really think your old emails will help?” Her tone was friendly, just curious, but I heard my voice growing defensive.
“I’ve just been thinking about it, is all. The ten-year anniversary is coming up next month—maybe that’s subconsciously why I contacted Sarah in the first place. Not to psychoanalyze myself or anything. But I’m the head of research at Sir; I fact-check things all day long. Maybe I’m finally equipped to go over this one more time and then be done with it.”
“What are you hoping to figure out?”
“Why she killed herself, I guess.”
“Was she depressed?”
“She was. She must’ve been. But she never told anyone, so it was pretty shocking. And it all happened around when she was fighting with everyone. I’d even been planning a dramatic friend breakup with her.”
The kitchen vent whirred. “Just be careful that you’re not circling back to find reasons to blame yourself or anything,” Tessa said. “Healthy people don’t kill themselves. That’s not something anyone else can drive you to do.” She turned around and I smiled at her. Sometimes Tessa can sense the anxiety I’m creeping toward before I even realize it. She wiped her hands on a towel. “Let’s eat.”
She asked about my folks in Wisconsin (fine; hadn’t talked to them since Easter) and Michael, the sort of dodgy guy I’d been seeing. I asked about her archivist job at Columbia (excellent) and her and Will’s upcoming anniversary trip to New Zealand (stressful but exciting). We were almost finished when I noticed she hadn’t grabbed a beer; she was sipping water, occasionally crossing to the fridge to refill her glass.
“I brought Two Hearted Ale for you!” I called, suspicious. She froze, wide-eyed, and I gasped. “You are not…are you? Is that—Tessa!” My voice rose to a screech as we both broke into laughter.
“We haven’t even told our parents yet,” she said as I released her from a hug. “Mine will be in town next weekend, so we figured we’d tell them in person.”
“Tessa,” I said again. Just above my grin, my eyes filled with tears. “I’m so happy for you! Holy shit.” I’d known that she and Will were vaguely trying to get pregnant—she’d begun seeing an acupuncturist to regulate her cycles and improve her chi or whatever—but she hadn’t mentioned it in months.
“I’m only eight weeks along, so don’t tell anybody,” she said. “I kind of feel like crap all the time, so I want to complain to everyone, but apparently I’m not supposed to talk about it yet.”
“I won’t say anything. Morning sickness?”
“Mostly just feeling exhausted and…off. It’s like being hungover all the time. And all I want to do is drink wine.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’ll make you amazing virgin ginger cocktails. And run errands and do whatever you need, obviously.” I clicked my tongue. “Tessa, you’re going to be a mom!”
I gave her another hug, my tears soaking into her shoulder. The idea of taking care of Tessa cheered me; typically she was the one with her shit together, mothering me.
“When are you due?”
“End of February.” She shrugged again, like she was sick of talking about it. “It helps to see you excited because I keep forgetting it’s exciting. I’m just focused on pretending everything’s normal.”
“You totally fooled me! Jeez. Thank you for making us dinner and, you know, being willing to help me with these emails.”
“Of course! Should we go into the office? I’ve been thinking about this challenge all day.”
I stopped in the bathroom first and froze as tears again filled my eyes, suddenly, like a bell clanging. I blinked into the mirror and steadied my breath. I was happy for Tessa, of course, excited to meet Baby Hoppert. But there was also—what? Jealousy, a wistfulness? I peered hard at the feeling until it crystallized: that awful tug of feeling left behind, overlooked by some unseen orchestrator. All of my Facebook stalking came into sharp focus: Sarah giggling about her in-laws in New Jersey. Alex and his apartment in the burbs. Even Kevin had a goddamn husband now. Where was I the day adulthoods were distributed?
I stretched my mouth into a smile and breathed hard until the tears cleared. Biological trickery; I’d researched it once—fooling the body into some semblance of ease. I cleared my throat and headed into the office, dropping into Will’s fancy desk chair. Before Tessa could begin typing, the doorbell chimed, sending Marlon into barking conniptions.
“Hello, darlings!” Damien called as soon as Tessa opened the door. He gave us both French-style