What a Girl Wants Read Online Free Page A

brand of jeans at all. Brea’s kids will be leaders, and Christ in them will be cool. That’s a pretty awesome legacy. It makes me wistful and misty-eyed just to think of it.
    “When do we get to go shopping for her?” I ask.
    “It might be a boy, you know.” Brea lifts her eyebrows.
    “She wouldn’t dare be a boy. Auntie Ashley wants to buy her very cute things in pink.” I shove a fist to my hip.
    “If he’s a boy, John won’t appreciate pink. Men are funny that way.”
    I clap my hands, “We can buy her little Lilly Pulitzer sweaters! And Oilily mother/daughter dresses. I can hardly wait! Pop this kid out!” I rub her tummy.
    Brea crosses her arms. “Don’t get me all excited. If I have a boy I want to be happy, not disappointed.”
    I relent. “Okay, so we have to shop at Baby Gap if it’s a boy. Still cute! We can get those little chambray caps and maybe some sunglasses. Hey, what about little itsy-bitsy Old Navy jeans?” We both squeal.
    Brea’s shoulders relax. “I can hardly wait, Ashley.” She rubs her tummy again.
    “Me either.” And I can’t. I have heard of Brea’s dreams for twenty-five years. Her ultimate goal was always to be a mother, to put into practice all that homemaking she acted out when we played house. (I was always the husband. What does that tell you?)
    Brea lives to be Mrs. John Wright. They’ve left the singles group and are now happily imbedded in the couples group, which will no doubt turn into the young families group. I wish I could go with her, if only because I’m sick of standing in the same place. Being single is sometimes like this great drawn circle. I have all the freedom I can imagine yet this inability to step outside that line, which amounts to no freedom at all. I want to see what it’s like where I fear to tread.
    Brea hugs me again.
    “What was that for?”
    “I’m so proud of you, Ashley. I always knew you’d be someone really important. I’m praying my children won’t be ditsy like me, but smart like their Auntie Ashley.”
    I shake my head. “You’ve always said that, Brea. But you’ve always been the intelligent one. The one who knew drunken foot-ball players didn’t want to be just my friend. The one who knew my brother wasn’t hiding botany plants for biology in my back-pack . . .”
    “Maybe I should homeschool?” Brea laughs and tosses her dark brown curls. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her husband, John, catch a glimpse of the movement from the top of the church steps. He watches Brea as if he has a hummingbird in his possession, and he just can’t believe he caught her.
    Brea knows everything she needs to know about making those around her happy. It’s something you can’t learn in school, but the world around you changes with such a gift.
    I say good-bye, and jump into my little two-seater Audi. Two seats. Without my briefcase, I’d only have need of one.

3
    D inner at my mom’s house is always quite the occasion. My brother shows up, only because it’s quite convenient, living there and all. The bus driving business doesn’t pay much in the Valley, unless you count easy access to new marijuana dealers. And I don’t count that. My brother Dave apparently did when he got the job.
    Thankfully, random drugtesting is part of his career, and we all breathe a sigh of relief over that little law. Dave’s been allowed to live with my parents rentfree as long as he has viable employment. Never underestimate the motivation of sheer laziness.
    Dave is like a “how-to” on lenient parenting. I honestly think my parents should take him back to the high school where he was “Mr. Jock” and show the current students what peaking at sixteen does for a person’s long-term career. You know, to give the band nerds some hope.
    “Happy birthday, you old maid.” Dave slaps me on the back, laughing his little brother snicker. Except he’s twenty-eight. “How’s it feel to have another year of bus baithood ahead of