23. Kendall #3
“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 am so happy 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.
“Kendall, I’m sorry.”
“What?” I shut off the water and use the dish towel as a buffer, wiping my palms then my knuckles to avoid looking at her.
“I didn’t mean to tell you like this,” she continues. “We were going to wait a little until—”
“Syl,” I interrupt. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” she says just as her voice grows shaky and her eyes grow glassy.
I step closer, gripping her shoulders. I feel like it’s the first time I’ve looked her in the eyes since she announced her news. “Because there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“I mean, I’m sorry that this happened,” she continues, tears now falling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, and everything you went through—” A soft sob cuts her words, and I pull her into my arms.
“You are such an amazing friend,” I tell her as she blubbers into my shoulder.
“And when you get over these hormones that are making you have crazy thoughts like I’d actually be upset you’re pregnant, I am going to take you out for your first post-baby drink.
In the meantime, I’m to throw you the cutest baby shower and shop for teeny-tiny little baby clothes.
And I’m going to help you decorate that cute little nursery in your spare bedroom. ”
“These hormones really are stupid.” She laughs a watery, self-deprecating laugh and wipes her eyes. “And it’s going to happen for you.”
“I know,” I assure her. “When it’s my time.”
She nods, and we hug again, this time with the pink elephant joining our embrace. Just as we separate, the boys return.
“You ready to go?” Tommy asks Sylvia.
She steps into her sweater Tommy’s holding open for her with her purse gripped in one hand.
James and I say our goodbyes at the door, and when we see them disappear into the stairwell, James closes the door.
We’re left in the quiet of our apartment.
The refrigerator hums in the background, and the dishwasher sloshes as it shifts between cycles.
We stay there, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to make the first move.
Like announce I’m going to hop in the shower before bed or ask him if he wants a bowl of ice cream before we turn in for the night.
James doesn’t say anything when I look at him with a strained smile, my vision turning blurry as he watches me try to keep my composure, even though it’s just me and him now.
He still doesn’t say anything when he pulls me into his arms, our bodies still behind the closed door.
And I sob into his chest. I cry and cry until I soak his shirt.
And he lets me until he carries me into our room.