Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
The doorbell catches me in the middle of my afternoon cracker snacking and-nap routine. I walk towards the door and open it.
Lilly stands on my porch, looking smaller somehow. Her usually perfect hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing oversized sweats–something I’ve rarely seen her do in public.
“Hi,” she says when I open the door, her voice rough like she’s been crying. “I’m sorry I’ve been… gone.”
I want to be angry. Want to demand where she’s been, why she disappeared when I needed her most. But she looks so broken standing there that I just step aside and let her in.
We end up in the kitchen, where I’ve spent most of my time lately thanks to constant nausea. The silence stretches between us as I make us some tea.
“Zeke and I broke up,” she finally says, staring into her mug. “About three weeks ago.”
“Oh, Lil.” The anger I felt melts away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs, and I notice how her shoulders curve inward. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk to anyone. Could barely get out of bed some days.” Her voice cracks. “Eight years together, and suddenly it’s just… over.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. It’s cold despite the warm mug she’s holding.
“I was embarrassed,” she continues. “Here you were going through your divorce, being so strong about it, and I couldn’t even handle a breakup. Then when I heard about the baby…” she trails off, blinking back tears.
Her hand drifts to her stomach in a gesture so familiar I almost miss it. Almost.
“Lilly?” My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
She meets my eyes, fresh tears spilling over. “I’m pregnant too.” The words tumble out in a rush. “Found out right before… before everything fell apart with Zeke.”
“Oh, my god.” I squeeze her hand tighter. “Does he know?”
She shakes her head, wiping her eyes. “I tried to tell him, but… it was already over. He’d already decided we wanted different things.”
Something flickers across her face when she says this, gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
“That’s why I couldn’t face anyone,” she says. “Couldn’t pretend to be okay when everything was falling apart. And then hearing about your pregnancy…” She stops, swallowing hard.
“How far along are you?”
“A couple of months.” Her hand stays on her stomach, protective. When she notices me watching, she quickly drops it to her lap.
“We can be pregnant together,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Our babies will be so close in age.”
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah.”
Through the window, I can see Jeremy’s empty parking spot–he won’t be back from work for hours. Lilly follows my gaze, then quickly looks away.
“Tell me about your baby,” she says, changing the subject. “How are you feeling?”
So I do. I tell her about the morning sickness that lasts all day, about the ultrasound appointment, about my strange cravings for pickles dipped in chocolate (which makes her nose wrinkle just like it should).
“I’m so happy for you,” she says softly, though something in her expression seems strained. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”
We spend the afternoon catching up. She tells me about the breakup–how she and Zeke had been growing apart, how they wanted different things, how it was mutual but still devastating. I notice she doesn’t give many details, but I don’t push. Everyone processes grief differently.
“I should go,” she says eventually, glancing at the clock. “I start back at work tomorrow.”
At the door, she hesitates. “Is… is Jeremy around much? With the baby and everything?”
“Sometimes,” I say carefully, noting how she tenses slightly at his name. “He’s been helping.”
She nods, not quite meeting my eyes. “That’s good. He should be involved.”
I watch her drive away, feeling unsettled but not sure why. Maybe it’s hormones, or maybe it’s the way her story seemed rehearsed somehow. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.
My phone buzzes with a text from Jeremy.
Jeremy
Coming by after work with soup.
Me
Soup sounds perfect.
I’m probably going to throw it up after eating it.
Later, after Jeremy brings the soup and settles into his spot on the couch with his laptop, I tell him about Lilly’s visit. About her breakup with Zeke. I hesitate, then add, “She’s pregnant, too.”
His laptop slips slightly in his hands, but he catches it. “Oh?”
“Seven weeks along,” I say, watching his face. But all I see is the blue glow of his screen reflecting off his features.
“That’s… that must be hard for her,” he says finally. “With the breakup and everything.”
“It’s sad. I know me and you aren’t together anymore, despite everything I know you wouldn’t ever leave me to raise a baby alone.”
“Of course.”
That night, I lie awake listening to the familiar sounds of Jeremy shifting on the couch downstairs. My hand rests on my stomach, where our raspberry-sized baby is growing bigger every day.
Everything feels almost perfect. Almost right.
So why does something still feel wrong?