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Show Motherlunge a novel 35 than a too-small sweatshirt, relic of one's freshman year, bunching under one's armpits, Montana Trout! above the C-shaped fish straining for the fly. I explained what Pavia was doing (shopping) and what I was suffering from (hangover). "Can I get you some orange juice?" he asked gently. "Turn up the heat? I've had a few morning-afters myself." I nodded pathetically; I knew it was easier for him to pity me, rather than the other way around. If I had recently been rejected by my spouse, I'd go out of my way to adopt a neglected animal, preferably one missing a limb or an eye. I accepted a glass of juice and a blanket, and Jack went off to pack. Pavia came home just as Jack was carrying two suitcases down the stairs. "Hey," my sister said quickly, frowning, then smiling. General stood in front of her with his tail whipping the wall, his snout burrowing deep into her crotch-working through it like a French pig hunting truffles. "Cute trick," Jack said, looking down at General. "Got your period?" He started down the stairs again. When he got to the bottom, his suitcases and her plastic grocery bags jostled against each other as he eased his way past "Now that I'm single, maybe I should get a dog like that," Jack said, turning around at the open door to look at Pavia. He smiled like it hurt-like his jaw, too, stored tension. "I could take him to the bars, and he'd be able to tell me who I shouldn't bother pursuing that night." Pavia looked at him. "Jack." Her voice was low, excruciatingly patient. "I don't have my period. I'm pregnant." She shook her hair out of her eyes and waited. |