Attachments by Rainbow Rowell Page B
Authors: Rainbow Rowell
Testy.
<> Okay, I’m not fine. But I’m too embarrassed to talk about why.
<> Don’t talk, then. Type.
<> Only if you don’t go repeating what I’m about to tell you. It makes me sound unbalanced.
<> I won’t. I swear. Cross my heart, needles, etc.
<> All right. But this is really stupid. More stupid than usual. I was at the mall last night, walking around by myself, trying not to spend money, trying not to think about a delicious Cinnabon …and I found myself walking by the Baby Gap. I’ve never been in a Baby Gap. So, I decided to duck in. On a lark.
<> Right. On a lark. I’m familiar with those. So …
<> So …I’m larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than …I don’t know, more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls.
I’m looking at this preposterous coat, and a Baby Gap woman comes up to me and says, “Isn’t that sweet? How old is your daughter?” And I say, “Oh, no. She’s not. Not yet.”
And she says, “When are you due?”
And I say, “ February .”
<> Whoa.
<> I know. I just lied. About being pregnant. If I were really pregnant, I wouldn’t be at the Baby Gap, I’d be sitting in a dark room, sobbing.
So Baby Gap lady says, “Well, then you’ll want one for next season, size 6 to 12 months. These coats are a steal. We just marked them down today.”
And I agreed that a faux fur coat for only $32.99 was indeed an irresistible deal.
<> You bought baby clothes? What did Mitch say?
<> Nothing! I hid it in the attic. I felt like I was hiding a body.
<> Wow. I don’t know what to say. Does this mean you’re softening on the baby issue?
<> I think it means I’m softening on the sanity issue. I’m viewing this as a dysfunctional appendage to my general psychosis about babies. I still dread getting pregnant. But now I’m buying clothes for the child I’m terrified to have, and guess what, it’s a girl.
<> Wow.
<> I know.
CHAPTER 20
SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT , Lincoln walked up to the newsroom. It was mostly empty. There were a few nightside copy editors left, poring over the next morning’s newspaper. Someone was sitting at the city desk, listening to a crackling police scanner and working on tomorrow’s crossword.
Lincoln walked to the other side of the long room, where he assumed the Entertainment staff worked. Back there, the cubicles were full of movie posters, concert flyers, promotional photos and toys.
He stopped at a printer and opened it, just to look like he had something to do. Which desk was he looking for? Maybe the one with the R.E.M. stickers. Probably not the one with the stuffed Bart Simpson and half a dozen fully poseable Alien action figures …but maybe. Maybe. Would Beth have a Page-a-Day cat calendar? A potted plant? A Sandman poster? A Marilyn Manson press pass?
A Sandman poster.
He looked back at the copy desk. He could hardly see the copy editors from here, which meant they could hardly see him. He walked over to Beth’s cubicle, to what he thought was her cubicle.
A Sandman poster. A Rushmore poster. A three-year-old flyer for Sacajawea at Sokol Hall. A dictionary. A French dictionary. Three books by Leonard Maltin. A high school journalism award. Empty coffee cups. Starburst wrappers. Photographs.
He sat at her desk and lamely started to take apart her computer mouse.
Photographs. One was a concert photograph, a guy playing guitar. Obviously her boyfriend, Chris. In another frame, the same guy sat on a beach. In another, he wore a suit. He looked like a rock star even without
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I’m looking at this preposterous coat, and a Baby Gap woman comes up to me and says, “Isn’t that sweet? How old is your daughter?” And I say, “Oh, no. She’s not. Not yet.”
And she says, “When are you due?”
And I say, “ February .”
<
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So Baby Gap lady says, “Well, then you’ll want one for next season, size 6 to 12 months. These coats are a steal. We just marked them down today.”
And I agreed that a faux fur coat for only $32.99 was indeed an irresistible deal.
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CHAPTER 20
SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT , Lincoln walked up to the newsroom. It was mostly empty. There were a few nightside copy editors left, poring over the next morning’s newspaper. Someone was sitting at the city desk, listening to a crackling police scanner and working on tomorrow’s crossword.
Lincoln walked to the other side of the long room, where he assumed the Entertainment staff worked. Back there, the cubicles were full of movie posters, concert flyers, promotional photos and toys.
He stopped at a printer and opened it, just to look like he had something to do. Which desk was he looking for? Maybe the one with the R.E.M. stickers. Probably not the one with the stuffed Bart Simpson and half a dozen fully poseable Alien action figures …but maybe. Maybe. Would Beth have a Page-a-Day cat calendar? A potted plant? A Sandman poster? A Marilyn Manson press pass?
A Sandman poster.
He looked back at the copy desk. He could hardly see the copy editors from here, which meant they could hardly see him. He walked over to Beth’s cubicle, to what he thought was her cubicle.
A Sandman poster. A Rushmore poster. A three-year-old flyer for Sacajawea at Sokol Hall. A dictionary. A French dictionary. Three books by Leonard Maltin. A high school journalism award. Empty coffee cups. Starburst wrappers. Photographs.
He sat at her desk and lamely started to take apart her computer mouse.
Photographs. One was a concert photograph, a guy playing guitar. Obviously her boyfriend, Chris. In another frame, the same guy sat on a beach. In another, he wore a suit. He looked like a rock star even without
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