Page 26 of Like It's 1999

Shaking my head, I step into his chest. As his arms surround me, I realize we’ve never done this before. I would have remembered a hug like this.

I must be getting old if a hug feels better than sex.

Later that night, Kate taps on the door of her guestroom. “Alice, are you okay?”

The concern in Kate’s voice has the damn tears leaking again. “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

“Alice, it’s me. Can I come in? Please?”

Grabbing a tissue, I swipe it across my face. I really don’t know if I can deal with anybody right now. Even Kate. “Yeah, okay. I mean, it’s your house.”

The door cracks open, and she peeks in. “Oh, honey.”

I can’t stand the pity on her face. Shaking my head, I try to rally. “What are you doing up? Isn’t this way past your bedtime?”

“Oh yeah, but Imogen had a nightmare, and then I nursed the baby. And then I saw your light was on.” She closes the door behind her and sits next to me on the bed. “I’m sorry I fell asleep before we could really hang out.”

“It’s okay. I don’t know how you do it all.”

“As Will used to say, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Anyway, they’re worth it.” The bliss-fueled smile on her face—the fact that she’s obviously so happy—has me tearing up again. “Sweetie, what’s going on?”

I am such a bad friend. How can I resent her good fortune? It’s not her fault that my life is a wreck. It’s my own damn fault. “I don’t want to ruin this visit and your anniversary with my stupid drama.”

“You idiot.” She scoots close and puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re my best friend. Your drama is my drama.”

I relax into her side. I must be hug deprived. “My life is a complete and total mess.” I make a show of looking at my watch. “This could take all night.”

“Like I said, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Didn’t Warren Zevon write a song called ‘I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead’?”

“You’re asking me?” She gives me mom eyes. “Spill.”

“Okay, okay. Make yourself comfortable.”

I shift back to sit against the headboard, she lies down across the end of the bed, and I tell my sad, stupid story—how Tim and my mom berated me about having kids until I went off the pill. How I’ve been pregnant five times and how each one has ended in a miscarriage.

“And the thing is”—I push the words past the stupid tears clogging my throat—“I’ve never even wanted to have children. My body is probably rejecting them because it knows I’ll be a crappy mother.”

“That is not true.” Kate grabs my ankle and shakes it until I meet her gaze. “You will be an amazing mom if it works out. But… obviously, if you really don’t want kids, you shouldn’t be, like, forced to have them. It’s the twentieth century, for god’s sake.” Then she smacks me. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Ow. I don’t know.” I sigh. “It all just snowballed. Miscarriages—it’s all so weird. I mean, none of them were particularly late, so it’s not like I felt the baby moving or anything. But it’s weird. I feel this loss, but I also feel relieved.” I grab a tissue and blow my nose. “Like maybe they’re my ticket out. Because even while my mom can’t stop talking about howgreatit is that we live in thebestsuburb of Atlanta, how my house issobeautiful and my husband issoaccomplished? What I get to tell her when I get home is: He wants a divorce.”

“Seriously?”

“Since I can’t get pregnant, he doesn’t want to be married to me. The asshole didn’t even have the balls to tell me to my face. He had his fucking secretary type it up in a letter that he left on my dresser.” I stutter out a laugh. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure he’s having an affair with one of his nurses. It’s all so… tawdry.” For some reason, this makes me giggle. “My parents are gonna kill me.”

Kate shifts to face me. “Listen. Your parents will get over it. You can’t live your life for them.” She nudges my thigh. “And in the future, please trust me. You’ve been there for me through every tough thing in my life. Let me be there for you.”

“‘It’s really human of you to listen to all my bullshit.’” I’m such a dumbass—I’m making myself cry. Not only do I not deserve a friend like her, quotingSixteen Candlesreminds me of Steve. I still feel shitty for giving him the brush-off earlier.

“I love you, Al Pal. You’re my best friend.”

Pushing thoughts of the man who got away to the side, I focus on the girl who’s here with me now. “I know, Kay Kay. I love you too.”

Kate’s kids make sure that we don’t sleep in on the first day of 1995, but it’s okay. We make pancakes and drink coffee and gossip. She snaps at Will when he lets the dog lick baby food off of Imogen’s high chair but laughs when the dog licks the little girl’s face. They’re not perfect, but they’re good together. That is obvious.

What’s also obvious? My marriage sucks and always has. Marrying someone to get your parents to stop bugging you is a really stupid thing to do. So now I’ve got to suck it up, go back to Atlanta, and figure out how to get through getting out of it.

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