It feels shitty to see them here. They were supposed to go away, evaporate into a cloud of infidelity and lies. My first instinct is to run. Why would I be the one running? They’re the liars and cheats. I’m standing close to Kit, and all of a sudden I feel the pressure of his hand on my lower back.
Neil opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand.
“Don’t hurt your brain. This is awkward for all of us except June, who likes being awkward. Hello, from us to you. Now move aside; we are hungry for raw fish.” Kit snickers, and Della elbows him in the ribs.
Neil and Sadie move along quickly. I don’t look at Sadie, so I don’t know how she takes all of it, but Neil looks stricken. When we walk through the doors of the restaurant, all three of them start laughing. Kit kisses me on top of the head, right by the topknot. “Brilliant,” he says. “You’re all the muse I’ll ever need.” This sends me into tingle/butterfly/confusion overload. I sit as far away from him as I can and flirt with the waiter. It’s brotherly. I know that. He’s a kind, kind human, and I am a whore for that dream. By the end of dinner I’ve ruined my new blazer with soy sauce and Sriracha.
“There’s a whole market for you in disposable clothes,” Kit says.
Della glares at me, but she really has no right. It’s myyy blazer. June and Kit walk up ahead, and Della links arms with me.
“Hey,” she whispers. “I may be pregnant.”
When my eyes grow wide, she hushes me. “I haven’t told him. Don’t say anything.”
“What does ‘may be’ mean? Like you’ve taken a test? You’ve missed a period? What…?”
Della glances at Kit to make sure he’s still distracted. “Well, I haven’t taken the test yet. I am a week late. A week,” she emphasizes.
This is not the first time Della is a week late on her period. It is, however, the first time she looks happy about it.
“Well, let’s get one then,” I say around the emotion clogged in my throat. “We should know so we have peace of mind.”
Della nods, glowing eyes and a small happy smile on her lips. I’ll be happy for them. I swear to God I will. I’ll just need some time to adjust.
Della’s test is not positive. I watch her wrap the test in toilet paper and push it to the bottom of the trashcan. She’s wearing a look of severe disappointment. It’s a strange thing to grasp, that just a little while ago the worst thing that could happen was a positive pregnancy test. Now, my best friend, who once spent an afternoon in hysterics because of a broken condom, was grieving the fact the she wasn’t pregnant. She wanted this badly. Why? I do not know. She already has Kit. His eyes are fixated on her. She doesn’t need a baby to gain his attention, nor to keep him. She comes from a good family, the kind that gets together on Tuesday nights for no reason other than to spend time with each other and to eat their Nonna’s Sugo.
“One day,” I say to comfort her. It’s not what she wants to hear. She turns away from me and opens the bathroom door. She sent Kit to the store for milk so that we could carry out our mission in secret. She thought that when he got back there would be something to celebrate.
“Why are you upset, Della? I thought you would be relieved.”
“I am relieved,” she lies. I am the one who is relieved. I think of what Kit told me that night we took a walk. How unsure he was about his feelings for her. Things may have changed since then, but something tells me a few months aren’t enough to cure a man of his past.
“Della,” I say. “You like to do things in order. First, a beautiful wedding, then a beautiful baby, okay?”
I hug her, and she starts to cry.
“I wanted to give him something,” she says.
Her gray eyes are misty, her lashes damp. She is so achingly beautiful, feminine, and vulnerable. I understand why men take their feelings for her so seriously. She’s Della.
“Maybe start with a smaller gift,” I say. “Like a watch, or a kitten, or something.”
She laughs through her lovely tears and throws her arms around my neck. “You always know what to say. Thank you, Helena.”
I stroke her hair like I used to do in high school when I was the pretty one, and the boys she liked couldn’t see past the braces and sharp knees. They’ll all be sorry one day, I used to tell her. And they all were.
Kit’s pickup pulls into the driveway, and she pulls away from me to go to him. It’s all right. I do not covet Della’s emotional dependence. I’m rather relieved that the responsibility is no longer mine. I watch as she runs out the front door and flings herself at him, wrapping her legs around his torso. He drops his bags to hold onto her. Of all the things that have happened tonight, that’s what affects me most. The way he so effortlessly drops his bags to catch her. I don’t have much reference since Neil was my one serious boyfriend, though I know he never would have dropped his bags to catch me lest something broke. That causes an ache deep in my chest. To know that there are guys willing to drop their shopping bags to catch their girl. And I want someone to love me that effortlessly. Or maybe, I think morosely, I want Kit to love me that effortlessly. To raise my son, and to nurture the art that lies dormant in me. It’s such a bad time to do this, but I think of baby Brandi. Della wanted to have Kit’s baby, and in some other life I already had. I start to giggle, and by the time Kit and Della walk back through the doors, I am full out belly laughing.
“What?” Della asks. She looks around like there’s a joke she missed. Kit’s mouth twitches, and then he starts to laugh too.
“What’s wrong with you guys?” Della perches her hands on her hips, but she’s smiling.
I can’t even stand up straight. I slide down the living room wall as my stomach rolls with laughter. Have I ever laughed like this? No, and I don’t even know what’s funny.
“She just caught the giggles,” Kit says, shaking his head. There’s a short smile attached to his mouth. “She doesn’t even laugh; that’s a cackle.”
Della nods. “I always thought her laugh sounded evil.”
This makes me laugh harder; the fact that Kit noticed right away, but it took Della ten plus years, and her boyfriend, to know that I have an evil laugh. She wanders off to the kitchen, shaking her head. It’s a bad time to catch Kit’s eye. He’s still standing in front of the closed door, bag in hand. He’s not laughing or smiling anymore. His lips are folded in, and his eyes are narrowed. When our eyes catch, my laughter is gone. Just like that. It’s the Kit I saw in my dream, the one who grabbed my hand and said, “You are supposed to be with me.”