“So when you said some of your friends are divorced or should be . . .”
“Yeah, Izzy . . . But she doesn’t want to be. She chose this and keeps choosing it. I’ll never really understand it, but it’s what she wants and despite,” she gestures vaguely at their surroundings, “all this, I think she’ll be a good mom. At the very least, she’ll love her kids with everything she has.”
“It’s a damn good place to start.”
Bianca leaves it at that, doesn’t bring up what they talked about before, about how parents should really want their kids. He almost wants her to, wants to have that conversation again, because maybe then this will all come to an end. He’ll scare her off with his fantasies about them, about how if he was ever going to have kids, he’d want them with her, about how he wasn’t just not going to get married, but actively despised the institution, but now he can see it, laid out in front of him, the life they could build together if they both were stupid enough to give up everything else.
Then she’d run screaming, and the most exquisite form of torture he’s ever experienced will be over and he can go back to his life before her, before he knew what he was missing.
“Okay, everyone, gather around!” Isobel calls from the massive archway of balloons set up in front of a wooden backdrop withBoy or Girlstenciled in blue and pink script across it, little blue and pink question marks dotted around the words. It looks a little silly dwarfed by the back of their house, but he acknowledges it makes for a nice picture.
A couple of the waitstaff that had been passing out drinks and appetizers just minutes before roll out a large white box with a crank coming out of the side of it.
Izzy and Matt walk over to it and each grasp the metal handle, cranking it slowly while laughing, and a tinny version of “Pop Goes the Weasel” plays while they do. The crowd starts to clap along and when it gets to the final line . . . POP! The top bursts open, confetti explodes into the air and up rises a bushelof balloons anchored inside the box by . . . what looks like an animatronic stork?
There are pink balloons and . . . blue balloons too? Did Isobel suddenly have a change of heart and decide that the gender of her baby doesn’t matter? Because that feels wildly out of character for what Xavier now knows about her and her husband.
“We’re having twins!”
Ah. Not so much then.
“A boy and a girl!” Matt chimes in, as if that’s not incredibly obvious.
The gathering lets out a collective sound, half aww and half scream, all of it joyful, and Xavier can’t quite help the smile that spreads across his face.
And with that, lights shine on to the wooden backdrop, blurring out theBoy or Girland revealing two names, Elijah in blue and Emma in pink.
“To Elijah and Emma!” Isobel says, lifting her glass of what he assumes is sparkling cider and not champagne considering she’s carrying twins.
“To Elijah and Emma,” the crowd echoes and everyone clinks glasses and takes a sip.
Bianca presses his arm with hers and mouths,I’ll be right back. He watches as she approaches the happy couple to give Isobel a hug and Matt a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and then one more squeeze for Isobel, before she makes her way back to him.
“You ready to go?” she asks, downing the last of her champagne.
“You don’t want to stay longer?” He can’t imagine what there is to stay for, really, since the gender has been . . . revealed.
“Nope, I’m very done. Let’s get out of here.”
They slip out the side gate, winding their way through a maze of catering tables that have been exiled to the other side of the fence so the partygoers can’t see them, before coming out to the front of the house, away from a life neither of them wants.
Chapter 16
A party in the afternoon, a concert at night, no alarms set for tomorrow morning. Who is she and what has she done with the real Bianca?
It feels wrong, like she’s forgetting to do something, but no, for once, there’s nothing. No looming deadlines or stress over her next presentation or, now, not even the general, ever-present terror of what she’s going to do with the rest of her life. Degree, done. Job, secured. Now she just has to . . . enjoy life?
Is that what she’s been doing for the last couple of weeks? Is this what life is supposed to be like?
Sounds fake, but sure, she’ll buy in, at least for a little while longer.
Especially with Xavier’s hand at the small of her back, his thumb running back and forth in tiny circles near the top of her jeans, her side brushing against his as they make their way down to the floor of the Staples Center, or whatever the hell it’s called now.
“I’ve never had seats this good to anything,” Xavier says, guiding her around a vibrating group of teenaged girls with manic expressions in their eyes and homemade tie-dyed t-shirts with letters on them that if unscrambled she’s pretty sure would spell out WE LOVE MARI.
She just smiles up at him and shrugs.
“What, you have?”
