by Shannon Hale
“That was very nice. I almost shed a tear.”
“Apparently all it takes to make you weep is a singing puppet.”
“Hey, don’t sell me short. I also cry at talking socks and animated washcloths.”
“You cry in terror.”
“Well, yeah, that’s true.”
He leaned back and exhaled. “Celeste will be so relieved. So am I.”
“Yeah, where are Celeste and Mike?”
“Oh, they’re not coming out. Celeste’s mission was to retain him so I could speak with you alone.”
“Seriously? Did she know you were . . .”
He nodded.
“No way,” she said in the same tone Fiona used.
“Truly. My lady is game. We . . . you see, after our sordid pasts, when we married, we agreed that if we were ever tempted to cheat, we would have the decency to inform each other first. It was her idea to occupy your husband, giving me a crack to test my falling-in-love theory.”
Becky slowly shook her head. “You are the oddest people I’ve ever met.”
“Well, I had to give it a go, didn’t I? The thought of you has been driving me insane.”
“I think this boils down to a lack of imagination. You like me, but because I’m a woman, you assume it must be either a physical attraction or infatuation. But it’s something else.”
“And what about you? You thought you might be in love with me as well.”
well.”
“I did not.”
“You did. You said yourself you had been feeling confused and giddy.”
“I didn’t—in no way did I think I was in love with you, and the uncharacteristic giddiness was just because . . .” she finished in a whisper, “I thought I was in a movie.”
“You thought you were in a movie?”
She raised her hands to the sky. “You’re Calvin the sexy pet shop owner and I owed it to women everywhere to at least see it through, because that’s how these stories go and . . . It was very confusing.”
“And now?”
“And now I’m cured and sane again.”
They smiled at each other, almost shyly, until she laughed.
“What?” he asked. “What is funny? Tell me.”
“You. You thought you were in love with me. And I thought I was in a movie. And there’s no way we’re actually going to be ‘mates.’ ”
“We might,” he said indignantly.
“No possible way. In a few years you’ll be outside under a moon scrap and it’ll remind you, and you’ll say, ‘There was this odd woman I almost kissed once—haven’t thought of her in years . . .’ ”
“I’m going to call you tomorrow.”
She shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Hey, I don’t take pinky pledges lightly. Ask anyone.”
“And if you don’t call, it’s okay, Felix. Tonight, I’m the luckiest gal in the world to have you as my friend.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Let’s go find our spouses.”
“Right, our spouses. Isn’t that an odd word? ‘Spouse’?”
“I’ve always thought so. Sounds like an animal. Or a disease.”
“Or a diseased animal.”
Felix offered his arm, she took it, and they turned their back on the gaunt moon.
She felt perfect, as if her belly was full of hot chocolate, all the kids were in bed, the house was clean, and there was nothing to do but put her feet up on Mike’s lap and enjoy the night. She was going to get a new Augie—that wonderful friendship that had made her laugh through high school and college had been as lost to her as a childhood doll. She’d met Mike, Augie had gotten engaged, and the friendship had unceremoniously died. You cannot support a spouse and a best friend of the opposite gender. It just cannot be done! Or so she’d thought. But she was thirteen years older now, full of world wisdom and top-notch maturity, and her chest swelled with hope that it was possible after all. They could do it. And she’d taken a pinky pledge to that effect.
When they entered the ballroom, Becky became conscious of the grin on her face. A couple she knew from her Layton neighborhood two-stepped by, their looks full of gossipy indignation when their eyes flicked to Felix’s jacket around her shoulders. It made Becky laugh. If they only knew!
“Are you always this giggly?” Felix asked. “I don’t know if I can approve.”
“I certainly hope I am. I mean, I certainly hope you’re not making me more giggly than normal—that would be plain gross. But really, if you have the option to laugh, why ever hold it back?”
A warm burning sensation fl ashed in her breasts, and she pressed them with backs of her wrists to stop the milk before it fl owed.
“Ugh, I’m letting down. We’ll have to make this fast so I can go pump in the bathroom. I’m used to nursing every couple of hours.”
The horror in Felix’s eyes was so intense it seemed painful. “Pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“Say what? I didn’t say anything.”
He shook his head in disgust.
Back at their table, Celeste was talking, her hands fl ashing in the air, her eyes wide, as if she were recalling an impressive fireworks display. Mike was listening with polite though somewhat feigned interest, but when he saw Becky approaching, his eyes brightened.
“Hey, there you are. You okay?”
“Oh yeah, fine. It’s just that Felix thought he was falling in love with me.”
Felix slapped a hand over his face, which gave Becky a good snicker.
“He . . . what?” Mike looked around, trying to figure out if there was a joke he didn’t get.
“It’s okay, really,” Becky said, rubbing his back.
Celeste stood slowly. In that slinky dress, she fl owed like a waterfall falling up. “She rejected you, ma puce?”
“No, she did not reject me—I realized that I was mistaken.”
Becky nodded happily. “We confirmed that there was no love falling anywhere around us and so we had the wacky idea that we could play at being friends.” Becky turned to Celeste. “I gather Felix has never had a female friend? He liked being around me and he saw only two options: either it was a romantic or physical attraction.”
“It’s just as I thought. I was never worried, Rebecca. But I wanted him to see this through so he would know for himself.”
The two women gave each other knowing glances.
“Now be clear,” Felix said, and if he’d had feathers, they would have been ruffling. “I didn’t find you physically attractive, and that was a bit of my confusion.”
“Hey!” Mike’s hands were fisting and unfisting, caught between outrage and relief.
“Sorry,” Felix said. “Sorry, sorry. Unintended insult.”
Mike glanced at Becky, as if to make sure she wasn’t off ended. She was smiling, so Mike shrugged. “That’s okay. It’s not like I think that way about your wife either.”
Celeste looked at Mike in unabashed amazement.
“Sorry, I meant . . .” Mike rubbed his eyes and turned away. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
Becky looked from aghast Celeste to befuddled Felix to mystified Mike and clapped her hands with glee. After so many winter weeks house bound and half-crazy, this was turning out to be the best outing ever.
“You realized that you are not impassioned?” Celeste asked her husband.
“Not in the slightest.”
Celeste muttered something in French and slinked over. Felix put his hands on his wife’s hips and let his eyes admire her in a bedroom way. They kissed. Becky coughed. It was a bit much for public.
“He’s in love with you?” Mike whispered.
“No, no, no. He was confused. He wanted to be friends, I think, and since I’m apparently a female alien, he had no idea how to interpret that data. So I set him straight. We agreed that there’s no romantic feelings floating about, that we’re both absolutely in love with our spouses—‘spouse’ is really a weird word isn’t it?�
�and decided to be friends. We took a pinky pledge.”
“You took a pinky pledge.”
“I know it’s weird, hon, but he feels like someone who should be in our lives. In a different way from our family. It’s all new. But it’ll be good.” She put her arms around his neck. “So, can I keep my new friend? Please? You luscious, luscious man?”
Mike eyed the couple as they whispered Frenchy things in each other’s ears. “If that’s what you want . . .”
“Thank you.” She planted a kiss square on his mouth. “Okay, I really need to go pump now.”
In which we listen in on phone calls, track down Slurpees, and are privy to a flashback
“He’s not going to call,” Becky said.
“He is.” Mike nodded fervently, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove the minivan home. “He took a pinky pledge.”
“He thought he was in love with me. Now that he knows he’s not, the reality of a Utah housewife as a friend will sink in.”
“You sound pretty confident there. Willing to put your money where your mouth is?”
“The usual?”
“You’re on.”
Becky lost the bet quickly. Felix called the next morning from Park City before hitting the slopes.
“I told you I would phone.”
“And thus you prove you are a man of your word. Now quit wasting your time and go skiing.”
“Excellent suggestion. Good-bye.”
“Bye.”
Mike was reading to Hyrum while keeping one eye on a golf match when Becky leaned into the TV room to announce, “He called.”
Mike peeked over the couch. “He did? Felix? What did he say?”
“ ‘I told you I would call.’ ‘Yeah, you did. Shouldn’t you be skiing?’ ‘Right, cheerio.’ ‘K-bye.’ ”
“Huh.”
“It was obligatory. He won’t call again.”
“Double or nothing?”
“Of course.”
Even though their friendship was surely doomed, she’d really liked Felix. That fact bothered her, and that night she listened to Mike snore and pondered her giddiness at each Felix encounter. By one in the morning, she’d determined her fond feelings weren’t caused by the novelty of his celebrity or a warped infatuation. What a relief! The idea that she could be so easily affected by a movie star had nettled her, and she had covered her ears and shouted “LALALA!” (meta phorically) at the barest hint that she might be harboring some secret and untoward attraction.
No, she just liked him. Felix, the guy who talked with her as Augie had, the guy who’d been fascinated by Edgar Poe versus Nubbin, even the guy who told a complete stranger, “I don’t keep a surplus of damns on hand.” Who talked like that? Felix. And though she could not approve of such behavior, she was still a teeny bit amused.
He didn’t call on Monday.
“Pay up,” she said.
“He’ll call,” Mike said. “He took a pinky pledge.”
Mike made a good point, but how long could even a sacred vow sealed by the tiniest and most loyal of digits forestall the inevitable?
They decided to give it a month. Tuesday morning the phone rang.
“Hello,” said an increasingly familiar British voice.
“Oh, hello,” Becky said, and thought both “darn” and “hooray!” at the same time. She hated to lose a bet.
“Yes, hello,” said Felix.
Becky cleared her throat. “Did you go skiing?”
“Yes, you know, we did.”
“Have a good time?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Good. Sounds . . . fun.”
“So, what do we do now, swap stories about our exes? Watch a reality show on the telly and narrate to each other in scandalized voices? ‘Can you believe she said that? I can’t believe she just said that.’ ”
“You don’t have many friends, do you?”
“I have thousands of fans, dozens of itinerant co-workers, a handful of acolytes, three stalkers, and a wife.”
“You have no idea how this friend business works, do you?” she asked.
“Ha!” Felix said.
“Ooh, that was a nice ‘ha.’ Full of derisive laughter and effectively evading any answer.”
“Thank you. I’ve been practicing.”
“Yeah. So, um, you have no idea how this works, do you?”
“I know there’s talking involved, don’t I? And phone calling. I’m not such an amateur as all that.”
“Felix, are you really sure you want to be friends?”
“What do you mean, am I sure? I took a pinky pledge.”
“Yeah, okay, you’re right.” It was true. He had, in fact, taken a pinky pledge. “It’s just that . . . I bet Mike this would deflate and go nowhere, so—”
“How much did you wager?”
“No money. We bet Slurpees.”
“What?”
“Slurpees? You know, those slushy icy concoctions, the perfect mix of cold and sweet that descends directly from heaven above? The winning Slurpee has to be grape flavored, which often requires driving to multiple 7-Elevens on the hunt, and we went double or nothing, so I’d have to get him two, which is really awkward to carry, because I’ll have one for myself as well, and I’ll be balancing three frozen beverages and a baby. So I was hoping, if you’re going to renege on the pinky pledge sometime in the future, could we jump ahead now so I can win the bet?”
“Sorry, love.”
That afternoon Becky had to go to eight 7-Elevens. Her afternoon was shot. But that grape slush was oh-so-scrumptious.
What with the Slurpee search, she hadn’t had time to make dinner, so she fed the kids cold cereal and she and Mike dined on their shockingly purple slush, sitting in the basement while watching The Little Mermaid on VHS.
“What do you make of all this?” Becky whispered through three children—Fiona and Polly crammed between her and Mike, Hyrum on Mike’s lap.
“I think that octopus is up to no good,” Mike said, his eyes on the television. The corner of his mouth twitched. She knew he couldn’t help it—he was always so pleased with himself when he made a joke. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I don’t know.”
Becky nodded. “He doesn’t have any other friends besides Celeste, not really. I think this will be good for him. I think he needs us.”
“Yeah,” was all Mike said. The crab was singing now. It was his favorite part.
Wednesday morning she called the Park City number.
“Hi, it’s Becky.”
“Hi,” Felix said, with a hint of an exclamation point.
The degree of his enthusiasm made her feel all warm and squashy.
“You know, this friends thing means we get to hang out together if we’re in the same state.”
“Right. Right! I didn’t think about that. You mean, as in, a date?”
“Noooo. As in hanging out, as in friendly lunches or dinner. Why don’t you and Celeste come over to night?”
“We’re flying home this afternoon.”
Becky had not realized how light and happy her heart had been until she felt it plummet into her midsection. He was leaving. Of course he was leaving. He didn’t live there. Wow, this really was intense, this new friendship or what evership. That sticky, achy missing feeling was already burrowing into her chest.
“Oh,” she said, and she must have sounded pathetic, because Felix said, “You’re not going to cry now, are you?”
“Just hide the puppets. When do you go?”
“We leave for the airport in two hours.”
“What, are you taking a limo?”
“A hired car of some sort.”
“No, no, no. You don’t take a limo in Utah, and you never pay someone to drive you to the airport, not whenever there are friends or family around. I’ll take you, of course.”
And that’s how Becky found herself packing up four-year-old Hy-rum and baby Sam into their car seats and driving an hour to Park City. Long car rides with t
wo small children should only be undertaken with trembling caution; yet off she went when Felix and Celeste could have afforded a fleet of stretch Hummers. Becky merged onto I-80 West, threading the snowy canyon, reaching back to reinsert Sam’s pacifier for the thirty-second time, and answering Hyrum’s whining with, “Just a few more minutes. Let’s sing ‘Wheels on the Bus’ again!”
She pulled up to the four-star lodge where Felix, Celeste, and their mountain of luggage were waiting, and her heart bounced back up.
She hopped out and ran to Celeste, trying out the cheek-kissing thing and succeeding moderately well. At least Celeste said, “Well done, ma belle.” Becky turned to Felix and wasn’t sure what to do. She usually hugged friends, but he was a guy. This was going to take time to figure out. So she just sort of waved and said, “Hi.”
Felix looked over her ten-year-old lemon yellow parka and unlaced snow boots. “What are you wearing?”
Becky rolled her eyes, and Celeste said something French and scoldy.
Becky helped toss the luggage in the back and offered the front seat to Celeste.
“No, no. I want to see the baby.”
Becky relocated Hyrum’s car seat to the back bench so Celeste could sit next to Sam and coo and stroke his palms.
“All I need is to smell a baby from time to time, and I am satisfied.”
Becky was pretty sure she heard maternal longing in Celeste’s voice, but Felix didn’t so much as glance at Sam.
Felix rode shotgun, and while Celeste cooed and stroked, Becky and Felix laughed.
Later when Becky was trying to recount the conversation for Mike, she couldn’t remember what had been so funny.
“I think he said something about traffic lights, and he just sounded so British, then I said something about the British but I got it wrong. And we just kept laughing the whole way. You remember Augie Beuter, right? That’s how it was with Augie too. I ended up parking at the airport and taking the boys in the stroller, going through security and everything with them, so Felix and I could keep talking. We sat by the gate, and I nursed Sam—under a blanket, but it still freaked Felix out, which was also funny, and . . . this is a really lame story, isn’t it?”