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.”
I lean my head back against the wall, hands dangling between my knees. Drunk and not drunk. Sober and not sober. Locking eyes with Kit Isley in his newly purchased love nest doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like shit. I look back at his face because I want to know what he’s feeling. I can see Kit’s chest heaving. Deep breaths because … what? Maybe he had a dream too. Maybe he feels a connection too. It’s probably all in my head, and that’s what makes me feel truly crazy, that I might be making all of this up. I don’t know what propels me to say it. Obviously, I’ve been doing a lot of crazy shit lately.
“Hey, Kit.” My voice is barely audible. I touch my lips to make sure they’re really moving. “I had a dream.”
I move the hair from my eyes so that I can see him clearly, and hold it back out of my face.
His eyes get wide; his lips unfold.
“So you’ve said.” His voice is soft. “What was your dream about?”
Now that he’s asking I don’t know how to say it. Thick tongue, thicker thoughts. How does one declare lunacy? My chest begins to ache. This was a huge mistake. I am still feeling the alcohol from dinner.
Then Della drops something in the kitchen. A glass shatters along with my moment. Timing is everything when you’re about to tell someone you dreamed him into your heart. Fuck if that’s not the corniest thing I ever heard. Kit’s head turns toward the kitchen where Della is cursing loudly, calling for help. He glances back at me regretfully. His eyes drag over my face one last moment, and then he is gone. I don’t even say goodbye. I sneak out while they are in the kitchen. I won’t be missed. I’ve always been the weird one anyway, expected to do things like this. Della likes being around her friends, but ever since she started dating Kit she’s needed us less and less. Which is good. Except not, because I can’t do what I’m thinking. I can’t.