Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [52]
“Maybe it is the best thing that ever happened to them.”
“Did I sound like I was being sarcastic?”
“Well, no. But you tend to take a cynical view of such things.”
“What things?”
“Other people’s happiness.”
“I won’t deny that. But in this case, I have no reason to be a cynic. Sara says she loves being a mom, Scotty loves being a dad, and they can’t wait to have more kids. She appears to be fully consumed and completed by her role as a wife and mother, and that’s great for her. Even when she’s being totally Sara and all patronizing and obnoxious—‘You’re still young! You have plenty of good eggs left in you! All this will happen for you, too, sweetie!’—I’m still happy for her. I’m happy that she’s found domestic bliss in the ’burbs. I’m probably happier for her and Scotty than I am for most people, if only because theirs is a type of happiness I don’t want for myself.”
“Ever?”
[Cough.] “Not right now.”
[Pause.]
“What was the name of Manda’s partner, the baggy-pants, break-dancing gangsta who didn’t conform to the gender binary?”
“Shea. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I saw her when I was in the city a few weeks ago. If it was her, she’s a bike messenger. Just as her face registered as familiar, she took off.”
“Wait, you saw her in the city, as in New York City?”
“Yes.”
“The same city that you hated and never wanted to visit? The same city that provoked debilitating anxiety attacks?”
“The same.”
“So am I to assume that the city is something else you’ve learned to appreciate socially and in moderation?”
“Something like that. Only I wasn’t there for social reasons. [Throat clearing.] So was it Shea? Is she a bike messenger?”
“I have no idea. Manda and Shea moved out after the first year. It’s just me and Hope until Ursula decides to kick us out.”
“Ursula! Oh man, this conversation is really getting nostalgic. I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“You probably blocked out her memory. A common post-traumatic-stress response.”
“She accused me of housing cockroaches in my dreadlocks.”
“Yes, well, I assure you that she’s as charming as ever. Why, just the other day, she told Hope how she’s come to love us like the daughters she never had. ‘You almost make me regret getting all zose abortions.’”
“Almost. That’s classic.”
“So Hope and I still live in the same apartment, but we have our own rooms now. No more bunk beds for me! I bought a big-girl bed of my very own.”
“Your parents must be proud.”
“Oh yes. Very proud. They’ve put a picture of my big-girl bed up on the refrigerator. Not me, just the bed.”
“What parent wouldn’t? I wish I could see it for myself.”
“The picture on the refrigerator or the bed?”
“For the sake of propriety, I’ll say the picture.”
“Good answer, Marcus. Good answer.”
[Pause.]
“So… how is Hope?”
“Well, she dropped out of school.”
“She did? Why? I thought she wanted to get her master’s in art therapy. If there’s anyone meant to work with disaffected youth, it’s her.”
“Ow.”
“You okay?”
“Damn cramps.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Uh. Anyway. Hope never really wanted to work with kids. Graduate school was just her fallback plan. She really wanted to be an artist.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Cinthia bought a few of Hope’s paintings to decorate her new apartment, which is really like the equivalent of six apartments stacked on top of each other. You met Cinthia once or twice, right? So you know she’s a force of nature, someone who can singlehandedly cultivate or kill a trend without even trying. She threw a housewarming party, and a bunch of her well-connected