As I reach the door, his voice cuts through the stillness.
“The way you look at me doesn’t match what you’re saying, Sydney.”
For a heartbeat, I freeze. His words strip away all my defenses, leave me bare, as my fingers tighten around the doorknob. But I don’t turn back. I step inside and close the door, sealing whatever this is behind it.
***
Breakfastissubdued,devoidof the usual soft hum of conversation. Everyone is lost in their own world. Some read newspapers, others check emails, or scroll on their phones. I keep my eyes on my plate, pretending not to feel the green eyes watching from across the table.
“Mom, Dad, Syd and I have one last Christmas gift for you.” Mason squeezes my hand and pulls a shiny, wrapped box from behind his back.
No. No. No.
He was supposed to wait. We agreed. I should’ve known he wouldn’t.
Did he dig the test out of the trash?
A sour burn creeps up my throat, but I clamp it down, eyes rooted to the wood grain. James watches, his gaze leaving a trail I can’t mistake. But I don’t dare look back.
Margaret takes her time unwrapping it, her fingers delicate with anticipation. When she finally sees what’s inside, her scream fills the room. Gary leans over, spots the test, and together they rush us, pulling us into a suffocating embrace.
At least my tears can be mistaken for happy ones.
“Mom, Dad, what is it? What’s in the box?” Ivy practically vibrates in her seat.
Before I can even breathe, Mason blurts it out. “We’re having a baby!”
The room erupts—laughter, cheers, voices overlapping. Margaret dabs her eyes, already planning nursery themes and baby showers. Gary claps Mason on the back, brimming with pride. Tom raises an imaginary glass.
“Oh my gosh, this is amazing!” Ivy gushes. “You’re going to be so gorgeous pregnant. It’s so unfair. You’ll have this perfect little bump while I’ll look like an Oompa Loompa.”
“Will the baby come out of Aunt Syd’s belly button?” Leo asks, lifting his shirt and poking his as if he’s conducting a scientific study.
Beck rolls his eyes with all the superiority of a worldly six-year-old. “No, dummy. The doctor uses scissors. That’s why moms have that line on their stomachs.”
“Boys!” Jules cuts in. “Clearly, I need to explain better what Iactuallydo all day. But anatomy lessons later, okay?”
Tom winks over the twins’ heads. “It’s time to discuss the birds and the bees.”
I try to laugh, but the sound doesn’t land. The voices blur. The room grows too warm, too small. A cold sweat beads on my forehead as I stand frozen.
James stands outside the circle, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes downcast. When he finally looks up, I see it—surprise, hurt, something else I can’t (or won’t) name. He swallows, hides it all behind a tight smile and dulled eyes.
“Congrats to you both.” His voice is hollow, devoid of any emotion.
“Thanks, man. We’re thrilled. We found out yesterday.” Mason beams, pressing a kiss to my cheek. He’s oblivious to the way I go still, to how I slip further into silence.
I see it: the moment James pieces it all together. The nausea at the resort. The stop at the pharmacy. Our conversation in the snow. His Adam’s apple bobs and he looks away, focusing somewhere above everyone’s heads.
Jules squeezes my hand, pulling me away from Mason. Her eyes hold mine, seeing the truth behind my smile, the tremor in my hand betraying what I’m holding in. Two people see through my performance, and neither is my husband. I look from her to James as I stand, frozen like a deer caught in sudden light.
“Excuse me. I need a minute.” And I flee.
“Poor Syd,” Jules calls after me. “Morning sickness is no joke!”
Laughter drifts from downstairs, muffled but inescapable. I curl deeper into the corner of the sunroom, wrapping a blanket tightly around myself. Here, I can breathe. Ari Lennox plays through the speakers, her voice filling the empty spaces inside me, weaving lyrics of love and longing, of brokenness and never-weres. Maybe I’m a masochist, letting the words sink in, refusing to turn them off.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Jules says, stepping in with two mugs of tea. Her curls are piled into a messy bun, her ugly Christmas sweater doing its best to soften the tension.
