Who Do You Love(96)
Author: Jennifer Weiner

Before long, Jay had essentially moved into my apartment. I’d been worried about everything my friends and various magazines had told me that living with a guy entailed—socks on the floor, wet towels on the bed, dishes in the sink. It turned out that Jay was neater than I was, though he never criticized when I dumped my bag by the front door or left my sweater on the couch.

When the Olympics began, I ignored them, willing myself to walk past any television set that was tuned to the games, tipping Jay’s sports-related magazines directly into the trash. I knew that Andy had won a gold medal—as much as I tried to avoid any news, I couldn’t stop myself from finding that out—but I wouldn’t permit myself to try to learn where he lived, or send him a note that said Congratulations. If I couldn’t wish him well, I could at least leave him alone, just as he was leaving me alone, to find the life I was supposed to have . . . one, it seemed, that did not involve being with a star athlete, sanding myself down so that I could fit into the crevices and corners of his life, subsisting on the scraps of his free time and attention, waiting patiently while he ran and stretched and ran and lifted and ran and soaked his touchy left calf in the whirlpool. I would never be the girl in the stands, applauding as he stood on the podium; never be the one thanked in interviews for her support, or named as an inspiration. I would have more ordinary pleasures, a life that was quieter but still fulfilling, and I would be fine.

Six months after Jay had moved his suits and wing tips and loafers into my closet, after his Scrabble board had taken up residence on my kitchen table and I’d had dinner with his entire family twice, Jay took me ice skating again. We held hands as we glided around the rink, and when we were done, he said, “Let’s go get a drink,” and walked me to the bar where we’d first met. I wasn’t surprised when he pulled a velvet box out of his pocket and presented me with the perfect ring—a round-cut diamond, substantial but not ostentatious, in an ornate Victorian setting. He didn’t get down on his knee, didn’t make a spectacle or embarrass me in front of a roomful of strangers, or do something cutesy like hide the ring in a dessert, where there was a possibility that I’d eat it. Instead, Jay held my hand, looked into my eyes, and said, “I will love you forever. Will you?”

“Of course I will,” I told him, and he slipped the ring on my finger, then kissed me, and said, “Mrs. Kravitz.”

This is what I waited for, I thought. This is what all the pain and suffering was about. I’d thought that Andy was my destiny, but maybe he was more of a life lesson, a hurdle I had to keep clearing to show the universe that I was worthy of the life intended for me: this life, with this man.

PART III

Lost Time

Rachel

2005

Rachel!” I turned, feeling the muscles in my back tensing, as if for a blow, as I saw Kara and Kelsey and Britt coming at me, walking shoulder to shoulder, like Charlie’s Angels, looking almost exactly the way they had in high school.

I’d been on the fence about coming to the reunion. I had worried about what Jay would think, meeting people who probably remembered me as a spoiled, prissy girl who cared more about her hair and her clothes than the world around her. I’d quizzed my ob-gyn about flying at eight months, hoping for an excuse to stay home, and then, when she’d given me the go-ahead, I’d hated myself for still being so shallow while I visited five different stores for a maternity dress that wouldn’t make me look like a viscose-clad dirigible.

The night of the reunion, I sat on my bed, with Marissa tugging at her Hervé Léger knockoff in front of the mirror in my childhood bedroom, and made one last attempt to get out of it. “I don’t feel so great.”

Marissa didn’t even bother to look at me. “Rachel—you won. You’ve got a hot husband, gorgeous ring, a beautiful house, you’re knocked up . . .”

“First of all, it’s life. You don’t win. And Kara and Kelsey and Britt all know about Andy, so if I go, I’ll have to talk about him, and I don’t want to.”

“For God’s sake. He was your high school sweetheart. What’s the big deal?”

“He won a gold medal. In the Olympics. That’s the big deal. People are going to want to know what he’s up to, and if we’re still in touch.” I tugged at my bra, shifting around on the bed, trying to get comfortable, when I hadn’t been anything close to comfortable in weeks. Foolishly, I’d envisioned myself sailing through my pregnancy, getting a cute basketball belly and a beautiful glow. Instead, the universe had served up acne, bloated breasts, and an enormous ass, and I’d developed all kinds of odd pains and discomforts. My back ached; my breasts throbbed. Even my vagina hurt. When I complained, my doctor just shrugged and smiled and said, “Well, you’re pregnant.” Thanks for that, I thought.