A miserable hour of mingling later, the ceremony, led by a female, Birkenstock-wearing minister named Sky, begins. I am not surprised by the hippie feel to the service, given the fact that we are in a living room rather than a church-and given Annie and Ray's religious background. They both grew up Catholic but each separately denounced the church in their early twenties for a variety of reasons, most of them political. They then went through their agnostic stage, which lasted for some time. Annie says they're becoming more spiritual since having Raymond Jr. and have begun to attend a Unitarian church on Second Avenue.

In any event, the minister spends a good amount of time talking about lofty concepts such as the inherent worth and dignity of every person; justice and compassion in human relations; the search for truth; and respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part. Along the way, she stops and asks the godparents if they will fully support and guide Raymond Jr. in the pursuit of these goals. My eyes are fixed on Ben as he nods solemnly and repeats, "I will," in unison with Annie's sister. Watching him, I can't help but think of our exchange of vows in the Caribbean. How seriously Ben took them. And how seriously he's now taking his role of godfather. Then, when I think I can finally turn and escape to the buffet, Annie announces that the godparents would each like to read a prepared message for Raymond Jr.

Annie's sister speaks first, reciting a Langston Hughes poem called "Dream." Then it is Ben's turn. He clears his throat and gazes lovingly at the baby. I feel Richard's hand on my back as I look down at my new shoes and listen to Ben say in a loud, clear voice, "Raymond, I am so happy and proud to be your godfather. My wish and prayer for you is that you will be a person of character and integrity… That you will be strong yet gentle… That you will be honest yet forgiving… That you will be righteous but not self-righteous… That you will always follow your heart and do good and beautiful things in the world. Amen."

I feel a wave of devastating sadness as I consider what a wonderful father Ben will be. How lucky his son or daughter will be. How glad and grateful another woman will someday be that I felt the way I did about having children. Don't look at him, I tell myself. But I do anyway. I can't help it. And maybe it's my imagination, but as I study Ben's face, I am pretty sure he is just as sad as I am.


"I should never have brought Richard to that party," I say to Jess after I've returned home and given her the full rundown.

"I'm sorry," Jess says. "But if it helps, I still think you did the right thing."

"How do you figure?" I say, unbuckling the ankle straps of my beautiful Manolos that I'm almost positive Ben failed to notice.

"Because," she says, "you showed him you moved on."

"But he hates me now."

"He doesn't hate you."

"You didn't see the look he gave me. He hates me."

"So he hates you. So what?"

"I don't want him to hate me."

"Yeah, you do. You want him to care enough about you to hate you. If he had sat there at the party yucking it up with Richard, you'd be feeling worse right now."

I grant her the point, but then say, "I feel like such a jerk for doing that to him."

"Claudia, you brought your boyfriend to a party. Big fucking deal. You know Ben's dating, too."

I twist my opal ring around my finger and sigh. "I don't like hurting his feelings. I feel as if I did it… deliberately. I don't think he would have done that to me."

"Look. It's not like you left him for Richard. He left you. He left you hoping that he'll meet another woman so that he can get her pregnant and have a family. Keep that straight in your head."

I nod. She's right.

"So no more feeling guilty," she says. "Okay?"

I nod again, thinking that that is way easier said than done. And I'm beginning to see that I might be feeling guilty for more than bringing a man to a party.

eighteen

Jess is three days late getting her period and is vacillating between panic and jubilation. I know all about Jess's pregnancy "scares." She's probably had about a hundred since I've known her. In fact, one of the first conversations we ever had was in the bathroom on our freshman hall. She emerged from a stall, pumping her fist, announcing, "I got my period!" I laughed and told her congratulations, feeling in awe of a girl who would be so open with a virtual stranger.

Jess has mostly been on the pill since that incident at Princeton, but she consistently forgets to take it. She'll look down at her packet of pills and exclaim, "Shit! What's today? Wednesday?" and notice that the last white pill to be poked through foil is marked "Sunday." At this point, she typically swallows three down at once. I always tell her the same thing: Take the thing at the same time every day. Put it by your toothbrush. Leave a note on your mirror.

But she doesn't. Or won't. Instead, she carries the pills around in her purse, forgetting to switch them with her choice of handbag. Then there are the times when she fails to fill the prescription altogether. Or the times when she is, in her words, "giving her body a break."

I think subconsciously-or maybe even consciously-Jess enjoys the drama. There is no other explanation for why such an intelligent woman would behave so haphazardly. She must thrive on our conversations about what she (we) will do if, this time, she really is pregnant. Will she have it? Will she get an abortion? Will she have it and put it up for adoption? The answer changes according to the guy, the time in her life, the wind.

Although I must say, this time seems different. This time Jess really wants the baby. Or maybe she just wants Trey. She continues to dance around a full-on confession, but all facts indicate that Jess tried to get pregnant. She apparently "forgot" to tell Trey that she hadn't renewed her pill prescription. And she's "pretty sure" that she had sex with him on day fifteen of her twenty-nine-day cycle.

I can tell that she believes that Trey will be with her if she's pregnant with his baby. I, on the other hand, am absolutely certain that Trey is going nowhere. He will not leave his wife. Nor will he even tell his wife. In fact, knowing Jess's luck (although it's hard to use the word luck when someone is utterly self-destructive), it would turn out that Trey's wife is pregnant also. I can just imagine the two babies being born in the same month. Maybe even on the same day. They will grow up on separate coasts with no knowledge of the other. Or at least Trey's legitimate son will have no knowledge of his father's illegitimate daughter. Jess likely will tell her daughter the truth about everything at a suitable age (an age we will debate for years). Then the two offspring will attend the same college and meet in their freshman composition class. He will fall in love with her, at which time she will be forced to tell him the truth about their father.

None of it would surprise me. Nothing ever surprises me when it comes to Jess.

On the third night of Jess's missed period, we go get sushi at Koi, a restaurant on Second Avenue near her apartment, even though it is Friday night, and we both had planned to go to separate parties. I'm too tired, and Jess says she has no interest in partying when she can't drink.

"C'mon, Jess. Do you really think you're pregnant?" I say, as I break apart my chopsticks.

Jess rattles off her symptoms. She says she's been exhausted and bloated. She says her boobs feel heavy and sore. She says she can just tell. She knows.

I look at her, thinking I've heard it all before. I say, "First, you know that those are also premenstrual symptoms. Second, you are a hypochondriac who wants to be pregnant. You're going to feel things."

"I'm not a hypochondriac," Jess says indignantly.

"Yeah, you are," I say. "How about the time we went camping and you just knew that you had Lyme disease? You actually joined an online support group for victims!"

"Yeah. I had all the symptoms," she says. "That was so weird."

"You thought you had all the symptoms."

She dabs her napkin to her lips and says, "Well. I think we should get a test after dinner."

I sigh and say, "How many dollars do you think you've spent on those tests?"

"I'm telling you. This time feels different."

"Okay," I say. "So tell me. What will you do if you're pregnant and Trey still won't leave his wife?"

"He will."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"I'd still have the baby," she says as she dips a California roll in soy sauce. She has already announced that she is staying away from raw fish. Just in case. "I'd just be a single mother. Lots of people do it."

"Would you keep working full-time?"

"Of course. I love my job."

"So you'd get a nanny?"

"Or two," she says.

I almost say, "What's the point of having a kid then?" but something stops me. Something that tells me that the last thing I should be doing is judging another woman's decision with respect to the subject of children.

On our walk home, Jess ducks into a bodega and buys a pregnancy test. She scans the back of the box and informs me that she will wait until the morning because results are more accurate then. I look at her skeptically, knowing that there is literally no way that she will resist testing tonight. In fact, I'm putting the over-under at about an hour upon our return.