costume. “Mine’s going to fall off because you don’t know how to sew,” she accused.
“It won’t fall off,” I sighed, then turned to Charlotte. “I was too busy suturing to sew a costume, so I hot-glued the seams.”
“Next time,” Charlotte told Emma, “I’ll sew yours when I do Amelia’s.”
I liked that—the idea that she was already counting on us being friends. We were destined to be partners in crime, subversive parents who didn’t care what the establishment thought. Just then, the teacher stuck her head inside the locker room door. “Amelia? Emma?” she snapped. “We’re all waiting for you out here!”
“Girls, you’d better hurry. You heard what Eva Braun said.”
Emma scowled. “Mommy, her name’s Miss Helen.”
Charlotte laughed. “Break a leg!” she said as they hurried into the rink. “Or does that only work if the stage isn’t made of ice?”
I don’t know whether you can look at your past and find, woven like the hidden symbols on a treasure map, the path that will point to your final destination, but I have thought back to that moment, to Charlotte’s good-luck phrase, many times. Do I remember it because of the way you were born? Or were you born because of the way I remember it?
Rob was braced over me, his leg moving between mine as he kissed me. “We can’t,” I whispered. “Emma’s still awake.”
“She won’t come in here…”
“You don’t know that—”
Rob buried his face in my neck. “She knows we have sex. If we didn’t, she wouldn’t be here.”
“Do you like to imagine your parents having sex?”
Grimacing, Rob rolled away from me. “Okay, that effectively killed the mood.”
I laughed. “Give her ten minutes to fall asleep and I’ll get the fire going again.”
He pillowed his head on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. “How many times a week do you think Charlotte and Sean do it?”
“I don’t know!”
Rob glanced at me. “Sure you do. Girls talk about that kind of thing.”
“Okay, first of all, no we don’t. And second of all, even if we did, I don’t sit around wondering how often my best friend has sex with her husband.”
“Yeah, right,” Rob said. “So you’ve never looked at Sean and wondered what it would be like to sleep with him?”
I came up on an elbow. “Have you?”
He grinned. “Sean’s not my type…”
“Very funny.” My gaze slid toward him. “Charlotte? Really?”
“Well…you know…it’s just a curiosity. Even Gordon Ramsay’s got to think about Big Macs once or twice in passing.”
“So I’m the high-maintenance gourmet meal and Charlotte’s fast food?”
“It was a bad metaphor,” Rob admitted.
Sean O’Keefe was tall, strong, physically fierce—orthogonal to Rob’s slight runner’s frame, his careful surgeon’s hands, his addiction to reading. One of the reasons I’d fallen for Rob was that he seemed to be more impressed with my mind than with my legs. If I’d ever considered what it would be like to roll around with someone like Sean, the impulse must have been quickly squashed: after all these years, and all these conversations with Charlotte, I knew him too well to find him attractive.
But Sean’s intensity also carried over into his parenting—he was crazy about his little girls; he was deeply private and protective of Charlotte. Rob was cerebral, not visceral. What would it feel like to have so much raw passion focused on you at once? I tried to picture Sean in bed. Did he wear pajama pants, like Rob? Or go commando?
“Huh,” Rob said. “I didn’t know you could blush way down to your—”
I yanked the sheets up to my chin. “To answer your question,” I said, “I’m not even sure it’s once a week. Between Willow and Sean’s work schedule, they’re probably not even in the same room at night most of the time.”
It was odd, I realized, that Charlotte and I had not discussed sex. Not because I was her friend but because I was her
“It won’t fall off,” I sighed, then turned to Charlotte. “I was too busy suturing to sew a costume, so I hot-glued the seams.”
“Next time,” Charlotte told Emma, “I’ll sew yours when I do Amelia’s.”
I liked that—the idea that she was already counting on us being friends. We were destined to be partners in crime, subversive parents who didn’t care what the establishment thought. Just then, the teacher stuck her head inside the locker room door. “Amelia? Emma?” she snapped. “We’re all waiting for you out here!”
“Girls, you’d better hurry. You heard what Eva Braun said.”
Emma scowled. “Mommy, her name’s Miss Helen.”
Charlotte laughed. “Break a leg!” she said as they hurried into the rink. “Or does that only work if the stage isn’t made of ice?”
I don’t know whether you can look at your past and find, woven like the hidden symbols on a treasure map, the path that will point to your final destination, but I have thought back to that moment, to Charlotte’s good-luck phrase, many times. Do I remember it because of the way you were born? Or were you born because of the way I remember it?
Rob was braced over me, his leg moving between mine as he kissed me. “We can’t,” I whispered. “Emma’s still awake.”
“She won’t come in here…”
“You don’t know that—”
Rob buried his face in my neck. “She knows we have sex. If we didn’t, she wouldn’t be here.”
“Do you like to imagine your parents having sex?”
Grimacing, Rob rolled away from me. “Okay, that effectively killed the mood.”
I laughed. “Give her ten minutes to fall asleep and I’ll get the fire going again.”
He pillowed his head on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. “How many times a week do you think Charlotte and Sean do it?”
“I don’t know!”
Rob glanced at me. “Sure you do. Girls talk about that kind of thing.”
“Okay, first of all, no we don’t. And second of all, even if we did, I don’t sit around wondering how often my best friend has sex with her husband.”
“Yeah, right,” Rob said. “So you’ve never looked at Sean and wondered what it would be like to sleep with him?”
I came up on an elbow. “Have you?”
He grinned. “Sean’s not my type…”
“Very funny.” My gaze slid toward him. “Charlotte? Really?”
“Well…you know…it’s just a curiosity. Even Gordon Ramsay’s got to think about Big Macs once or twice in passing.”
“So I’m the high-maintenance gourmet meal and Charlotte’s fast food?”
“It was a bad metaphor,” Rob admitted.
Sean O’Keefe was tall, strong, physically fierce—orthogonal to Rob’s slight runner’s frame, his careful surgeon’s hands, his addiction to reading. One of the reasons I’d fallen for Rob was that he seemed to be more impressed with my mind than with my legs. If I’d ever considered what it would be like to roll around with someone like Sean, the impulse must have been quickly squashed: after all these years, and all these conversations with Charlotte, I knew him too well to find him attractive.
But Sean’s intensity also carried over into his parenting—he was crazy about his little girls; he was deeply private and protective of Charlotte. Rob was cerebral, not visceral. What would it feel like to have so much raw passion focused on you at once? I tried to picture Sean in bed. Did he wear pajama pants, like Rob? Or go commando?
“Huh,” Rob said. “I didn’t know you could blush way down to your—”
I yanked the sheets up to my chin. “To answer your question,” I said, “I’m not even sure it’s once a week. Between Willow and Sean’s work schedule, they’re probably not even in the same room at night most of the time.”
It was odd, I realized, that Charlotte and I had not discussed sex. Not because I was her friend but because I was her
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