Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I drift toward the edge of the crowd, past the river-facing windows where Minneapolis stretches out like a prize: all the light and bridges and the flat sheen of the Mississippi under an early summer dusk. There’s no sound from outside, just the low throb of bass from a Bluetooth speaker and the hum of a hundred conversations. It’s the last party before everyone scatters for internships, grad school, or whatever comes after. It feels like the last party of the world.
Simone finds me first. She’s not hiding anymore: her pregnant belly is unmistakable, a high, taut orb beneath the cut of her green velvet dress. She glows, literally. She glows so radiantly that a woman at the bar gives her seat up just for Simone to have a place to rest. Her hair is up, a mass of gold, and the flush in her cheeks is real this time.
“Drink?” she asks, winking as she sinks into the chair.
I laugh, “I think that’s contraband,” but she shakes her head.
“It’s Sprite, I swear.” She lifts her glass, clinks it against mine. “It helps with the barfing.”
I glance at her hand, which sparkles with a ring from her boyfriend, Professor Liam Thomas. He’s here too, in a navy jacket over a white button down, looking more like a male model than faculty. He glances at her from across the room, the intensity of his stare so hot that the air practically sizzles, and I laugh. There’s no more hiding for Stella and Liam, nor for me and Thomas either. Not tonight, not ever. Our relationships are now into the open, and I’ve never been happier.
“Congratulations,” I say, and I mean it.
Simone beams, then turns conspiratorial: “Did you ever think I’d be the first one pregnant, of all people?”
“Honestly?” I lean in, lowering my voice. “I thought it’d be Mary Kate, with twins. You know how much that girl loves kids.”
We both giggle, attracting attention.
“I heard that,” Mary Kate says, sliding into the conversation like a shark in a gold lamé dress. She drains her mimosa, then grins. “So what if I adore kids? They’re cute. Anyway, you’re all going to miss me when I move out next week. I’m going to move closer to work. I’ll be living at my stepdad’s mansion.”
“Oh really?” Simone asks, eyebrows raised. “The stepdad who’s getting a divorce from your mom? Is that normal?”
Mary Kate shrugs, trying for casual but missing by a mile. “Probably not, but like I said, it’s closer to work. And my stepdad’s house has a pool.” She lifts her chin, lets the words hang, then glances at me with a sly side-eye. “I happen to love skinny-dipping, when no one’s home of course.”
I shoot my friend a look.
“Of course.”
Then, Kayleigh floats over, cell phone in hand, her curls pinned back with a rhinestone barrette. She looks radiant, but her eyes are glued to the screen. “Damn, he’s not going to text,” she mutters. “He said he was at a wedding, but he’s totally ignoring me.”
“Who?” I ask, but I already know.
She bites her lip, then sets the phone face-down on the bar. “Whatever. He’s a liar.” Then, as if flipping a switch, she smiles at us: “Let’s have fun. You graduated!”
I toast her. “To a degree,” I say, and we all drink.
The four of us—Simone, Kayleigh, Mary Kate, and me—cluster for a moment at the bar, the old geometry of our dorm days restored by muscle memory. Actually, Stella is the sun of this system, but she’s currently orbiting the room, working the crowd like a campaign manager: a squeeze of a shoulder here, a whispered aside there. Her hair is up tonight, a blonde crown, and her cheeks glow.
I shake my head. Oh, Stella. She’s so headstrong, and yet for Thomas’s sake, I’ve made up with her. It was helped by the fact that I no longer live in our shared apartment, so we no longer had to spend so much energy avoiding each other. It was also helped by the fact that Stella sincerely apologized for her actions, and promised to go to therapy to address her issues. I don’t know if she actually has yet, but Thomas says he’s going to follow-up with his daughter.
So Stella and I are basically back to normal, even if it sounds improbable. She breaks from her circle of admirers and bee-lines over, tugging me by the wrist to the edge of the terrace, where it’s quieter and the city looks even more like a painting. We’re alone for the first time all night, and the air is warm but not yet sticky, the kind of night that can’t decide if it’s spring or summer.
“So,” she says, eyes bright, “are you and my dad going to elope and make me an orphan, or do I have to start planning a real wedding?”