“I have wine,” Kyle sing-songs, his fist wrapped around the neck of a bottle of Riesling. He procures another bottle from behind his back with his other hand. “And a sparkling cider.”
I take the bottle from him. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t forget about you,” he comments, tapping his finger against the bottle. He brisks past me, beelining for the last few slices of pizza.
Sylvia squeals, her reaction to a bottle of alcohol obviously more welcomed by her than me. Kyle works quickly, the cork coming off with a theatrical pop. I open my bottle of non-alcoholic bubbly, not bothering to transfer a serving to a glass like Kyle and Sylvia have done.
“Are we celebrating something?” I ask as we clink our drinks.
“Nope,” Kyle answers.
“How about surviving your first trimester at Joss Elementary?” Sylvia suggests. She tips her glass back, raising her brows in my direction.
“And coming out knocked up at the end of it.”
I smack the back of my hand to Kyle’s chest. When I told him about my “happy little accident” as he likes to call it, there were a few wry jokes involved. Mainly to lighten the situation, but also repose my state of mind. I’d wound myself into a twisted state of fear, and it was a welcomed reprieve.
“To Kendall,” both Sylvia and Kyle say in unison.
I hum some variation of their felicitations as I inhale my drink in large gulps.
“So how far along are we in the gift wrap department?”
Sylvia waves her drink in Kyle’s direction, a swish of it sloshing to the floor. “I’ve given up,” she claims. She bends down and wipes up her mess. “I’m leaving it to the elves.”
I laugh at her dramatics, reaching for another slice.
I knew I’d miss James while he’s away, having to spend my night alone in my apartment after growing so used to him. I got used to the noises he makes when he wakes up. The smell of his coffee brewing in the small four-cup coffee maker he brought over, a stark contrast to the chai I occasionally brew at home. The way his footsteps tread through the house when he’s on the phone, pacing from the bedroom to the living room and back. How he leaves his socks at the end of the couch but always remembers to put them away before going to bed with me. How, even though we don’t make any spoken arrangements, I know he’s going to be in my bed most nights. And in just a few weeks, it’ll officially be our bed. Our apartment, our home.
“Oof,” I grunt, gripping my stomach. A little interjection jabbing at my ribcage causes a low wince to hiss from my gritted teeth. “This kid is really learning to use its legs.”
“You felt a kick?”
I nod, smiling at Sylvia. “We actually felt it before James left. Right at the departure terminal.”
I hadn’t felt a kick since I was with James, and I was getting a little worried the baby was less active than earlier in the day. Another kick and I run a protective hand over my belly. Which still somehow manages to look like a result of a large meal.
“I want to feel.” Kyle lunges for my midsection, his own hand joining mine.
“Me too.”
The three of us stand there, running our hands over my stomach like we’re reading a crystal ball, when a ripple of kicks touches each of our hands. A wave from the inside greeting each connection to the outside world.
“Whoa, that’s weird.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” I answer through a laugh. “It kind of…tickles.”
“Seriously. That’s so weird,” Kyle repeats.
We stay like that for another minute before we finish our dinner and move onto the gifts. Kyle uses his modest gift wrapping skills to get Sylvia through the night, and by the end of it, we’re stacking mine around the tiny four-foot tree in my living room.
“What did you get James?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease, jabbing my finger into Sylvia’s shoulder.
“It better not be something gross,” Sylvia comments
