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“That’s what Julian said.”
“Smart man,” I mumble.
She laughs quietly to herself. Then she takes a deep breath. “Okay, Deke. Hit me with it. What did you do?”
I tell her the whole story. Starting with the fact that Megan is pregnant. I realize I haven’t told her yet. I haven’t told anyone outside our little circle yet. Not Deanna, not my parents. It just feels too soon.
But then I keep talking. About how I wanted to see Megan, how I waited for her and then saw her injury and carried her into the kitchen and yelled at her for not having an ice pack and stormed out of there. When I’m done, she’s quiet. She murmurs something and then I hear the sound of a door closing.
“You fucked up.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Does she know? About our babies?” She speaks clearly. Bravely. The word comes to me like a wallop.
“Yes.”
She lets out a sigh and I wonder if I’m imagining the relief I hear in it. “I think she’ll forgive you. You just have to ask for it.”
I nod as if she can see me.
“Have you ever talked to anyone about them?” Her voice is soft, like a prayer.
I shake my head. “You.”
“I know,” she says, “but it’s not the same. You were only talking to take care of me.”
“Then, I guess no, I haven’t.”
“Do you think perhaps you should?”
I pour myself a glass of water and take a long sip.
“Grief is funny like that, Deke. You can think it’s behind you, but then it pops up and makes you do strange things like paint a nursery gray or lose your shit over an ice pack.”
My stomach flips, realizing that just because Deanna seems so cool and calm about her pregnancy doesn’t mean she actually is.
“Gray and yellow look really good together,” I suggest. I hear the brilliant smile creep across her face.
“That’s what Julian said.”
“Brilliant guy.”
“Would you want to talk to him?” she asks. “I mean, whenever. You’re both going through a similar thing. Maybe the perspective would help?”
“I don’t know, Dee. Not sure I want to talk about how the guy who knocked up my ex-wife feels about it.”
“He was your friend first.”
“Oh, I remember.” I laugh to offset the bitterness in my voice. I’m not bitter about them together, but it was definitely a shock when I first found out.
“I think it might be a girl,” she says, her voice so soft, as if in saying it any louder would jinx it.
“Will you name her after me?” I ask, grinning.
She lets out a loud crack of laughter. I miss this side of her. Of our friendship.
“No.”
