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That was the question I’d been asking myself more and more lately.
When my friends frowned, I wrinkled my nose. “No, don’t do that. It’s fine. I’m fine.” To prove it, I held up the bottle of wine, cheersing the screen before pouring more into my glass. When I moved to pour more into Gem’s, she raised her palm over her glass. “You don’t want anymore?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” I shook the bottle a little. “We have at least two glasses left.”
When Gem only offered me a closed-lips smile, I knew something was off and set the bottle back down. “You all right?”
Gem dragged her fork through her vegan basil and zucchini gnocchi. “Eh.”
“Eh?”
“What’s wrong?” Bronte asked, unable to see how pale Gem appeared when she pushed back the short bangs of her pixie cut.
“Gem’s not feeling well,” I said.
“Drink too much?” Sam guessed.
“Is it the food?” I asked. The more I considered it, the more obvious the clues seemed that my friend hadn’t been feeling well. Since we’d met up this afternoon, Gem had pretty much let me jabber on when she usually would’ve been more energetic.
Gem held her water glass in her hand, her big, dark eyes scrutinizing it as if she wasn’t sure if she should drink it or pour it over her head. After a moment, she pressed it to her forehead. “It’s hot in here, huh?”
I shook my head. It wasn’t hot at all. Mid-January in San Francisco was mild, and the restaurant was cool enough for me to layer up.
“I…um…” Gem lifted her head, first meeting my gaze and then focusing on the phone screen. “I haven’t felt right for the last few days, and now that I’m thinking about it…”
Seconds passed before Bronte, Sam, and I all spoke at the same time.
“Oh my god.”
“Shut your face.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I don’t know,” Gem said, licking her lips a few times, and now shereallylooked sick. “I was tired, but I thought it was from travel and then from the retreat.” She pressed her water glass to her forehead again.
“When was your last period?” Sam asked.
Gem spoke toward the table. “End of November.”
“Is Jason getting his wish?” I asked, earning a laugh from everyone, including Gem. Her husband had said he wanted enough kids to field his own basketball team.
Bronte’s eyes practically bugged out of her head in excitement. “Do you have a test? You have to take one right now. I’m dying.”
“You’re dying,” Gem repeated with a smile that quickly faded, and she dunked two fingers into the water and dragged them across her opposite wrist. “I’m dying.”
“Yeah, okay, okay.” I grabbed my purse and flagged down the server. “We’re going right now. I’ll call a ride, and we’ll stop by to grab a test.”
“Let us know immediately,” Bronte said.
Sam hiked her shoulders up to her ears. “Should I say good luck?”
“Save it for when I have to push out another one of Jason’s big-headed babies.”
Then I ended the call with a quick goodbye and hustled Gem out of the restaurant and into the waiting Lyft. With a pit stop for a Clearblue test, we were back at the two-bedroom condo Bobby and I shared in Russian Hill.
When I shoved the front door open, pointing to the half bath right off the entryway, Bobby popped his head up from the couch.
