no man in your life, an insidious little voice said. You forget to pay attention to yourself. She couldn’t even use the excuse of her job, because most of the women at the center paid a lot more attention to their appearance than P.J. did.
She and Courtney had barely said their hellos and how-are-yous when their waiter approached. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked, looking at P.J.
“What have you got on draft?” she asked.
He named the brands.
“No Black Sheep?” P.J. had a weakness for good English ale.
“No, sorry.”
“Okay. I’ll have a Guinness.” She smiled at her sister after he’d left to fill her order. “What’re you drinking?”
Courtney made a face. “Ginger ale.”
Thinking her sister wasn’t having a beer because she had a fairly long drive back to Mercer Island where she and her husband had bought a new home the year before, P.J. said, “One beer should be okay. I mean, you’re going to eat before you get behind the wheel again.”
Courtney hesitated, her gaze sliding away briefly before returning to meet P.J.’s. “That’s not why I’m not drinking,” she finally said.
“Well, what then—?” P.J. stopped abruptly. She fought against feelings she’d thought she’d conquered long ago. Yet here they were again, still hurtful, still unworthy of her, especially considering how much she loved Courtney. “You’re pregnant again?” she asked softly.
Courtney nodded. “Three months.”
“Three months! And you’ve kept it a secret this long?” P.J. was proud of herself. She sounded just the way she wanted to sound—happy for Courtney and nothing else.
“I wanted to wait till I’d passed the first trimester.” Courtney’s eyes searched P.J.’s. P.J. knew Courtney was worried about how her news would affect P.J.
Reaching across the table, she took Courtney’s hand. “Are you happy about this?” Courtney and her husband already had three kids—a boy, ten, and two little girls, seven and four.
Courtney nodded. “I am. Brad…well, he wants another boy in the worst way.”
P.J. refrained from rolling her eyes or saying what she thought about Brad and his wants. In her opinion, her sister’s husband was a neanderthal. P.J. wouldn’t have put up with him for a minute, let alone the twelve years Courtney’d been married to him. For one thing, he didn’t believe in women holding jobs outside the home.
For another, he was constantly saying things like, “Honey, you wouldn’t understand that even if I did explain it,” when Courtney asked him about anything to do with his job. You’d think he was a rocket scientist, for God’s sake, when he was a lawyer.
Courtney was every bit as smart as he was, probably smarter, P.J. thought. Yet she seemed contented with Brad. His put-downs didn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice them.
To each his own, P.J. thought. Better her than me.
“Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you,” she said now. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Courtney sipped at her ginger ale and eyed her sister over the rim of her glass.
P.J. knew she wanted to say something. To prevent yet another conversation about P.J.’s situation, she hurriedly asked, “Do Mom and Dad know?”
“Not yet.”
“You mean, you’re telling me before you told them?”
“You’re my favorite sister, you know that.”
They smiled at each other, and P.J. forced herself to remember how lucky she was. She might not ever be able to have any children of her own, and she might have repudiated her family’s money and her status as an heiress, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her parents and siblings. And she absolutely adored her nieces and nephews—Courtney’s three and soon to be four, Jillian’s two, and Peter’s two.
P.J. told herself it didn’t matter if she couldn’t have kids, because she had no intention of getting married, anyway. She’d known long ago she wasn’t cut out for marriage. In fact, she couldn’t imagine subjugating herself to a man…any man. Just the idea of a man telling her what she could and couldn’t do set her teeth on edge.
And she certainly wasn’t cut out for homemaking. Hell, she couldn’t even boil water, let alone cook. And as far as cleaning went, forget that, too. One of her indulgences was a once-a-week maid service, and even if she had to give up food, she intended to keep that.
Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She liked food too much, especially carbs. In fact, she’d never met a carb she didn’t like. That was the biggest reason she forced herself to run five miles every day. So she could keep eating all those fries and pasta and pizza and still keep her figure.
Yet, even as she told herself all of this, she knew she might have been willing to give the marriage thing a try if not for her probable inability to have children. Providing, of course, the right man should come along.
You can always adopt.
Maybe, she thought. But there again, it would take the right kind of man. And lately, she’d begun to think he didn’t exist.
Plenty of single women adopt.
P.J. had actually considered adoption. In fact, she’d given some serious consideration to adopting an older child—one of the ones considered hard to place since everyone seemed to want babies. And maybe one of these days she’d finally get around to doing something about it.
By now the waiter had brought P.J.’s beer and the sisters had placed their orders—P.J. a steak sandwich and fries, Courtney the house specialty of coconut-crusted shrimp salad.
“P.J., you eat entirely too much junk food,” Courtney said mildly as their waiter walked off.
“I know. That’s why I run.”
“Do you ever eat a salad?”
“Sure.”
“How often, once a month?”
P.J. grinned. “You know me too well.” After taking a swallow of her beer, she said, “So you’re due in…mid-February?”
Courtney nodded. “February fourteenth, to be exact.”
“At least it’s not Christmas day.” P.J.’s birthday was two days before Christmas and she’d always hated that. “Just don’t name him Valentino or something like that.”
Courtney snorted. “Like Brad would let me.”
To keep from saying something snide about Brad, P.J. said, “So what else is new?”
“Let’s see. Um, Melissa McKee is getting a divorce.”
“You’re
