Amanda
“What about your skinny jeans?” asks Leigh, who is helping me pack. “The ones from Old Navy? The ones you wear whenever…”
I turn from my closet, where I’ve been pulling out clothes by the handfuls, and look at her. “Whenever what?”
“You know,” she says coyly, leaning back on my bed to re-fold an already neatly-folded sweater. “Whenever you want to get lucky-in-the-nucky.”
“Lucky-in-the—?” I scoff. “Ha! My luck ran out in the conference room of the Seattle Sentinel yesterday.”
My plane ticket to Sitka’s been purchased and I rented a short-term apartment for the next two weeks in downtown Sitka. Luckily, there is an actual “bear problem” in Sitka. Over the past month one dog was killed and a family of four was intimidated when a bear approached them on a well-trodden hiking path outside of town.
“Maybe,” says Leigh thoughtfully, “this is just what you need.”
“How so?”
“Come on, girl. I see you reading those ads.” She grins, but it’s not mean-spirited. “Hot Alaskan Hunk Seeks Cosmo Cutie? Single in Sitka?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “I thought I was being covert.”
“You tried. I’m just too nosy for your feeble efforts.” She sighs. “Bryce checked out two months ago and you haven’t gone on a date since. Maybe a trip to Alaska is just what the doctor ordered.”
“That’s one crazy doctor.”
She tries a different tact. “You know that Frumplestein’s got it out for us. He’d love to get rid of us and give our column to Kim. Well, we’re not going to give him that chance. Steve is ga-ga for this idea. We’re going to make it work, Manda.”
“How?” I demand, turning to face her with both hands on my hips. “How are we going to make this work?”
“You…are going to fly up to Sitka and stay there for a couple of weeks. Research bears. Meet hot men. Hopefully have some good sex with one of them and put Bryce behind you for good.”
I can’t lie. I like the way she puts things.
“And you…?”
“I will find a venue for a bear event here in Seattle.”
“What kind of event?” I ask, sitting down on the bed beside her. “A gala? A concert? Do you even know how to plan something on that scale?”
“I can learn how to do anything I put my mind to,” she informs me. “And I was thinking…a carnival.”
“A carnival. Are you serious?”
“Why? You don’t like it?”
“I…like it. What’s not to like? I just feel like Steve is expecting something bigger and fancier.”
“Listen, I used to love my school’s carnival every year. I was thinking we could rent a lot, bring in the rides for two or three days. Put bears on all of the ads and posters. Charge admission.” Her face is full and beautiful, and I don’t know if it’s her pregnancy, or just the fact that Leigh emits a sort of supernatural confidence, but I feel myself growing calmer just listening to her speak: “And if Steve wants a tonier event, we can add a private cocktail party on the first night or something. But, yeah, I think it could work. I think it’ll be great.”
“Hmm. Maybe you’re right.”
“I am! I checked on-line this afternoon, and it really doesn’t seem that hard to put a carnival together. Space, date, permits, advertising. The carnival companies do all of the set-up. I’m thinking June 29-30. Gives me six weeks to plan.”
“What about baby?” I ask, covering her stomach gently.
She presses her hand over mind. “He’ll sleep so much in the beginning, I bet I’ll be glad to have something to do!”
My sister, who lives outside of Philadelphia, just had a baby, and her texts and emails are all about how much work it is. Then again, Cathy’s always been a complainer—a glass half-empty sort of person—whereas Leigh’s glass is always overflowing.
“If anyone can do it,” I say, “it’s you. And once I’m back and the column is written, I’ll help.”