“But what if he doesn’t?”
“I’d still have the baby,” she says as she dips a California roll in soy sauce. She has already announced that she is staying away from raw fish. Just in case. “I’d just be a single mother. Lots of people do it.”
“Would you keep working full-time?”
“Of course. I love my job.”
“So you’d get a nanny?”
“Or two,” she says.
I almost say, “What’s the point of having a kid then?” but something stops me. Something that tells me that the last thing I should be doing is judging another woman’s decision with respect to the subject of children.
On our walk home, Jess ducks into a bodega and buys a pregnancy test. She scans the back of the box and informs me that she will wait until the morning because results are more accurate then. I look at her skeptically, knowing that there is literally no way that she will resist testing tonight. In fact, I’m putting the over-under at about an hour upon our return.
I start to think that I might be wrong when I hear Jess on the phone, spewing investment-banking jargon. Something about discount rates and exit multiples. She might as well be speaking Portuguese as far as I’m concerned. Then I hear her say, “Look, Schroder. This isn’t rocket science. If you want rocket science go work for NASA. Now. Just get me the presentation by tomorrow morning and get it to me in a fucking font big enough for that geriatric board of directors to read!”
I smile and tell myself that there’s no way Jess is pregnant. Despite all her wishes for a baby, I just can’t fathom it. At least not right now.
But minutes later, she bursts into my room, plastic stick in hand. I sit on my bed and try to catch my breath.
“Look. A cross,” she says, presenting me the plastic stick. Her hands are trembling.
“You’re pregnant?” I ask, still in disbelief. Never mind the scientific results before me.
“I’m going to have a baby,” Jess says, looking teary. The happy kind of teary. The standing on the Olympic podium, mouthing words to “The Star-spangled Banner” kind of teary.
“Wow,” I say, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Jess whispers.
“Did you call Trey?”
“Yeah. He didn’t answer.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“Uh-huh. I said it was important” Her voice trails off.
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Scared,” she says. “Overwhelmed But happy.”
I hug her as I whisper congratulations. We separate, staring at each other, then down at the stick, then back at each other.
“What are you thinking?” she asks after a minute more of silence.
I shake my head, feeling a wave of jumbled, crazy emotion. Mostly I am afraid for my best friend. I know how hopeful she is, how badly she wants things to work out with Trey, and how devastated she will be when reality sets in over the next nine months. I also can’t help but feel a twinge of anger at Jess for doing this to herself, for going about motherhood this way. I resent her for making bad decisions in her life, and can’t help but consider how those ill-advised decisions will impact me and my life. I didn’t want a baby with Ben, my husband , so I certainly don’t want one with a friend. But how awful would I be to move out when my friend is pregnant and needs me? How awful would I be to intentionally distance myself at such a critical juncture?
Then, buried beneath all of the obvious reactions is this other strange pang. This worry that if I do move out and separate myself from Jess and her baby, I will be sidelined. Left out of something extraordinary. That Jess’s life will become so much more than my life. It is almost as if I’m jealous of her. Which is insane because obviously I do not want a baby. I do not .