to tell me before I flip my shit and go get more tots.

Love you.

From: Denise Abbott

To: Eva Mitchell

Date: February 17, 1998 12:46PM

Subject: Re: Miss You

Eva! How have you not learned to call with news like this?! I just left a voicemail on your home phone yelling at you even though I know you’re at work. And I’m not calling you there because we don’t need you bawling your eyes out while trying to run an entire marketing department (congrats, big shot :).

So first off, take a deep breath. If I can do this, anyone can—because, as you know, I despise children, yet have had three. I suppose I agreed to the second and third at some point, but I don’t really recall. It’s all a blur. I also really don’t understand how we ended up with men who seem to enjoy the little shits so much.

Did I write that out loud?

OK, but seriously, this is happy news. They may be shits, but they’re cute shits. And they’re our shits. Drew will love having a brother or sister, and once you see that baby, you know you’re gonna fall completely and totally in love. Work will take care of itself. YOU ARE A TOTAL BADASS, AND YOU’VE GOT THIS!

Speaking of work, I have to run across town to a meeting. But go pee on a stick and call me tonight.

XOXO

FORTY-SEVEN

Eva

June 2003

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