The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [128]
“These are incredible.” Dan patted his stomach. “This used to be a beer belly,” he said sadly. “Now it’s just a belly.”
“Dan?”
He looked up, and their eyes locked. He said nothing.
“I’m sorry if I was cruel to you—that day in the car. I was so . . .”
“Cordy,” he said, his voice soft, balmy. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. I was just scared and I snapped at you, and I’m sorry. You were right. I have no plan. I was just trying to . . . Well, I knew what my father would say, and I guess I thought it would hurt less if I said it first.”
“So you’ve told him.”
Cordy nodded. “Reaction as expected. He’s coming around, I guess. Because of Mom, mostly. I think it’s kind of important to her in an odd way—because she’s sick, you know.”
“Yeah, I ran into Bean at the library the other day. We talked about it a little.” If Cordy saw this as a betrayal, she said nothing. “Bean, man. Did you ever think Bean would be a librarian?”
“Not in a million billion years,” Cordy said, and they grinned at each other, and Bean would have completely forgiven this joke at her expense, for the way it retied the bond between them.
“You know it doesn’t matter to me, right?” Dan said. He reached out, put his hand on hers, warm. Stilling.
“What doesn’t?”
“The baby. I mean, here’s the way I see it. I’d have no problem dating a woman who had a kid, you know? So what’s the difference in dating a woman who’s pregnant?”
Cordy could think of about a million and nine differences, actually. Hormones, sex, breastfeeding, the constant visible reminder of another man’s presence inside her body . . . but on the other hand, no. No, there was no difference at all.
“I had a crush on Bean, you know? Back in school?” He shook his head, a lock of hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it back. “For about five minutes. I think it was because she could drink me under the table. But she—Bean’s just raw, you know? Sheer force of will. Sharp edges, like she’ll cut you if you get too close.” He paused.
“But you’re different, Cordy. I mean, after you came to Barney, I totally saw why Bean had such a complex about you.”
“About me?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Totally. Like everything she could do, you could do better. She hated it. And people love Bean, you know that. But not like they love you. Bean’s like a whirlwind, she bowls you over because there’s just so much of her. But you, you’re like this silent meteor. You come in, and you make a crater, and you don’t even try. I used to watch you walking around campus and you were like a fairy princess. Like your feet never touched the ground.”
The bell on the front door tinkled. Dan jumped up off the stool. His cheekbones stood high and red, his ears burning. Cordy could hardly move.
“Mrs. O!” Dan said, as though the intimacy of the conversation between them had never been. It had, though, Cordy could feel it in the air, wrapped around them like a spiderweb, glossy, but substantial.
“Good morning, Daniel. Hello, Cordelia. Oooh, are these macadamia nuts?” She pointed at the bread.
“Cordy made it. Try some,” Daniel said, looking over his shoulder as he flicked down the tab on one of the urns, pouring coffee into a cardboard cup for her.
“I decidedly should not,” Mrs. O said, but Cordy had already whisked out a tiny plastic container and was putting slices in it for her to take away. “So are you going to be a baker now?” she asked.
“No,” Cordy said. “Well, maybe. Why don’t you tell me how you like those and then we’ll decide?”
Mrs. O’Connell nodded, as though she had known her opinion would be the key, paid, and headed out the door. She was always early, but her arrival meant there would be more customers soon. Even in summer, there was a slow drift in the morning as employees headed in to work, or some of the retired farmers came in to drink coffee and read the paper to each other, lost without the rhythm of their chores.
“I never knew,” Cordy said, turning back to Dan as though they had not