I was unhappily aware that I was thinking about the wedding strictly in terms of my own feelings. but there’s nothing more forlorn than being an old maid at a wedding. I realize that it’s silly to feel like you’re on the shelf at twenty-seven. But I had missed some prime time, and I was increasingly conscious of that fact. So many of my high school friends had gotten married (some more than once), and some of them were pregnant—like Tara, who was coming through the door in an oversized T-shirt.

I gave a wave to let her know I’d come talk to her when I could, and I got an iced tea for Dr. Linda Tonnesen and a Michelob for Jesse Wayne Cummins.

“What’s up, Tara?” I bent over to give her a neck hug. She had plunked herself down at a table.

“I need some caffeine-free Diet Coke,” she said. “And I need a cheeseburger. With lots of French-fried pickles.” She looked ferocious.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll get the Coke and put in your order right now.”

When I returned, she drank the whole glass. “I’ll be sorry in five minutes because I’ll have to go to the bathroom,” she said. “All I do is pee and eat.” Tara had big rings under her eyes, and her complexion was not at its best. Where was the glow of pregnancy that I’d heard so much about?

“How much longer do you have to go?”

“Three months, a week, and three days.”

“Dr. Dinwiddie gave you a due date!”

“JB just can’t believe how big I’m getting,” Tara said, with an eye roll.

“He said that? In those words?”

“Yep. Yes. He did.”

“Geez Louise. That boy needs a lesson or two in rephrasing.”