“It is!You’ve got this gorgeous guy who can’t take his eyes off you—”
“Give me a break.”
“He fell into a swimming pool because you took your shirt off!”
“That was an accident.And anyway, Bobby—”
“If you say ‘is just a friend,’ I’m going to show them the other pictures of Dasher.The ones with the very unfortunate antler placement.”
I decided silence was the better part of valor.
A log popped.Sparks eddied up, drifted, and went dark.For a moment, the smell of the wood smoke, the bickering, the sound of the ocean—it brought back winter nights from my childhood.All of Dottie’s confidence, all of her desire to live deeply and fully, pitted against—well, me.
“Please tell me you like him,” she finally said.“I’m your sister, and I ask for so little.”
I rolled my eyes.Pointedly.
“Please, Dasher.Please.Do this one little thing for me.”
I fought against myself.I struggled.But it was hard because she was so excited for me and because, if I were being honest with myself, I wanted to talk about it.(A little.)
“I mean,” I said, and then I stopped.And finally, the best I could come up with was “Yeah.”
“Oh my God.”
“Please don’t be happy.”
“I’m not happy.I’m excited.”
“Please don’t be excited.”
“I lied.Iamhappy.And excited.And thrilled and stoked and—Dasher, that’s great!”
“No, it’s terrible.Everything’s terrible.Don’t feel any of those things.Don’t feel anything about anything, actually.”
But she was smiling at me.“Is he nice?He seems nice.”
“God, he’s so nice it’s ridiculous.”
She made a sound like that was the cutest thing in the world.“Is he good to you?”
I decided on a judicious “He’s a good friend.”
She made that sound again.And then she started crying.“That’s good, Dasher.That’s good.I’m so happy for you.You deserve someone wonderful in your life.You deserve the absolute best.That’s what I want—I want you to be happy.”
(At least, that’s what I thought she said; it was hard to tell through all the crying.)
The tears were coming faster now, and I probably sounded a little panicked as I said, “It’s okay.Everything’s okay.Iamhappy, Dottie.I’m so happy.You don’t have to cry.”
That just made her cry harder.
And then I realized I’d let myself get sidetracked.Dottie hadn’t traveled around the globe and shown up unannounced at Hemlock House because she wanted to dish (ugh, that word) about boys.
I grabbed a box of tissues from the dresser.I settled on the hearth, as close to Dottie as I could get without burning my biscuits (so to speak), and I handed her a few of the tissues.
“Okay,” I said.And then, even though I knew I’d hate myself later: “Dish.”
She blotted her eyes with the tissues.She sucked in ragged lungfuls of air.She shook her head.And then, the words escaped.“I’m pregnant.”
