Sometime Soon

eleven



Katie doesn’t answer her phone that afternoon or later that evening. I leave voice messages on both her cell phone and her home phone. They’re nondescript messages, giving nothing away of our talk, in case Mike hears them.

Suffering from sleep deprivation, I fall asleep early that night, and I sleep deeply. Although I continue to worry about Katie, telling her has been like purging myself of a huge, greasy, calorie-ridden meal that I shouldn’t have eaten in the first place. Unfortunately, in my distracted state of mind, I forget to set my alarm when I go to bed, and I have done nothing to prepare for Ryan and the beach day ahead of me.

After waking up late, I rush through my shower, nicking my leg with a new razor. Then I check the refrigerator for lunch supplies. Finding none, I settle for a can of soda from the pantry. I locate my beach towel after a frenzied disruption of my linen closet, and I retrieve my canvas beach bag, a green frog-patterned gift from my sister, from the front hall closet where it has been sitting since my last trip to the beach with my family over a month ago. Next, I don my favorite turquoise bikini and cover it with a pink tank top and khaki shorts that are too short to wear anywhere but to the beach. My legs are one feature that I’m not self-conscious about. Since my hair is generally a total loss at the beach, I twist it up into a clip and try to soften the look by pulling some curly tendrils down around my face. I fill Tiger’s food bowl, grab my sunglasses, slip into my flip-flops and wait. He’s late by ten minutes so far. Why is everyone always late? I just don’t get it.

I check my cell phone to see if Ryan has called and realize that I haven’t turned it on yet this morning. Once I do, the phone immediately indicates there’s a message. Part of me is hoping it’s from Katie, but I hear Ryan’s voice apologizing and letting me know he’s running late. A message I greatly appreciate. While I wait, I munch on some chocolate-chip cookies, the breakfast of champions, and throw Tiger’s rubber ball across the living room. Tiger dashes after the ball and knocks it from its path. Then he sits down beside it as he waits for me to throw it again. Despite attempts at training him, he will not fetch the ball and bring it back. But that bothers only me. He is perfectly happy to chase it and then plop down next to it.

The doorbell rings, causing Tiger to startle in surprise before racing upstairs. He has never gotten used to the sound and hides every time it chimes. I grab my bag and open the door to find a very nicely put together Ryan standing at my doorstep with the bright morning sun at his back. He has on over-sized navy swim trunks and a fitted green T-shirt that reveals tanned, muscled arms. Smiling at me, he pushes his sunglasses onto his head. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I say, mirroring his expression and feeling my stomach flutter a greeting of its own. “Did you find my place okay?”

“Your directions were perfect. Sorry we’re late.”

We? I peer around him to his black Passat parked in my driveway. Sure enough, a dark figure, whose details are fuzzy at this distance, is seated in the back. “My little brother is joining us,” he explains. “I hope you don’t mind. That’s why I’m late. It was kind of a last minute thing.” Ryan seems less than thrilled at this development.

“Oh. No problem,” I answer, feeling the need to make it okay. “How old is your brother?”

“Fourteen.”

So young? I must have appeared surprised at this, causing Ryan to explain. “He’s my half-brother. My father remarried after my mother died. She’s a lot younger than my father.” He grimaces on the last sentence as though it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oh.” I nod, taking this in. “Is he your only sibling?”

“Just him and me.”

“Well, it must be nice to have a brother.”

He shrugs absently.

“You preferred being an only child?”

“It had its benefits.”

I shake my head in mock disapproval, fairly sure he’s joking.

Ryan laughs at me. “He’s okay, I guess. Kind of a screw-up, but it’s not really his fault.”

“How is he a screw-up?”

“Long story,” Ryan replies. “Nice place,” he comments, glancing around, changing the subject.

“Thanks. Would you and your brother like to come in for a minute?”

“Maybe another time.” He glances at his watch. It’s the same bulky dial-filled one I noticed when we had lunch. “We should really hit the road.”

After locking up behind me, I follow Ryan down the steps to his car. He offers to put my beach bag in the trunk as he opens the passenger door for me. “This is Wes,” he tells me, motioning to his brother in the back. “Wes, this is Andrea.”

Wes is a skinny boy with pale skin and a shock of wavy black hair that sticks straight up. There appears to be a lot of hair gel involved. Even sitting in the back seat of the car, silently nodding hello to me, I can tell he is all long limbs and self-consciousness.

“Nice to meet you Wes,” I say cheerily as I lower myself into the passenger seat. His hair color and hazel eyes match Ryan’s, but his thin face is full of hard angles and his mouth is a straight lipless slash, nothing like Ryan’s full and ready smile. Wes appears sullen in the back seat, looking every bit the unwilling participant. Since neither Ryan nor Wes appear to want each other’s company, I wonder why they have been forced together today. It seems I have the whole awkward afternoon to find out.

Sitting in Ryan’s car, I notice how clean the interior is. There is no clutter, and I spot none of the food wrappers or loose change I find in most of my friend’s vehicles. A ‘dumpster on wheels’ is how I often refer to my sister’s car. I wonder if Ryan always keeps his car this clean or if he took extra care knowing I would be in it. Either way, I am impressed.

“How are things going with your second customer?” I ask once we’re on our way.

He glances at me and grins. “Good, I think. We sent them some code yesterday, and it seems to be testing out okay.”

“You had to work on Saturday then?”

“Yeah. We were all there. But we met our first deadline. So, that felt good.” He glances at his brother in the rearview mirror. “Wes did some testing for us. He really helped out.”

“Oh, are you working with your brother?” I ask, turning to look back at him.

“Slave labor is more like it,” he responds reluctantly.

“He’s working as a summer intern,” Ryan explains.

“Do you want to be a software developer, too?” I ask Wes.

“Hardly,” he states glumly.

I glance at Ryan who offers me a tight smile.

I decide not to risk anymore conversation with Wes and face forward again, watching the scenery speed by. Teenage boys are a mystery to me. Teenage girls I can sort of relate to. You never completely lose those insecurities that barrage you as a teenager, especially those tortuous fourteen-year-old insecurities when you’re most definitely not a little kid anymore, and you feel like aliens have invaded your body. With that thought, I feel more generous toward Wes, although not enough to attempt another conversation.

“Did you do anything interesting yesterday?” Ryan asks, breaking the silence.

When I think of yesterday, I picture Katie’s stricken expression across from me in the cave-like bar and grill. Then I realize that my cell phone is in my beach bag in the trunk, and I wonder if she’s trying to call me.

“Andrea?” Ryan prompts.

I can feel his eyes on me, and I realize that I haven’t answered his question. “Oh, sorry. Actually, yesterday wasn’t a very good day. In fact, I didn’t have a very good week.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Anything I can do?”

“You’re already doing it. A day at the beach is the perfect prescription for me today.”

Again, I can feel him looking at me. I turn to smile at him, and I’m greeted by my own reflection in his sunglasses. If his brother wasn’t sitting in the back seat, I might have told him about Katie and asked his opinion. So far, I’ve assessed him to be hard-working, courteous, kind, and good-looking. But it’s early. There’s still plenty of time to change my opinion.

We make good time until we get to Route 3, which is to be expected. Three lanes narrow to two, and we spend the next half hour inching our way toward the Duxbury exit. During the ride Wes never speaks again, while Ryan and I chat over radio station preferences--he likes the same alternative rock station I like; politics--we’re both liberals with a dash of conservatism; and mountain biking--he does it and I don’t, nor do I want to after he entertains me with his stories of terrifying near-misses.

We arrive at the beach just before noontime. The parking lot--several expansive dirt and stone fields--are filling fast, and we get a spot in one of the last open rows. The day is warm and humid, as predicted, but I can already feel the cool salty breeze coming off the ocean as we pile out of the car. Standing next to me now, Wes is about my height with lots of growing to do if his tremendous feet, encased in ripped basketball sneakers, are any indication.

Once the trunk is open, I realize how thorough Ryan has been in his beach preparations. He hands me my beach bag and then proceeds to withdraw three beach chairs, several towels, and a large cooler with a handle and wheels.

“You come prepared,” I comment, looking around at our supplies for the day.

“We’ve done this before,” Ryan deadpans. Then he smiles. “We actually grew up near the ocean. We went every weekend in the summer.”

“Whereabouts?” I ask.

“Stamford, Connecticut.”

Ryan gathers the beach towels and tows the cooler behind him, while Wes handles two chairs. When I reach down to pick up the last chair, it is quickly swept away from me. I glance up to find Ryan angling it beneath his arm where he is already balancing the beach towels.

“I can carry it,” I tell him.

He shakes his head at me. “I’ve got it.”

“You can take one of mine,” Wes offers.

Ryan narrows his eyes at Wes before turning back to me. “Ready?”

Wes sighs and turns toward the beach. I realize that I am not going to be allowed to carry anything. As ridiculous as that is since I’m perfectly capable of handling a beach chair, I find myself smiling at the way Ryan’s refusal makes me feel.

We follow the crowd along a path through the parking lot and over a grassy hill which opens up to an expanse of white sand and blue-green ocean. The beach is teaming with people, and Ryan and I exchange a look, wondering where we should plant ourselves for the day. Spotting something promising, Ryan leads the way with his cooler cutting a path through the warm sand behind him. I hitch my beach bag higher on my shoulder and follow while I scan my surroundings. There are lots of families with children digging holes and playing games with balls and Frisbees. There are also groups of teenagers, nearly all sporting at least one tattoo, with the girls in skimpy bikinis and the boys in swim trunks that are so big they seem in danger of falling down. We have been trudging through the sand for several minutes when Ryan claims a free spot on the far left side of beach. Because it’s so far from the parking lot, the crowd is much thinner here. Wes unceremoniously dumps the chairs in a heap and declares that he’s going for a walk.

“Not yet,” Ryan says in a firm tone, not even glancing at Wes.

Wes seems to want to argue, but instead he huffs in exasperation and begins to set up the chairs. With the cooler in the middle, we arrange the chairs around it so that we’re facing the ocean. Sail boats dot the horizon, and huge shingle and glass homes line an inlet along the right side of the beach. It’s an incredible day. The breeze keeps the air from becoming uncomfortably hot, and I can feel the tension easing away as the warm rays of sun pour down over my skin.

Wes kicks off his sneakers and sinks heavily into a chair, all attitude and discontentment. As he scowls, I try not to smile. It occurs me that this is an act, and he’s working a little too hard at it.

“Don’t you like the beach, Wes?” I ask, as I sit down in my chair which is placed between the two of theirs.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s me he doesn’t like right now,” Ryan states, lowering himself into the chair beside me.

“Well, that’s a shame,” I suggest casually. “It’s too nice a day to be so grumpy.”

“Absolutely,” Ryan agrees, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Can I go for a walk now?” Wes asks, not giving an inch.

Ryan eyes his brother for moment and then nods. When Wes shoots up from his chair, Ryan adds, “But be back in an hour for lunch.”

Wes starts to walk away without responding.

“Wes!” Ryan calls.

He halts reluctantly.

“One hour,” Ryan repeats.

“Fine,” he mumbles and trudges away.

Once Wes is out of earshot, I turn to Ryan. “Holy teenage angst.”

He pulls his sunglasses down his nose and out of the way so he can rub his eyes. “You have no idea.”

“What’s his story?”

“He was supposed to go hiking with some friends this afternoon. But I changed his plans for him. He’s not too happy with me at the moment.”

“Why did you do that?”

Ryan replaces his sunglasses and looks out at the ocean. “I found a pile of CDs in his room this morning. CDs he didn’t pay for.”

My eyes widen at him. “He stole them?”

“Shoplifting is turning into a hobby for him.”

“Oh,” I comment, not really knowing what else to say. “Does your dad know?”

“No, not yet. That’s actually the reason why he’s up here with me this summer. He was pulling this stuff at home, and he got caught. My dad made some kind of deal so that there wouldn’t be any charges, and he shipped Wes up to me for the summer. I guess I’m not really helping though.” Ryan smiles morosely because there’s obviously nothing funny about it.

“Your dad made him your responsibility? That’s a lot to take on.” I’m not inclined to like his father very much when I hear this.

Ryan responds with only a slight lift of one shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

He’s still staring out at the water when he answers. “Tell my dad, I guess. Maybe they’ll send him to someone, a psychologist or something. Someone he can talk to.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I comment inanely. I have no idea what one does with a fourteen-year-old shoplifter. “Is he trying to rebel or get attention maybe?”

“It’s definitely about getting attention. He’s left on his own a lot at home. My dad is retired. He wants to travel and play golf. In the past year, he and Carol, that’s Wes’s mother, have taken two cruises, gone on a golf vacation to Florida, travelled around Europe, and went to stay with Carol’s sister in New Mexico for nearly a month. They leave Wes with a nanny and take off to wherever they want. He’s basically raising himself.”

I look at Ryan, not sure what to say, feeling very differently about Wes, now.

“My dad had no business having another kid,” he continues after moment. “He did it for Carol. But she doesn’t really seem to be into the parenting thing.”

“How old were you when your mom died?” I ask.

“I was in my sophomore year of high school. She had breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been really hard.”

He nods. “My dad met Carol a year later and they were married less than a year after that.” His resentment is apparent.

“Has Carol made an effort with you, or is this thing mutual?”

Ryan surprises me by laughing. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

I nod at him, feeling my mouth turn up at his reaction.

He thinks for a moment before responding. “She’s okay, I guess. She’s been nice enough to me. But my dad is seventeen years older than her. She went after him the minute she met him and found out he was a widower.”

“Would you rather he was still alone, missing your mom?”

“No, of course not. I just wish he’d met someone more appropriate. And I wish they would stay home more and take care of Wes.”

“That’s understandable. I feel badly for him.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“But at least he has a great older brother.”

Ryan turns to me, and I see his straight white teeth revealed in his smile. “How about your family?” he asks. “Are you close?”

“Yes,” I reply, “both figuratively and literally.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Did I just pick you up at your parents’ house?”

“No,” I laugh. “But we all live within ten minutes of each other. My sister and her fiancé live in the next town over from me, and my folks live one town over from them.”

“Your parents are still together then?”

“They’ve been married for over thirty years. My sister and I are toying with the idea of throwing them a big thirty-fifth anniversary party in a few years. That is, if my sister and mother are still speaking to each other.”

He offers me a questioning glance.

“The two of them planning my sister’s wedding together is not going smoothly,” I explain.

“Why is that?” he asks.

“My sister has opinions,” I respond without having to think too hard. “No one told her that she isn’t supposed to.”

Ryan laughs. “I hope you put on sunscreen,” he says. “With your light skin, you’re going to be in trouble without it.”

“I need to do that.” I check my phone as I fish in my bag for the sunscreen. There are no messages. I’m debating trying Katie’s cell phone again, when Ryan pulls his T-shirt up over his head and tosses it on the sand. I find myself being treated to an up close view of his taut and tanned top half. Ryan is no weightlifter, but he’s naturally toned with smoothly defined muscles. My eyes roam over his narrow hips and flat stomach before moving upward and suddenly clashing with his eyes. Embarrassed, I quickly swing my gaze back to the inside of my beach bag. I can feel the flush creeping up my neck to my cheeks. Because I already have the sunscreen in my hand, I pretend to be looking for something else. Perhaps he’ll think the heat has turned my face bright red.

After retrieving nothing further from my bag, I lean forward and self-consciously proceed to remove my tank top. Still sitting, I then shimmy out of my shorts, excruciatingly aware of Ryan’s eyes on me during the entire maneuver. I’m not ashamed of my body, but I don’t have the self-confidence to stand up and carelessly pull off my clothes, knowing he’s watching me the entire time. Having a beach date certainly provides far more information than the average first date does, at least my average first dates.

I squeeze lotion into my hand and begin to cover my legs and arms. Then I move on to my shoulders, stomach, and finally my face. The white lotion is still warm from being locked in the trunk, and it has a light coconut fragrance, the definitive smell of summer.

“Want me to get your back?” Ryan asks.

I smile. I anticipated and hoped for this offer from him. I gladly hand the lotion to him as I swivel in my chair to offer him my back. To my surprise, I startle slightly at the shock that runs through me at his first touch.

He hesitates and asks, “You okay?”

I just nod and laugh it off. Then I feel the light pressure of his fingers sliding over my skin, covering my shoulder blades, skimming over my bikini strap and then rubbing firmly against my lower back. The contact feels amazing. He’s thorough as he moves over every bit of exposed skin. Even though I’m sure my back has been adequately covered, his hands linger as he slowly continues to massage my neck and shoulders, and then he traces the line of my spine.

When I glance over my shoulder to smile at him, his hands still as his eyes meet mine. His eyelids are heavy. After a moment, he removes his hands and passes the lotion back to me.

“Your turn?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No need. I never burn.”

I’m both surprised and disappointed. His skin does seem to have a naturally tan, almost Mediterranean tone to it, but now I have no excuse to touch him. Doesn’t he want me to? Then I realize that Wes is back. The creak of his chair alerts me to the fact that he has joined us again. He has also returned well within the hour he had been allowed. Either he got bored or he actually listened to his brother.

“How was your walk?” Ryan asks.

“Fine.” Wes’s eyes travel between Ryan and I, lingering over my chest long enough to make me uncomfortable.

“You should be wearing sunscreen,” I tell Wes to divert his attention. “You’re paler than I am.” I hand it to him and to my surprise he listens and begins applying it.

I turn back to Ryan. “So, you never burn?”

“Nope,” he repeats. Then he leans in closer to me. “Not from the sun at least.”

I can feel my eyes widen in response as my traitorous cheeks start to heat again.

Ryan tries to hide his growing grin as he stands and moves toward the cooler in front of us. When I come back to earth again, I focus on the food he’s pulling out. I can hardly believe the lunch Ryan has packed. I’ve brought nothing. For some reason, I assumed there would be a food stand here. I realize now that there isn’t. From the cooler, Ryan has withdrawn about half a dozen sandwiches, grapes, peaches, and a bag of chips. He next removes three bottles of water.

“I know you’re not a vegetarian since you ordered a burger at lunch,” Ryan says. “I figured turkey was probably a safe bet.”

“Turkey is great,” I tell him, not sure why I’m so dumbfounded that he’s gone to the trouble of bringing lunch for all of us. I almost want to cry at the gesture.

“I know a girl who’s allergic to poultry,” Wes states casually.

I turn to him surprised. This is the first sentence he’s offered that wasn’t prompted by a question. “Really?” I answer, taking the offered sandwich from Ryan. “That’s unusual.”

He nods. “She goes into anaphylactic shock when she even gets near it.”

“From poultry?” Ryan asks skeptically, sitting himself down beside me again.

Wes confirms this with a solemn nod. “It happened one day in the school cafeteria. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Was she okay?”

He shrugs. “I guess. She was back in school in the next week. She missed her afternoon midterms though. I wished I’d thought of that. Maybe I could suddenly become allergic to paper or something.”

“You’re already allergic to homework,” Ryan mutters.

“Ha ha.” Wes smirks at him, unbothered.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly in a swirl of animated conversation, fleeting moments of eye-contact between Ryan and I, and attempts at swimming in the seaweed laden ocean. In late August, the beaches around Massachusetts seem to overflow with seaweed, thickening the water and covering the sand. I cringe at the feel of it brushing against my skin, but I don’t want to be the wimpy girl. So I follow Ryan and Wes when the afternoon heat drives them into the water.

As we head down to the water line, I imagine horsing around in the water with Ryan and hoping we’ll get to touch again, but Wes has brought a football with him. Although Ryan tries to include me in their ball toss game, Wes seems intent on holding his brother’s attention. When the throwing distance becomes far more than I can achieve, I beg off and head back to my beach chair.

The air chills my wet skin, and I wrap a towel around myself as I go for my cell phone again. This time there is a message. Feeling hopeful, I dial into my voicemail. At first I don’t recognize the voice. “Hi Andrea. It’s Jason. Just thought I’d give you a call. Hope you’re having a good weekend. Get in touch if you’d like to meet up again one night this week.”

I stare at my phone. It’s unlikely I’ll be returning that call. Frustrated and bordering on angry, I dial Katie’s cell phone number. It goes straight to voicemail. “It’s Andy,” I begin, “I hope you got my previous messages. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but I’m worried about you. Please at least text me and let me know that you’re okay. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just a quick, ‘Hey, it’s Katie. I haven’t stuck my head in an oven’ would be good.” I wince as I push the End button. I’m always trying to make a wisecrack, but if Katie really is completely depressed right now, that was a stupid message to have left.

I look up to see Ryan and Wes making their way toward me with water dripping off their hair and smiles on their faces. Watching them walking beside each other, I can imagine Wes as an adult, filled out and less awkward, more like his brother. I hope he gets his act together soon, before he gets into trouble he can’t get out of.

By late afternoon the crowds began to pack up and drift off to their cars. After much hinting from Wes, our little group does the same. I slip my clothes on over my sticky skin, trying to brush the clinging sand away, and I look forward to the shower I’ll take the minute I get home. Overall, it has been a very pleasant day. I can’t help but think how differently the day might have gone if it had just been the two of us. Ryan seemed uncomfortable talking about anything more than surface topics in front of his brother. So, other than his family issues, I haven’t really learned anything more about Ryan. But I don’t want to begrudge him time with his brother.

The car ride home is much quicker than the ride there. Tired from the day, we’re mostly silent, enjoying the radio and watching the passing scenery. We arrive back at my townhouse around six in the evening. I tell Wes that I enjoyed meeting him. I think I notice the tiniest hint of a smile on his face when he mumbles back, “Yeah, you too.”

“Be right back,” Ryan tells his brother as he gets out and walks around the car to take me to my door.

I feel less than fresh as we pause together in the doorway. “I had a really nice day. Thank you,” I say, looking up at him. The familiar butterflies begin to swarm as I anticipate and hope for a kiss, even though I know Wes can still see us from the car.

He inches closer to me. “Me, too,” he says, his voice low and deep. As his intense hazel eyes search mine, I can clearly read his intentions in them. His fingers move beneath my chin to lift my face toward his. Slowly, he leans down, closing the short distance between us. I feel a shiver slide through me as his warm lips meet mine. It’s a soft slow caressing kiss, and the butterflies settle down as the muscles low in my stomach start to tighten. Too soon he lifts his head, and I see his eyes cutting over to the car and then back again, letting me know that he’s stopping because of Wes. I nod subtly and feel a smile growing on my tingling lips.

“How does your week look?” he asks taking a step back. “Would you like to do something one night after work?”

“Sure,” I tell him, excited at the prospect of seeing him again so soon and hoping to get some alone time.

“How about Thursday?”

“Thursday works.”

“It’s a plan,” he says. “I’ll call you.”

“Sounds good.”

Then he waves and flashes his bright grin at me before he returns to the car.

I walk into my cool entryway on a cloud. I’m really liking Ryan. I can feel it. Just when I thought I’d relegated all hope to the very back recesses of a dark and empty closet, I surprise myself by yanking the door wide open and letting in the light. Maybe the other shoe won’t drop. Maybe a little optimism won’t jinx things.

I set my bag down on the kitchen table and catch sight of Tiger racing through the doorway. He latches onto my ankle and then steps back to sit down and look up at me. I laugh and pick him up, holding his soft, furry little weight in my arms. He purrs and blinks at me.

I’m in a good mood the rest of the evening. After showering and grabbing a bowl of cereal for dinner because I’m too tired to make anything else, I’ve nearly forgotten the message I left for Katie. She finally returns my call after ten that evening

Katie is whispering as she speaks. “Hi Andy. I got your messages.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I waited until Mike was asleep to call you.”

“Oh.” Katie is quiet on her end. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I haven’t talk to him about anything,” she tells me with a hesitant tone.

I sit up in bed, startling Tiger, who jumps to the floor. “I’m not judging you, Katie. What you do is up to you.”

“Have you talked to Bryn?” she asks.

“No. I haven’t really been in the mood to talk to her.”

More silence from her end. I’m trying to think of something to say that will make her feel better, or at least make things okay with us.

“I’m pregnant, Andy.”

I inhale sharply. “What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh wow,” I say. “How long have you known?”

“I took a test a couple of days ago.”

“You didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“I haven’t told anyone. Mike doesn’t even know yet. We didn’t plan it or anything.”

“Have you seen your doctor?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you’re pregnant?”

“I took a lot of tests once the first one turned positive, and I can feel it. I am.”

“Wow,” I say again, not really sure how I’m supposed to react and wondering if I should congratulate her. “What are you going to do?” I finally ask.

“I was actually happy when I found out. I was just waiting for the right time to tell Mike.”

“Does he want a baby?”

I hear her sigh. “We’d planned on having kids in the future. I thought he’d be surprised and maybe taken aback, but happy overall. Now, I don’t know.”

I rub my hands over my face. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. If I had known...”

She interrupts me, “Do you want to hear something awful? I considered telling him about the baby as a way to trap him into staying with me. Can you believe that?”

When I don’t answer because I don’t know what to say, she continues.

“I know what you’d do if you were me,” she says quietly. “You’d confront him about Bryn, kick him out of the house, tell him about the baby, and in the same breath tell him to go to hell.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s me, kicking ass and taking names.”

Katie laughs, too. “You would though.”

“I don’t know. I talk a good game, but I’m the one who’s usually alone when everyone else is in a relationship. I’m not sure my example is a good one to follow.”

Suddenly she blurts out, “I’m so angry at him. This could be such an amazing time for us, and he’s wrecked it.”

Because I helped with the wreckage, I find myself apologizing and then trying to look on the bright side. “It’s not wrecked. You guys definitely need to do some serious talking. But I can be happy about the baby, right? You’re going to be a mom. That’s pretty incredible.”

“Yeah, it is,” she replies, her voice sounding strained now, like she’s trying to hold back tears.

“I can help you, you know? I’m a great babysitter. I babysat for my sister all the time growing up.”

“Careful what you offer. I’ll likely take you up on it.”

“I don’t offer what I can’t deliver.”

“I had a glass of wine when we went to Café Blue,” she says.

“What?”

“I was pregnant then, and I had a glass of wine.”

“Did you know you were pregnant?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t count. Besides, our mothers smoked and drank and did god knows what else when they were pregnant with us. We’re not too screwed up.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You’re not screwed up. You’re going to be a great mom.”

“I guess. I have my first OB appointment this week.”

I try to do some quick math in my head. “So, you’ll be due sometime in the spring. That’s a perfect time to be on maternity leave.”

She laughs. “You’re way ahead of me. I’m going day by day with this.”

“Good idea. One day at a time,” I assure her, but I feel dazed. Katie, who I’ve known since freshman year of college, is going to be a mom. “It’s going to be fine,” I tell her.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“I know. But it’s still true.”

She sighs. “I’d better go. I’m always exhausted these days. I can hardly keep my eyes open past nine.”

“I think that’s pretty normal. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up the phone and stare off at nothing. I feel too shell-shocked to concentrate on my book anymore. Tiger jumps back up and nudges his head into the palm of my hand. I give him what he wants, and he turns into a purring machine. I feel like calling my mother, but it’s long past my parents’ usual bedtime. I feel too restless to stay in bed any longer.

I slip out of bed, walk downstairs to the living room with Tiger trailing at my heels, and turn on the television. After flipping through the channels, I land on a very familiar black and white courtroom scene staring Gregory Peck. I stay up long past midnight watching To Kill A Mockingbird, completely engrossed in the story I have admired since childhood. I haven’t turned on the lights, and bright images projected from the television dance across the walls.

When the movie ends, I’m finally ready for the day to be over.