I wake up feeling chilly, and the credits for Top Gun are rolling on the television. I groan, not wanting to move and take myself to bed, but too cold to stay where I am. I shiver and get up from the couch, flicking the TV off, grabbing my phone and pulling the blanket over my shoulders. Then I trudge to my bedroom sleepily.
I nearly make it to the god-glorious warmth of my bed, where the covers are calling to me, but a knock on the door stops me on the threshold to my room. I look down the hallway to my front door, wondering who it could be at this hour. I glance down at my phone. 10 p.m. Not so late at all.
I shrug the blanket off my shoulders, toss it on the bed, and grab my gray hoodie from a chair, putting it on as I make my way to the front door. I decide and hope on my way that it must be Jack. The possibility injects some urgency into my legs and I pull the front door open, ready to throw myself at him and never let go.
But my face falls the moment I register my visitor.
“Stephanie,” I breathe shakily, desperately trying to stop my eyes from bugging in shock. Oh my God, what is she doing here? Shit, what do I do? She looks a wreck, her hair unwashed and pulled into a tatty ponytail, her face red and blotchy, and her body huddled up, wrapped in a khaki fluffy-hooded coat. I release my hold on the door when it starts to tremble mildly from my movements.
I must appear as anxious as I’m feeling. She’s staring blankly at me, in a bit of a trance. This would be the point that any normal person would ask if she’s okay. But I know she’s not okay, and I’m not any normal person. I’m the woman her husband has left her for, and I need to get rid of her before my nerves begin to fray again and she figures it all out.
“Stephanie?” I prompt gently, forcing anything close to a friendly face.
“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” she croaks, her arms wrapped around her midriff protectively.
“What?” I startle myself with my abrupt tone, fighting to pull myself together. So she came here? To me?
She bursts into tears.
Oh fuck.
“He’s left me,” she sobs. “He’s gone!”
My insides tangle up. No part of me seems willing to give me a heads-up on what I should do. “Stephanie, I—”
She falls into my hallway, leaving me no choice but to move back, and thumps the wall. I definitely get a waft of liquor as she passes me. She’s been drinking. “He’s gone, Annie! He’s gone and left me all alone!” She pulls away and faces my shocked form, her expression suddenly straight, her eyes round and wild. “But he needs me,” she says evenly.
“I’m so sorry, Stephanie.” My mouth kicks into action, reminding me that I should be being the sympathetic outsider. “I’m sure he’ll come back to you.”
“Yes, he will,” she sniffs, wiping at her nose. “He’s confused, that’s all.”
I nod, giving my enthusiastic agreement, just needing her to pull it together and leave so I can commence with my own meltdown. It won’t be as spectacular as Stephanie’s, but I can guarantee it’ll involve tears and a panicked call to Jack.
Her face cracks and she starts sobbing again, more controlled this time, her body jerking with the constant sniffles and gasps for air. “What am I going to do?” She hiccups over her words, her head dropping limply.
I have nothing to say to that. I don’t know what she’s going to do, and that truly scares me. “Do you want me to call a friend?” I ask. “Someone you can talk to?” I need to make it clear that I’m not that someone. I wouldn’t be even if I wasn’t in love with her husband.
“There’s no one,” she sobs. “I have no friends.” She looks at me hopefully. I fear the worst. “Except you. I’ll stay with you for a while. You can make me a cup of tea. I’m not good on my own, Annie.”
“How about your mum?” I press, trying to sound concerned rather than desperate.
She shakes her head. “She and Daddy are out for dinner. I don’t want to bother them.”
I try to swallow down the growing lump of apprehension in my throat. It’s not budging. She wants me to be her friend. Or she clearly thinks I already am. She wants to spill her problems to the woman who is carrying her husband’s baby. I can’t imagine a worse situation. Jesus, I can’t make her leave and spend all night wondering if she’s trying to hack at her wrists.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” I say, shutting the front door. I’m totally and utterly fucked.
Leading Stephanie through to the kitchen, I let her take a seat and start making tea, my mind racing, dreading how this conversation will go.
“He says there’s someone else,” she says out of the blue, with definite amusement in her tone.
“Probably just a flash in the pan,” I reply robotically, deciding as I stir our tea that I have no option but to shut down and act like the friend she thinks I am.
“That’s what I said. Some hussy who’s opened her legs.”
I grit my teeth and slide her tea on the table, taking a seat opposite her.
“He’ll come back. I mean, he did before when he realized he’d made a mistake. That he couldn’t live without me.” She laughs, and my smile is strained. I’m falling apart on the inside. I don’t want to hear this. She leans forward, her hands wrapped around her mug, and smiles at me. “You can help me show him. You work with him, see him all the time. You can tell him that he’s making a mistake. What do you say?”
What do I say? I say this must be hell. I smile, physically hurting, my stomach performing constant flips as if to remind me that I have a part of me and a part of Jack growing inside of me. “Okay,” I reply on a swallow.
“Thank you, Annie,” she says, bringing her mug to her lips thoughtfully. She seems significantly more together now. And just as I think that, she slams the mug down and starts howling again. I can’t figure out if this is the normal behavior of any woman whose husband has walked out on them, or just the normal behavior of Stephanie. “I’m sorry,” she cries, wiping at her face. “Do you have any tissue?” she asks.
“In the bathroom.” I’m praying she goes to get some herself and doesn’t expect me to. My phone is across the room by the kettle and it’s going to look odd if I grab it and take it with me. If she goes, I can text Jack for emergency help. “You know where it is.”
The chair slides across the floor as she pushes herself up, and I wait for Stephanie to disappear around the corner before I make a mad dash for my phone, hammering out a message to Jack.
Stephanie is here!
I take a seat again and hold on to my phone, hearing her blowing her nose in the distance. Jack’s reply is almost instant.
What? At your place?
I only have time to reply with a simple yes! before Stephanie appears again. I slip my phone into my pocket and stand. “Okay?” I ask.
She nods, stuffing the tissue in her pocket. Then she approaches me and wraps her arms around my tense body, which refuses to loosen up no matter how much I yell at it not to give my anxiety away. “You’re a good friend,” she says, pulling away from me and kissing my cheek.