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talk. When he says something—anything—she opens her eyes wide and really seems to listen, like she thinks he’s God or something!”
    Suzette nods and pats my hand. “I do understand, Elizabeth. Trust me, I totally understand.”
    And now I am crying. It’s as if the tables have suddenly turned, and it’s my chance to blubber and sob. And to my surprise, Suzette proves an empathetic listener.
    “All men are alike,” she finally says.
    I wipe my wet cheeks with my soggy cocktail napkin. “Yes, you may be right.”

Chapter 5

L AURA
    H ow I wish I were anywhere but here! I realize that David had to come since it’s his own brother who’s getting married today, but I would’ve done absolutely anything to get out of this weekend. I even tried to convince David that Amy was coming down with a bug yesterday. Unfortunately, he didn’t fall for it. Our little Amy, who turns two months old next week, is the picture of health. You’d think I’d at least be happy about that, but I felt so desperate that I actually wished she were running a slight fever. Nothing serious, mind you, but maybe a result of teething since I’ve heard that sometimes happens, although this is pretty young. But, no, Amy was perfectly fine.
    What kind of mother am I, anyway? Wishing ill health on my only child just to avoid David’s brother’s wedding? I am truly pathetic. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s knowing how most of thepeople here really do consider us to be pathetic, pitiful, clueless—whatever adjectives they use to describe us behind our backs. And not only behind our backs, because I’ve heard them say things—things like, “Too bad David hasn’t done as well as Michael,” or, “You’d think that David, being the older brother, would’ve followed his father’s example and …” Blah-blah-blah, off they go, discussing our personal lives as if we were germs under a microscope. I have no doubt that most of the guests here are convinced that David and I are second-class citizens or less. Something to be pitied by the “upper” class—and only because David opted to follow his heart instead of his daddy’s checkbook.
    “I saw your baby this morning,” says Jennifer’s friend Ingrid, dredging me out of my depressing thoughts. “She’s absolutely adorable.”
    “Thanks,” I say, attempting a feeble smile.
    “You have a baby?” asks the older woman, who I believe is Jennifer’s grandmother. I haven’t been paying close attention, but I think I heard Ingrid calling her Mrs. Simpson, and that’s Jennifer’s last name.
    I nod and set down my fork. “Her name is Amy. She’s almost two months old.”
    “That’s such a sweet age. I hope you’re taking time to thoroughly enjoy her. Goodness knows, you barely turn your back, and the next thing, they’re heading down the aisle themselves.”
    I give her the blank look that I give every older woman who says something like that to me. Honestly, it’s almost a daily thing.“Well …,” I begin slowly, “it’s a little hard to
take the time
when you barely have any time to begin with.”
    Mrs. Simpson nods. “Yes, I understand completely. You’re very busy when you’re caring for an infant. So much to be done, and they require a great deal of attention. But, trust me, she’ll grow up much faster than you expect.”
    I sigh, knowing that on some level this woman is probably right. “I suppose so,” I say, but to be honest, I guess I do hope it goes fast. I’m so tired most of the time that I can barely see straight. I’m probably dangerous on the road, and I know that my performance on the job has been less than marginal, and I question my mental state for agreeing to teach summer school this year. Oh, I know we can use the money, but it’s making a complete basket case of me. And poor David. I either grump at him or totally ignore him. I’m wondering if our marriage can actually survive a baby. I feel as if I’m failing at everything right now. And some