Though our dinner prep commenced without any more interruptions—like an impromptu christening—we managed to fill our time with plenty of distractions. Spending an hour in a small kitchen will do that to a horny couple who just moved onto the cohabitation stage of their relationship. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I was barely able to get away long enough to change into an outfit that wasn’t stained with lemon butter sauce. And now, with James’s seat pulled as close as possible to mine, he can’t seem to stop touching me.
“Did you want another drink?” James asks, nodding at my empty glass.
“Sure.” James stands from his seat when I stop him. “Actually, can you get the wine please?”
“Of course,” he whispers gently.
“My mom enrolled me in a wine of month club,” I explain to the table, “and we usually give our wine to James’s parents?—”
“Or me,” Kyle interjects.
“Or Kyle,” I confirm. “But I kept this one for tonight.”
I watch Tommy and Sylvia share a look instead of greeting our beverage of choice with excitement, but I don’t get a chance to question it. James returns, corkscrew in one hand and a Riesling in the other, and he gets to work. By the time James has the cork popped, Kyle and I are already ready with waiting wine glasses.
“You guys want to try some?” I ask Sylvia and Tommy.
“Um, I—I can’t,” Sylvia answers.
I scoff and take a healthy gulp. “Right. Me too.”
“No, really,” she protests. “I can’t drink.”
“What? Why?”
She and Tommy share a look again, and I realize how many underlying words hide just under their glances.
“Are you pregnant?” Kyle blurts out.
I’d laugh if he asked the question about ten seconds ago, but with the possibility of it hanging over our dinner and freshly poured wine, I realize the answer could very likely be yes.
“We were going to wait until after dinner to tell you guys,” Sylvia says to James and me, “and Kyle,” she adds, smiling politely at Kyle. “But I uh… We uh?—”
“We’re pregnant,” Tommy interrupts when Sylvia’s hesitation ebbs into stuttered words. “Eleven weeks on Tuesday.”
“I knew it!” Kyle points out in that I-told-you-so manner.
James sets down the wine bottle and smiles broadly. “Congrats, guys. We’re so happy for you.”
I feel his eyes on me, watching me and studying me like the fissures only visible when I’m placed under a microscope might turn into large splinters. Apparent for everyone else so they can see how fragile I am.
Sylvia watches me take it all in. I haven’t said a word. I haven’t offered my congratulations like James has. I haven’t even smiled or laughed at the happy news. I’m such a shit friend. My dumbfounded look slowly transitions to acceptance and happiness. She watches me like she’s looking for signs of disappointment. Or even betrayal.Shitty, shitty friend.Brushing all of that away, I stand from my seat and rush to her side.
“Syl, I’m so happy for you,” I cry, pulling her into a deep embrace.
“Really?” she asks into my hair.
“Of course,” I tell her, squeezing her tighter. Because I am. I amsohappy for her.
Another round of congratulations is passed around, and dinner continues. While more wine is poured and Sylvia is offered a ginger ale—the only non-alcoholic, non-caffeinated drink in the apartment—James runs his hand down my back. Soothing up and down motions over my dress, stopping between my shoulders as if he could somehow feed his comfort through my pores.
It isn’t long before we’re packing up the leftovers and sending Kyle back across the hall with his own share and the remaining wine. Sylvia’s watching me load the dishwasher after I shooed her away from the sink. I sent James to take out the trash, and Tommy tagged along. So, it’s just me and Sylvia and the miniature pink elephant in the room—not as intrusive as a full-sized one, but still there.
“Have you two…thought of any names?”
Sylvia shrugs. “Tommy likes the idea of Thomas Jr.”
“That’s cute,” I say honestly, appreciating the shiny bubbles piled over the sink. Running water mixed with clanking plates ease the tense silence into something we can both sit with.
