(Elle)
Mickey has refused to tell me much about the baby shower she and June are organizing for the weekend before Lee's graduation, other than to reassure me that she's done her best to rein in June's more extravagant ideas. She does make me go shopping for a nice dress for the shower, and she insists the flowy blue silk dress we find looks great, although I don't really believe her.
"I look like a giant blueberry. Like the gum-chomping girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory who doesn't listen to Willie Wonka and swells up into an enormous blueberry." I whine to Mickey as I stare into the dressing room mirror, trying to make up my mind.
"For the last time, you look amazing. Do I need to send Noah a picture and make him tell you that?"
"Yeah, like he's unbiased. He has to be nice to me because it's all his fault. And do I really need to dress up this much? You can't convince June to make this a leggings-and-tee-shirt kind of shindig?"
"I only just barely talked her out of tuxedoed waiters. Be glad this isn't black-tie and let June have her fun."
"I do love her, you know. She just scares me sometimes."
Mickey quirks an eyebrow at me. "You do realize this is just her practice run, right?"
"Her practice run? For the party-planning business she's clearly always dreamed of running?"
"For your wedding, Elle."
Ah, that. Not that there is a that, nor do I wish to talk about the possibility of that, so I wish she'd stop joking about it.
Mickey notices my grim expression and rolls her eyes. "Sorry. I forgot that was the forbidden subject."
"Whatever. And if you say I have to wear a dress, I guess this one's not the worst."
It really isn't so bad. It's my favorite shade of blue, the empire waist is making the most of my currently ridiculous bust, and I'll just try to ignore exactly how many yards of floaty cerulean blue silk are required for the skirt to drape loosely over my ever-expanding belly. I'm getting to the point where I look enormous no matter what I wear, even if Mickey swears that's not true, and, terrifyingly, that's with nearly two months to go.
The shower does not turn out nearly as over the top as Mickey had led me to dread, although that could just be evidence of her skill at moderating June. June hosts it at her house, and while I probably don't want to know how much those flowers or that cake cost, for the most part it feels like she's invited my friends and I over for a very elegant brunch.
Well, my friends and hers—there are several of June's and my mom's friends I hadn't seen in years, all eager to tell me how much I look like her and how thrilled she'd be. Which is... heartening but also hard to hear, especially over and over. It's not like there's ever been a day when I forget she's not here, but pregnancy has brought a new level of reckoning with her absence. Some things you're just meant to have your mom for, you know? But at least I have June.
Mickey notices me starting to look melancholy as yet another of Mom's friends tearily embraces me, and she sweeps me off to talk with some of our friends instead. Most of the guests our age are UCLA friends, but Mickey also invited the Boston and high school friends I recently reconnected with, and several of those living nearby have shown up. For the first time, all the phases of my life are represented in one place, laughing and trading embarrassing stories about me, and it's nice to finally feel like my life has been one winding journey and not a collection of disjointed stages.
The best surprise, though, is Rachel, who flew all the way from New York to be here. I'm sure being in this house again is all kinds of weird for her, but seeing her is amazing and we escape to a quiet balcony with mimosas—well, a mimosa for her, seltzer and OJ for me—and a plate of pastries to catch up. She's got news to share, too—she's just gotten engaged.
"How did we get so old? Seriously, look at us," I tell Rachel as we sprawl on lounge chairs and enjoy the Flynns' ridiculous view. "I'm going to be someone's mom soon and you're getting married."
"Well, I won't actually be married for a while—we're going to wait for next summer. You'll probably beat me to it."
"Oh God, Rachel, not you too. There are no wedding plans. There do not need to be wedding plans. The having-a-baby plans are quite enough."
"Sore subject?" Rachel asks apologetically.
"Annoying subject. It's like people lose their minds when they see the belly and no ring."
"Sorry. Although, for the record, the baby isn't why I said that. You two have been headed this way a long time. Lee must be relieved."
"Lee? Lee's getting used to us again, but I'm not sure 'relieved' is the right word."
"Elle, Lee realized about halfway through senior year you two were meant for each other. He was just worried you wouldn't manage to grow up fast enough to avoid splitting up for some stupid reason."
"Funny how Lee never shared that particular insight with me back then. And I guess we proved his fears right."
Rachel knows most of the story, and I caught her up on October and its aftermath when I called to tell her I was pregnant.
"Yeah, but things are good now, right? Anyway, I won't joke about wedding bells; I should have guessed you're hearing enough of that already. I'm just so thrilled you two are back together."
"I'm thrilled for you, too, and I've really got to meet this Brian one day. Does... Lee know? Can I tell him?"
"He doesn't, but sure. We haven't talked in a while, beyond birthday texts."
"He'll be glad to hear. Although, probably also terrified that yet another person his age is getting married. Lee's not quite ready to admit we're growing up."
"I can see that," Rachel replies with a grin. I'm glad it's not awkward anymore.
"June teased him about this baby needing a cousin soon and he practically had a heart attack. It was awesome."
"Lee with a baby... now there's a terrifying thought. But he's going to rock the uncle thing."
"He definitely thinks so. And it's his new excuse for meddling—for his niece's sake, you see."
"Maybe I'll call him for his birthday this year. It would be nice to catch up."
"He'd like that. And thanks for flying out here for the shower. Having everybody here has been amazing. I know this is going to sound dumb, but it took me a while for me to believe people were actually happy for us."
"Why wouldn't they be?"
"Because we... didn't go about this the right way. I mean, it's pretty obvious this was accidental. And then I screwed it up even more by freaking out and shutting Noah out for so long. Well, I guess not everyone knows that part. But still. I guess I just felt kind of... embarrassed."
"Yeah, that does sound really dumb." Rachel laughs. "Let's go back in so you can see again how little anybody cares about any of that."
June informed Noah that he was to make an appearance near the end of the shower, and he dutifully shows up in time to help me open the mountain of gifts and to listen politely as the older women insist on imparting their childrearing wisdom. I'd be more confident in their advice if they didn't keep contradicting each other. The baby should sleep in its own room from day one, but also sleep in our room for at least the first three months. Pacifiers are terrible but also absolutely necessary. Feed the baby on demand but also on a strict schedule. At least they're no longer telling me their labor horror stories now that Noah is here too.
As much as I enjoyed seeing everyone, it's a relief once the last guest has left and June shoos me and Noah out of the house, saying she and Mickey can handle the cleanup. Well, she and Mickey and the half dozen catering staff. I'd promised to attend a classmate's gallery opening this evening, and afterward Noah and I linger over a late dinner. I've talked to more people today than in the last month combined, I'm pretty sure, so I'm happy to let Noah do most of the talking. We're downtown at one of our old favorite restaurants, seated upstairs by the windows, and after a while I realize why traffic in the street has slowed to a crawl and why we keep hearing gleeful teenage shrieks and whoops.
"Look," I tell Noah, tipping my head at the window. "You see all those limos? And that guy on the steps with the clipboard?"
Noah peers down at the street, and he figures it out too.
"Is that Mr. Morin?"
"Sure looks like it. I didn't realize they'd moved prom earlier."
There, across the street, stands our favorite former principal, looking harried as students in formal dress stream past him into what must be this year's LA Country Day prom.
"Damn. Those kids were, what, sixth graders when we were there?" Noah asks.
"Probably."
"God, that feels like a lifetime ago."
And maybe it does to him, but the memories currently flooding my mind feel pretty fresh. Fresh and still a little painful. You wouldn't think senior prom could have gone worse than junior year, but it turns out that breaking up the day before prom makes for an even more painful experience. Lee convinced me to go anyway—he was nursing his own broken heart, the breakup with Rachel still being recent—and promised we'd have fun dancing and making fun of everyone else, but it was hard to think about anything that night other than how furious I was at Noah.
Speaking of, I guess he's noticed my change in mood because he reaches for my hand.
"Would now be a good time for me to apologize yet again for being an ass about you turning down Stanford?"
I give him a wry smile. "We both overreacted. But yes. Now would be a good time."
The waitress arrives with our desserts—to be more accurate, my dessert and the one I made Noah order because I didn't want to admit I was ordering two desserts—and the interruption distracts us from our disastrous prom memories. I'm still watching the kids pile out of their limos and pose on the steps, but now I'm wondering what dramas and heartbreaks are simmering unseen.
After a minute I notice the devilish grin with which Noah is watching me watch the scene below.
"You know, I was thinking, you're still in that pretty dress, I've still got this suit on..."
He cannot be serious.
"Please tell me you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
"Why not? We never did get that dance." His eyes have that twinkle and he's giving me that smile and yeah, the absolute lunatic is serious.
"Our prom record is abysmal. I don't think we should risk it, if only for Dinah's sake."
"You don't think we've gotten a little wiser? This is our chance to improve that record."
God help me, I'm actually considering it. It's that stupid irresistible grin he gets when he's talking me into a truly ridiculous scheme and apparently seven years haven't been enough for me to build up any resistance to it.
"There is no way we can sneak in undetected. You don't think every one of those former middle schoolers knew who you were? Not to mention Mr. Morin."
"Oh, we're not going to sneak in. We're doing this right."
And that's how a short while later I find myself walking up the steps straight to my former principal. Noah convinced our waitress to let us swipe the flowers from our table, because of course he did, so now I've improvised a wrist corsage using hair elastics and my bracelet, and I've made Noah pin the last of the flowers at his lapel using a safety pin I found in my purse. If we're going to crash prom, we might as well do it in style. I wish I could blame this folly on alcohol but, alas, we're both dead sober.
Principal Morin spots us and I watch his eyebrows climb ever higher as we approach.
"Mr. Flynn, Miss Evans. You seem to be confused what year it is. And I see congratulations are in order."
"See, that's the thing. We've been going over our bucket list ahead of this baby arriving, and we realized we never managed to check off attending prom together." I'm blushing madly as I say it but we may as well go for it. "So we were hoping you'd let us fix that. You know, for the baby's sake." I give him my best pleading look. "Just twenty minutes and then we'll disappear."
"I recall trouble having a way of following you two around."
"Oh, we've reformed. Promise." I assure him. It's... not a total lie?
"I'm teaching high school now. You know, due to your inspiring example." Noah manages an impressively straight face as he says it. "So I'm actually very experienced at preventing teens from having any fun at parties. Think of us as... extra chaperones."
"And I promise to snitch on anyone I see with a flask. If I can't drink, they can't either. Plus, think how terrifying this belly is going to be. Best contraceptive scare tactic ever."
Mr. Morin sighs wearily, then rolls his eyes in resignation. "Very well. Twenty minutes. But any shenanigans, any hint of a smoke bomb or a fight, and you're out of here immediately."
"I told you, we're totally reformed now. Complete and utter killjoys."
"I'll believe that when I see it. But go ahead. Consider it my baby present. And just to be clear... you are to socialize only with each other."
"Not a problem." Noah grins.
Thankfully, this year's prom committee seems to have gone for a dimly-lit ambiance, and we manage to escape notice as we walk in. I spot an alcove off to a side of the dance floor and we sit there a minute, just laughing at each other.
"So, phase one successful. We are both present at prom, together, and we are on speaking terms. Do we dare have a dance, or would that just be pushing our luck?" Noah asks.
"Maybe let's wait for slightly less frenetic music."
"I bet I can do something about that." Noah is up and out of the alcove before I can protest, walking straight to the DJ and leaning in to be heard. And while we'd managed to escape detection on our way in, he's definitely been recognized now, and curious eyes eagerly follow him as he makes his way back to the alcove and extends a hand to me. I'm wondering what in the world he requested from the DJ. And then the song starts up and I stop and glare at him, my hands at my hips.
"Really? This? This is what you specially requested? I thought the goal was for us to get through prom without a fight."
My sophomore year roommate at BU loved this song. Loved this song so much she listened to it constantly. I'm not actually sure she owned any other music. Just this song. On loop. And Noah absolutely knows this, because he heard me complain about it practically every day.
"Hey, hear me out. I know Kara drove you nuts with this song. But that's the point. I heard this in the background every time I called. It was like the soundtrack for that whole year. And then I spent three years avoiding this song. I even had to boycott Starbucks for a few months when they had it on their playlist. But recently, well, now I like hearing it again."
And he has a point. Because I don't only think of Kara every time I hear this song; I think of her for a split second, and then I think of Noah and Boston and being nineteen and so damn happy. "Fine," I mutter, letting him pull me closer.
We must look absolutely comical, and not just because we're way too old to be here. I changed into flats as soon as the shower was over, unable to bear the cute heels Mickey made me buy for one minute longer, so Noah is towering over me more than usual, and there's a whole lot of belly getting in the way. And I'm pretty sure I just heard my brother's name, so now the teens have recognized me too. But to hell with it, we're here and we're happy, so I'm not going to worry about how absurd this whole scheme is. I find a way to lean my head against Noah, and I'm hardly even pretending to dance, just going for classic middle-school-formal slow-song swaying.
"So, we finally got our dance at prom. Is it everything you hoped for?"
"Yes, this was definitely exactly how I always pictured it. Especially the hugely pregnant part." I laugh.
"You're not huge, Shell."
"There are teenagers whispering and pointing at me in terror."
"That's because they're terrified I'll notice that they're talking about how hot you are. I have a reputation."
"You had a reputation, past tense. You've reformed, remember?"
"But they don't need to know that."
I snuggle in closer and just enjoy this utterly ridiculous moment.
The thing is, this actually is how I always pictured it. Not... the being pregnant and crashing prom as dorky old alums part. But being in Noah's arms, feeling like this? Yeah. I think back to Rachel's comment, that Lee worried we'd screw this up before getting mature enough to do this right. And he was right, but thank God for second chances.