Objects of My Affection by Jill Smolinski Page B

to me it’s probably because she no longer has any friends to invite. Of course she’s not planning a party. I’ve never seen her so much as talk to anyone on the phone, much less have people over. I’m struck with an image of Marva, sitting alone at a table in her otherwise empty house, blowing out a candle on a cupcake. Humming a pitiful rendition of “happy birthday to me.” Without even any clutter to keep her company.
    T urn here. No, left, left … left. ” Heather gestures wildly to the left, in case Hank is unfamiliar with the word. I’m in the backseat of their sedan—squeezed next to Abigail’s empty booster seat, spare blanket, and a pile of toys, books, and snacks. Impressive how that child manages to hog the space even when she’s not around.
    â€œDid you hear that, Hank?” I say. “Left? The opposite of right?”
    â€œYou ladies need to be nice to me. It’s insulting enough I have to go to a baby shower.”
    â€œ You’re insulted—how do you think I feel?” I say. “A couples’ shower! Do you have any idea how depressing it is to not have a date for a couples’ shower? Worse, that I do —and it’s the two of you again?”
    â€œYou still mad I didn’t bring you a corsage?” Hank says.
    Heather twists so she can see me. “It’s not a couples’ shower. It’s simply not a women-only one. There will be plenty of singles there. Besides, it’s very sweet after all they went through to get pregnant that Penny’s husband gets to attend.”
    Penny Kramer is actually a friend of mine from where I used to work. She’d been trying for years to get pregnant—which is why I’d introduced her to Heather. It took Heather and Hank ten years to get pregnant with Abigail—several miscarriages, hormone shots, the whole deal. And that was after they’d had DJ without any effort. I knew Heather would be great at offering support, and she was. It’s only mildly annoying that now Penny likes her better than she does me.
    â€œSo what did we get Penny?” I ask.
    â€œTwo blankets,” Heather says.
    â€œI picked them out,” Hank says.
    Heather gives a headshake to indicate, no, he didn’t.
    I pull my checkbook from my purse. “Thanks for doing the shopping … Hank. What do I owe you guys?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Heather says.
    â€œI’d rather handle it now, before I forget.”
    â€œWe were going to get her this anyway. It was no big deal to add your name to the card.”
    â€œI’m not that pathetic! I can afford to pay my share for a gift!”
    Heather waves me off. “I don’t remember what I spent. We’ll figure it out later.”
    I put my checkbook away, both embarrassed and grateful. Later, when I bring it up again, Heather will make up some ridiculously low number for my “half.” It’ll be nice when I get that bonus from Marva so I don’t have to accept charity anymore. Not that the bonus is a guarantee. Despite our recent chat, things are going as slowly as ever at the house.
    When we arrive, a sign with balloons taped to it directs us to the backyard, where heaters are set up beneath a party tent, though it’s a mild day.
    â€œBy the way,” I say as I see the few dozen people already milling around, “if there are any of my old work people here, I never told them about Ash being in rehab.”
    â€œSo I shouldn’t announce it when we walk in?” Hank says from behind the wrapped gift box he’s carrying.
    â€œHold off. I’ll be issuing a press release.”
    Heather bustles off to hug a woman I don’t recognize—I’m assuming Penny’s sister, who is throwing the shower. Hank leaves to set the gift on a table. I feel that usual tinge of nervousness I get when I first arrive to a party. I glance around for an