Page 62 of A Happy Catastrophe

“Millie,” I said. “Ariana has Justin, and he is a wonderful class of young man.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” my mother said. “At her age, she needs to experience a fuller range of young men. That way she can see her way more clearly to what she really wants in life. We women don’t have to settle for the ragtag group of guys we see right in front of us when we’re teenagers, you know. In fact, with all due respect to your matchmaking powers, may I add that we may not need to settle for any man at all.”

And now, having gotten Ariana to sit up straight, she’s fired up to go on to fashion advice: pointing out that it’s considered kind of mysterious and even classy when a woman doesn’t quite show her midriff in every single outfit. And that leggings are perhaps not exactly the same thing as pants. To my surprise, the Amazings just take Millie’s fashion advice as if it’s something eccentric and adorable and worth following.

I almost can’t stand being at the Frippery lately. I feel as though I’m just going through the motions, a person who has been forsaken by magic. Everything I believed in feels like it’s been shown to be stupid and wrong-headed. Magic? Sparkles? Oh, please. I don’t remember how it is that matchmaking happens. I look around for sparkles in the air, and even when I squint hard, I can’t find them. And I can’t even find the energy to participate in all the lively, bustling conversations taking place. Everything seems a little bit ridiculous, if you want to know the truth of it. I find myself yawning a lot, wanting to be in the back room adding up numbers into columns, filling out the forms for ordering. Kat, who told me she was sure this day would never come between Patrick and me, now looks at me with worry in her eyes and just shakes her head.

“Aren’t you even going to mention the universe anymore?” she asked me one morning.

“What is this thing called the universe?” I said. “I don’t know what crazy concept you could be referring to.” And she came over and gave me a hug, which made my eyes fill up with tears. Again.

One day I hear my mother wading into the ongoing, ever-present Frippery discussion that should be called, “What Should We Think About Janelle.” Janelle is the friend of the Amazings, the young woman who is pregnant and regretting it. Unlike Ariana, who is refusing to go to college, Janelle has already gotten an early acceptance and scholarship to Boston University, and baby or no baby, she wants to go there. But how can she? She doesn’t have the money or childcare, or the time. It’s an ongoing situation, and everybody who comes into the Frippery gets drawn into this conversation, it seems.

“She’s steering that massive belly through the halls of the school,” says Ariana. “Trying to get all her work done. But you can see how upset she is. Water just kind of leaks from her eyes these days.”

“She’s crying because of that scumbag who got her pregnant and then didn’t stay with her,” says Charmaine, but Ariana doesn’t like that kind of talk. She starts waving her arms.

“No, no, no! Matt is not a scumbag. He’s a normal guy with a normal life, and neither one of them thought there was going to be a pregnancy, so it’s not like he went back on some promise he made. I get sick of people trashing him.”

“But he gets to go to college, and she doesn’t. That seems massively unfair,” says Charmaine. “She’s the one who has to suffer, while he gets off scot-free.”

“Also, I think he should be required to stick by her at least while she’s carrying his child, don’t you think?” says Dahlia. “He certainly shouldn’t be hooking up with Lulu.”

“Who’s to say he shouldn’t be hooking up with somebody else?” Ariana wants to know. “Janelle and Matt are not technically a couple and if they ever were, it lasted about twenty minutes. And boom! She got pregnant and wanted to keep the kid, and he didn’t have a say in it one way or the other—and now he’s met somebody he’s really into, and so what’s the big deal?”

“What do you mean, they’re not a couple? They’re the very definition of a couple,” points out my mother. “They are a couple that is actually, technically and physically, becoming a new person. Their DNA is mingling.”

“I know that,” says Ariana. “But it’s not like it used to be. Back when couples had to get married because there was a kid on the way, whether you liked the person or not. And who’s to say that Matt and Janelle and the new girlfriend might not all figure out a way to raise this kid? You know?” She flings her arms out, describing a threesome with her hands in the air, a series of circles and gestures. “Stranger things have happened, you know. Maybe they’ll all find an apartment near Boston University and Janelle can go to school, and the other two can, too, if they want, and everybody takes turns taking care of the baby. Big deal. That’s a decent life for everybody.”

I hear my mother get a bit louder, at full Millie MacGraw Force now. “That is patently ridiculous, and it’s a pipe dream, and not the way humans are built. What you need to tell Janelle, if you want to be a good friend to her, is that she should consider putting the child up for adoption. There’s no shame in that, none at all,” she says. “Some of the finest people I know were adopted, including my husband.”

I’m at the counter trimming flowers, and I keep my mouth shut, because I’m resigning from being the person who brings up seemingly impossible possibilities. I might not believe in those anymore. I also don’t tell people anymore what they should do.

And to be honest, for self-preservation, I have to shut down part of myself when Janelle herself comes in, bloomingly pregnant and unhappy about it. She’s a lovely, brown-haired girl-next-door type of girl, pale but shiny, with her gigantic winter coat and her Ugg boots, plodding through the winter waiting for a springtime baby she doesn’t want. She floats in like a moony celebrity guest star—and the Amazings, including Justin and Mookie if they’re around, give her hugs and kisses, and help her find a comfortable place to sit down. I hate it that I feel so acutely my own grief about the pregnancy I will probably never have. I look at her there, so morose and yet looking as though her body is on a brilliant mission, and I want to cry for both of us.

We always give her flowers, Kat and I, because she is in need of comfort. We give her raspberry tea, and we prop her feet up on the beanbag chairs, and we tell her she’s beautiful and that she’ll be fine, and that life will take care of everything. But I can’t say I really believe any of that anymore, and sometimes when she’s here, I find myself going into the back room and letting my tears fall, quietly, on the ledger sheets.

My mother, as far as I know, never does tell her about the adoption thing.

Which is just as well. If I were Janelle, I’m not sure I’d be looking for more people’s opinions as to what I should do with my life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

PATRICK

The morning of the gallery opening, Patrick girds himself for the worst and tells Marnie that he doesn’t want her to come that evening. It’s for her own good, of course. Not that he thinks she would come, in her newfound fury, but he wants to make sure. When he tells her, she takes a long moment to look at him like he’s lost the last remaining bit of his mind. Then she goes back to clearing the table, dropping the silverware in the sink with a little more noisy force than he would have thought absolutely necessary.

o;Millie,” I said. “Ariana has Justin, and he is a wonderful class of young man.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” my mother said. “At her age, she needs to experience a fuller range of young men. That way she can see her way more clearly to what she really wants in life. We women don’t have to settle for the ragtag group of guys we see right in front of us when we’re teenagers, you know. In fact, with all due respect to your matchmaking powers, may I add that we may not need to settle for any man at all.”

And now, having gotten Ariana to sit up straight, she’s fired up to go on to fashion advice: pointing out that it’s considered kind of mysterious and even classy when a woman doesn’t quite show her midriff in every single outfit. And that leggings are perhaps not exactly the same thing as pants. To my surprise, the Amazings just take Millie’s fashion advice as if it’s something eccentric and adorable and worth following.

I almost can’t stand being at the Frippery lately. I feel as though I’m just going through the motions, a person who has been forsaken by magic. Everything I believed in feels like it’s been shown to be stupid and wrong-headed. Magic? Sparkles? Oh, please. I don’t remember how it is that matchmaking happens. I look around for sparkles in the air, and even when I squint hard, I can’t find them. And I can’t even find the energy to participate in all the lively, bustling conversations taking place. Everything seems a little bit ridiculous, if you want to know the truth of it. I find myself yawning a lot, wanting to be in the back room adding up numbers into columns, filling out the forms for ordering. Kat, who told me she was sure this day would never come between Patrick and me, now looks at me with worry in her eyes and just shakes her head.

“Aren’t you even going to mention the universe anymore?” she asked me one morning.

“What is this thing called the universe?” I said. “I don’t know what crazy concept you could be referring to.” And she came over and gave me a hug, which made my eyes fill up with tears. Again.

One day I hear my mother wading into the ongoing, ever-present Frippery discussion that should be called, “What Should We Think About Janelle.” Janelle is the friend of the Amazings, the young woman who is pregnant and regretting it. Unlike Ariana, who is refusing to go to college, Janelle has already gotten an early acceptance and scholarship to Boston University, and baby or no baby, she wants to go there. But how can she? She doesn’t have the money or childcare, or the time. It’s an ongoing situation, and everybody who comes into the Frippery gets drawn into this conversation, it seems.

“She’s steering that massive belly through the halls of the school,” says Ariana. “Trying to get all her work done. But you can see how upset she is. Water just kind of leaks from her eyes these days.”

“She’s crying because of that scumbag who got her pregnant and then didn’t stay with her,” says Charmaine, but Ariana doesn’t like that kind of talk. She starts waving her arms.

“No, no, no! Matt is not a scumbag. He’s a normal guy with a normal life, and neither one of them thought there was going to be a pregnancy, so it’s not like he went back on some promise he made. I get sick of people trashing him.”

“But he gets to go to college, and she doesn’t. That seems massively unfair,” says Charmaine. “She’s the one who has to suffer, while he gets off scot-free.”

“Also, I think he should be required to stick by her at least while she’s carrying his child, don’t you think?” says Dahlia. “He certainly shouldn’t be hooking up with Lulu.”

“Who’s to say he shouldn’t be hooking up with somebody else?” Ariana wants to know. “Janelle and Matt are not technically a couple and if they ever were, it lasted about twenty minutes. And boom! She got pregnant and wanted to keep the kid, and he didn’t have a say in it one way or the other—and now he’s met somebody he’s really into, and so what’s the big deal?”

“What do you mean, they’re not a couple? They’re the very definition of a couple,” points out my mother. “They are a couple that is actually, technically and physically, becoming a new person. Their DNA is mingling.”

“I know that,” says Ariana. “But it’s not like it used to be. Back when couples had to get married because there was a kid on the way, whether you liked the person or not. And who’s to say that Matt and Janelle and the new girlfriend might not all figure out a way to raise this kid? You know?” She flings her arms out, describing a threesome with her hands in the air, a series of circles and gestures. “Stranger things have happened, you know. Maybe they’ll all find an apartment near Boston University and Janelle can go to school, and the other two can, too, if they want, and everybody takes turns taking care of the baby. Big deal. That’s a decent life for everybody.”

I hear my mother get a bit louder, at full Millie MacGraw Force now. “That is patently ridiculous, and it’s a pipe dream, and not the way humans are built. What you need to tell Janelle, if you want to be a good friend to her, is that she should consider putting the child up for adoption. There’s no shame in that, none at all,” she says. “Some of the finest people I know were adopted, including my husband.”

I’m at the counter trimming flowers, and I keep my mouth shut, because I’m resigning from being the person who brings up seemingly impossible possibilities. I might not believe in those anymore. I also don’t tell people anymore what they should do.

And to be honest, for self-preservation, I have to shut down part of myself when Janelle herself comes in, bloomingly pregnant and unhappy about it. She’s a lovely, brown-haired girl-next-door type of girl, pale but shiny, with her gigantic winter coat and her Ugg boots, plodding through the winter waiting for a springtime baby she doesn’t want. She floats in like a moony celebrity guest star—and the Amazings, including Justin and Mookie if they’re around, give her hugs and kisses, and help her find a comfortable place to sit down. I hate it that I feel so acutely my own grief about the pregnancy I will probably never have. I look at her there, so morose and yet looking as though her body is on a brilliant mission, and I want to cry for both of us.

We always give her flowers, Kat and I, because she is in need of comfort. We give her raspberry tea, and we prop her feet up on the beanbag chairs, and we tell her she’s beautiful and that she’ll be fine, and that life will take care of everything. But I can’t say I really believe any of that anymore, and sometimes when she’s here, I find myself going into the back room and letting my tears fall, quietly, on the ledger sheets.

My mother, as far as I know, never does tell her about the adoption thing.

Which is just as well. If I were Janelle, I’m not sure I’d be looking for more people’s opinions as to what I should do with my life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

PATRICK

The morning of the gallery opening, Patrick girds himself for the worst and tells Marnie that he doesn’t want her to come that evening. It’s for her own good, of course. Not that he thinks she would come, in her newfound fury, but he wants to make sure. When he tells her, she takes a long moment to look at him like he’s lost the last remaining bit of his mind. Then she goes back to clearing the table, dropping the silverware in the sink with a little more noisy force than he would have thought absolutely necessary.

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