Part 19 (2/2)
Someone had placed rocks on the top of his grave. Alexis had read somewhere this was a Jewish tradition, and she was touched that a stranger had visited his grave and cared.
On his tombs.h.i.+ne sat a statue so large and hideous she knew he would have hated it. But when you die young, you don't get any say in your burial. Made of marble, it depicted a kneeling soldier, rifle in hand, tending to another wounded on the ground. The soldier's helmet was next to him.
MARK JONATHAN ALLBRIGHT.
19832008.
AMERICAN HERO.
SAVED THREE MEN'S LIVES IN IRAQ BY PLACING HIMSELF IN HARM'S WAY GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.
Gone but not forgotten. No, he had not been. Not by Alexis, or her parents. She knew if Mark were alive he would have steered Bunny into rehab. He'd tell their father to get off his high horse about Alexis dropping out of law school. To give her the inheritance to help Billy. He would have said all of this in that fake Irish brogue he'd sometimes put on, which would make them all laugh, squinting one of his eyes closed like some drunken pirate.
”I'm pregnant!” Alexis whispered to the statue, the remains of her brother buried somewhere beneath. Then, ”I'm pregnant!” she shouted the words and the wind picked them up, scattering leaves in a swirl around her, as though Mark were somewhere listening and nature was giving her a sign. She smiled through her tears. It felt so good to finally tell someone. She sat in a crouch in the gra.s.s and was wracked with sobs.
”Alexis?”
She turned, but had been crying so hard that Noah's figure was a blur. She wiped her nose on her sweater sleeve and blinked.
”Noah? What ... what are you doing here?”
He touched the statue. ”Is this Mark?”
”Yes. Noah, Mark. Mark, Noah.” She stood up too quickly and leaned on Mark's grave until the dizziness pa.s.sed. Something to do with her blood volume increasing, at least that's what the baby books said.
Noah approached her gingerly. He put his arms out, and she ran to him, keeping her round belly to the side so as to not squish the baby, but hugging him as hard as she could. His waist felt so narrow, the gray cashmere sweater he wore under a green Patagonia coat soft as fur beneath her hands.
”I'm so sorry,” she said, still crying.
”No. I'm the one who is sorry,” Noah said. His brown eyes were liquid chocolate. Warm, deep. He wiped away her tears with his big thumbs. ”I never should have called Skinny Chick stupid. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I've been reading all the past blog posts, articles, and message boards. It's really a work of art. The writing is excellent.”
”You know what?” Alexis said, laughing. ”It is a little stupid, sometimes. A little shallow. I acted a little shallow. And I really am happy without that fancy phone.”
Noah grinned widely, his teeth very white against the twilight, and placed his hands around the small ball of her belly. ”You kept the baby,” he said, pleased. Behind him, she saw a woman crouching down, placing flowers on the ground in the distance. The graves were muted, gray and silver half-moons in the dark green gra.s.s. She thought of the years she still had left with Noah. She didn't want to waste any more time.
”I did,” Alexis breathed. ”I thought about what you said. We're not kids. This baby is a surprise, not unwanted. We messed up, but it can turn into a good mess-up, can't it?”
G.o.d, the man had a s.e.xy grin. ”Definitely.”
He touched her face tenderly. ”I kept begging Billy for news, but he said it was up to you to tell me. He can be really f.u.c.king stubborn.”
Alexis laughed. It felt good. ”He can be,” she said. ”But I love him so much.”
”Me, too,” Noah said.
She reached up to where his famous 'fro had been. ”Your hair-it's all gone.” She'd seen his new haircut when she watched him from the window of her bedroom, but up close it was even more startling.
He ran his hand over his scalp. His head was beautifully shaped, round. ”Shaved it when Billy lost his,” he said. ”Couldn't let a homeboy go through that alone, you know?”
Alexis stared at him. ”Did he tell you I was here?”
”Yup. I bribed him with a Guinness beer m.u.f.fin, you know those are his favorite. And I got your message. I'd been down in Philly, meeting this guy who is interested in canning my famous chili and distributing it, which would be insanely awesome. I drove here at, like, a million miles an hour.” He looked around. ”Pretty town. Preppy.”
Alexis laughed. ”Very.” A look of sadness pa.s.sed over her face. ”I just remembered what a weird day I've had,” she said.
Noah sat down cross-legged, pulling her onto his lap. He cradled her. ”Tell me about it,” he whispered.
So they sat there for over an hour, and Alexis talked and talked. Noah listened calmly, wrapping his jacket around her and putting his hands on her belly like it was a crystal ball that could reveal their future. The dirt and gra.s.s must have been wet and cold beneath Noah's legs, but he never budged.
She told him everything, every last ugly bit. The governor's wife with snow on her eyelashes who cried during Mark's funeral. His dust-free football medals standing silently on the shelf in his bedroom. Her mother's fading beauty and shaking hands. Her father's grief, and how it had manifested itself, making him hard as stone. The inheritance she'd once turned down. Billy's unpaid medical bills in her pillowcase, which crunched under her head as she slept at night. She sat near her beloved brother's body and talked until she was hoa.r.s.e.
”What do you think? Am I screwed up or what?” she asked him when she was finished.
”Well, for starters, I think you're very brave,” Noah said. Behind him, small birds flew from tree to tree, black against the sky.
Alexis laughed. People had called her a lot of things, Queen of All Media, Skinny Chick, shallow. A b.i.t.c.h. But no one had ever said she was brave.
”I think you've been shouldering a lot of things by yourself, and it's time for me to step up and be the man you need. Your best friend has been very sick. You're pregnant. Your parents are ... difficult. You're not alone anymore, Alexis. You have me now. We're family.”
She stared at him. And then a brand-new feeling swept over Alexis. Joy. Pure, undiluted joy. Their baby nudged again, and her stomach did a flip-flop.
”The baby just moved,” she told him, laughing and crying at the same time.
Noah's eyes were bright. He squeezed her hand gently.
”I want to be with you, too, Noah. And I promise I won't look like this forever, someday I'll be my skinny self again.”
He smiled. In it, she saw a warm, amused, indulgent expression-an appreciation of her transparent pa.s.sions and insecurities.
”Not too skinny,” he said. ”I kind of like you with b.o.o.bs.”
She laughed, punching him on the shoulder. ”Perv! But okay. Not too skinny.”
”You look hotter to me right now with those curves than ever before, Alexis. I'm serious.”
Since their fight, she'd imagined many different scenarios of running into Noah, but this was perfect. Mark, whom she had loved so much, was part of this special day. And as the wind picked up again, and the moon rose in the sky, she realized that she had a family again: Billy, Noah, and that cute little b.u.mp.
Fat and Fabulous Dear Fellow Fats and Non-Fats Posse: I apologize for the lack of posts lately, but I think once I explain what the heck has been going on around here it will all start to make sense.
Okay, all you out there. Listen up. Put the chocolate bar down (I'm talking to you, Mom) and turn up the volume in your ears. Well, okay. You can pick up your chocolate again, who am I to say no? I'm just a girl wearing sweatpants with unwashed hair and a plate of cookies on my lap who writes her blog in bed. But I do have something completely crazy to tell you. Pinch shut your nose. Peel open your eyeb.a.l.l.s. Shut the door, and close the curtains: I have been going braless here at the farm.
For someone who was forced to answer to the name ”Blimp b.o.o.bs” in junior high, you can imagine what a triumph this is. Like carrying the torch in the Olympics. I think it's quite possible each of my b.o.o.bs weighed something like thirty pounds, which, when put together, makes up one Jonas brother.
The reason I am able to go braless is the matter at hand here, the big enchilada in the room. Wait, now I'm just craving Mexican food. Yum.
The truth is, dear and loyal readers, I've lost some weight. Please! Before you tar, feather, and string me up in the town square, I did not go on a diet or watch what I ate. (That expression always calls to mind people with thick bifocals, holding a magnifying gla.s.s to each spoonful of food they place in their mouth, doesn't it?) Let me repeat what I just wrote in a previous sentence. I did not diet. I will go to my grave protesting dieting and the ugly machine that is the weight-loss industry that follows it like a pale and sickly twin. No, I'm not counting food points. The only points a woman should be counting are her bowling league score or how many tubes of lip gloss fit into that tiny pocket on the inside of her purse.
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