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this . . . this one’s just a baby.” She reaches out and tickles the pines with her fingers. “It needs your help to grow now and when you’re ready, you can choose its home outside and plant it in the ground.”
    Didn’t she mean when it’s ready? Like when it grows out of its pot or something? Should she mention that if it weren’t for Cricket, her green plants would be crackly brown and poking out of garbage bags?
    There is something about Gaia that makes it difficult for Bess to break eye contact with her, something mesmerizing and calming, but now that the plant is no longer blocking her belly, her pregnancy is in full view. “This is very nice of you and I’m sorry for the miscommunication about my birthday. I just didn’t want to make it a big deal, you know?”
    “It’s okay,” says Gaia. Her slow breathing makes her breasts and shoulders rise and fall as gently as the undulating waves of an ocean’s cove, her skin as smooth and white as fine sand.
    “ Way -ell, as long as we’re here,” says Sonny, slipping past Bess.
    “Wait,” says Bess, trying to grab his arm, “you can’t.” But it’s too late, as the last flap of his bowling shirt disappears into her apartment. Her assistant shakes her head, takes Bess’s tree for her, and follows him to the kitchen. Bess is now alone with Gaia, who is rubbing her belly and leaning against the door frame. Bess contemplates telling Gaia it’s a singles party, but she’s not sure she has the nerve. A pregnant woman at a singles party, that’s a good one. The pregnant girlfriend of her ex-boyfriend at her singles party, even better.
    “You know it’s funny,” begins Bess, “this is kind of a—”
    “Ow,” yelps Gaia, cringing and reaching out for Bess’s shoulder.
    “What? What is it? Are you okay?”
    “Wow.” Gaia sounds like she’s under water. “That was heavy.”
    Bess doesn’t want to know what heavy means. “Listen, forget it. Here,” she says to Gaia, cupping her elbow, “why don’t you come in and lie down.”
    Gaia nods and takes her hand. Bess hadn’t offered her hand, but Gaia takes it anyway and Bess thinks, as she leads Gaia to her bedroom, what an odd feeling it is to hold a woman’s hand. She doesn’t think she’s ever done that before, other than holding her mom’s hand to cross streets. She’s seen little girls hold hands, and young twins, and women from Europe and South America, and every time she sees it she is wistful that such affection and intimacy were not part of her American upbringing. Her female friends hug, that’s what they do. Weak hugs with a few generic pats on the back as thank-yous after a dinner party. They don’t really touch. It’s one of the things Bess misses most being single, that sense of touch. She helps Gaia onto her bed and props her up with extra pillows.
    “Thank you,” says Gaia. She settles in and begins to survey her surroundings, which makes Bess nervous.
    “I’ll get you a glass of water,” says Bess. In the living room the music is still playing, people are still drinking and talking. Sonny is in a corner talking to two women and Bess has half a mind to pull him away by the ear and thrust him into her bedroom to be with Gaia. But then there are memories of Sonny in that bedroom, and better not add to the weirdness of the circumstances. So she takes her filtered water from the fridge and as she pours a glass she looks around for Rory. Where is he? “Gabrielle,” she calls out. “Where’s Rory?”
    Gabrielle sees Bess’s disappointment and puts on a serious face. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I think he left.”
    Bess feels irritated. “He didn’t even say good-bye.” As she carries the glass of water toward her bedroom, she thinks: Who cares, it doesn’t matter. He’s too old anyway, too flirty, too cocky, too . . . unibrowed. Bess’s buzz is wearing off and her toe is throbbing again. She wants the night to end, to get everyone out of her apartment; for God’s