Until Dorie’s green eyes widened. “Oh no,” she said, gasping for air between guffaws.

“What?” Julia demanded.

“I think,” Dorie said, haltingly. “I think I just peed my pants.”

Which sent Ellis into peals of merry laughter. “You guys, do you remember Patti Shaffhausen from second grade at Blessed Sacrament? Miss Raterman’s class? She used to wet her pants, like, every other day. And because I sat in back of her, Miss Raterman would make me go to the girls’ bathroom and help her get cleaned up. Remember, we used to call her Pee-Pants Patti?”

“Oh my God,” Dorie said. “Pee-Pants Patti Shaffhausen! You won’t believe this, but Patti Shaffhausen is my dentist. She and her husband live on the same street in Ardsley Park as Willa. And he’s a urologist.”

“Stop!” Julia begged. Now it was her turn to clutch at her chest. “Stop, or I’m gonna pee my pants.”

“Guys,” Dorie said. “It’s not just the laughing. I pee my pants—just a little—like, every day. I’m pregnant, guys.”

16

“That’s not funny, Dorie,” Julia said.

“But it’s true.”

Ellis and Julia both chose that moment to take large gulps of wine.

“Is this what you call a pregnant pause?” Dorie said finally, her grin lopsided.

“When?” Ellis asked, when she could catch her breath. “I mean, when are you due?”

“I’m three months pregnant. The baby’s due in February. I’m hoping for Valentine’s Day.” Dorie turned to Julia, her green eyes flashing. “And before you ask, yes, I do intend to keep the baby. I don’t know what else is going to happen in my life, but the one thing I do know is that I am going to have this baby.”

Julia bristled. “I wasn’t going to suggest…”

“Good,” Dorie said, her voice becoming uncharacteristically firm. “I know you don’t go to church anymore, Julia, but I do. I’m not one of those crazy bomb-flinging right-to-lifers, but for me, I just don’t believe in abortion. End of discussion!”

“I can’t believe you still buy into all that Catholic voodoo,” Julia muttered.

“I do,” Dorie said. “Well, most of it anyway. I guess I’m gonna have to figure out the divorce part, though.”

Ellis flung her arms around Dorie. “Oh my God! A baby. This is amazing! I can’t believe it. We’re gonna have a baby, y’all.” She looked over Dorie’s head at Julia, who sat back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. “She’s pregnant! Bet you didn’t see that coming, Witch Julia.”

“Nope,” Julia agreed. “I totally didn’t see that one coming.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t guess, Julia,” Dorie said. “I’ve been running into the bathroom every five minutes, it feels like, and feeding my face every minute of the day. I can hardly stay awake, I’m so sleepy all the time.”

“But you’ve been drinking wine with the rest of us,” Julia said accusingly.

“Nope,” Dorie laughed. “You guys have been so busy sucking down the wine and margaritas, you didn’t even notice me dumping my glass in the sink. I haven’t had a drink since the dipstick turned blue back in June.”

“What does Stephen think about all this?” Julia asked.

Dorie gazed down at her belly. Her voice, when she answered, was very small. “He doesn’t know yet. You guys are the first ones I’ve told.”

“I don’t understand,” Ellis said finally. “You found out you’re pregnant in June. Way before you and Stephen split up. Why didn’t you tell him about the baby when you found out?”

“I just … didn’t,” Dorie said. “We weren’t trying to get pregnant. Not at all. This was all my fault. A slipup. We’d talked about a baby, and he said he wanted kids, eventually. But somehow, when I found out about the baby, right after Stephen’s dad had a stroke, it just seemed like a terrible time to announce that I was pregnant. I knew he’d be worried about money, and I just didn’t want to pile on another responsibility.”

“For God’s sake, Dorie,” Julia said. “That is so like you. How can this be all your fault? Unless you impregnated yourself with a turkey baster when Stephen wasn’t looking. You’re the one who’s got to carry this baby for nine months, along with everything else, and you’re worried about poor old Stephen having too much responsibility. He doesn’t deserve you, Dorie. He never did.”

Dorie pressed her fingertips over her eyelids. “A month ago, I would have said you were all wrong about Stephen. Now? I just don’t know what to think. One minute I hate his guts. I want to scream and rant and rave and kick him in the nuts and grab him and shake the crap out of him and ask him why on earth he ever married me if he thought there was even a remote possibility he was gay. I mean, how could he? How dare he? And then, I start thinking how painful all this must be for Stephen.”

“Go with the kicking-in-the-nuts reaction,” Julia said dryly.

“Damn,” Dorie said, standing up abruptly. “Now I’ve gotta pee again. You see what I’m like? I’m a mess. Guess I’ll run upstairs and change my shorts while I’m at it. I don’t want you guys to start calling me Pee-Pants Dorie.”

When Dorie was out of earshot, Julia poured herself another glass of wine, and after a moment’s hesitation, topped off Ellis’s glass too.

Ellis took a sip of the wine. She felt inexplicable tears welling up. Were they for what her best friend was facing, or were they, selfishly, for herself—unmarried and still childless at thirty-five, a state she’d never envisioned for herself?

Her brother Baylor was five years older, and as a child, Ellis had always longed for a baby sister to play with—even after her mother patiently explained that Ellis was “the caboose,” as she called her. She’d been a funny little girl, the kind who still played with dolls when all her other friends had long since abandoned them. She’d always baby-sat as a teenager, and still did, occasionally, for friends back in Philly. All their children called her “Aunt Ellie.” Was that all she’d ever be, Aunt Ellie?

“Wow,” Ellis whispered, hoping Julia would assume her tears were for Dorie instead of herself. “I don’t believe this. A baby.”

“Me neither,” Julia said. “What are we gonna do?”

“We’re going to throw her a fabulous baby shower,” Ellis declared. “Can’t you just be happy for her? You heard Dorie. She wants this baby. She’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“A single mom,” Julia said glumly. “I don’t believe she ever envisioned doing it all by herself. And speaking of mothers, I do not want to be around when she drops this little bomb on her mom.”

Ellis winced. “Ow. Yeah. I’m sure old Phyllis will have plenty to say on this topic.”

“She’ll figure out a way to make this all Dorie’s fault,” Julia predicted. “You wait and see. She’ll blame Dorie for turning Stephen queer.”

“Julia!” Ellis laughed ruefully. But she couldn’t argue with what her friend said, because it was too true. Phyllis Dunaway had a talent for finding fault with her youngest daughter. She might have been a big-deal college English professor, but as a wife and mother, Dr. Dunaway was, to Ellis’s way of thinking, a big dud. For years, she’d bullied Dorie’s dad, Gabe, a sweet and slightly nebbishy college professor whose specialty was Beowulf. It had been Phyllis’s idea to name all three Dunaway children after American writers—Willa for Willa Cather, Nash for Ogden Nash, and Dorie, the baby, who had been burdened with the unwieldy and unlikely name of Eudora, for Eudora Welty.

“What about Gabe?” Julia asked. “Does Dorie ever see her dad these days?”

Dorie and the girls had just started seventh grade at OLA when the Dunaways announced they were splitting up. Not long after, Gabe Dunaway moved an hour away, to Statesboro, to take a job teaching English at the college there.

Ellis shrugged. “I think he sends birthday cards and Christmas gifts. But he remarried a couple years ago, and you know how her mom is. Dorie doesn’t dare mention his name, even after all these years. She couldn’t even invite him to the wedding, since Phyllis was paying for it.”