“Have you told—”

“No,” she says quickly. “I haven’t told him yet. I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” I ask dryly. “You wanted this.”

“Yeah. But it’s not like we planned it or talked about it or anything. I don’t really know what he’s going to say.”

If she doesn’t know what Kit would say, she doesn’t know Kit very well. I could picture him being surprised, taking a few hours to let it process, then he would let resignation turn to happiness. Kit is the kind of guy who shows up.

“Wow,” I say. “Everyone is having babies.” It’s a stupid thing to say, and I immediately apologize. “Sorry, I’m just in shock. And obviously not everyone is having babies … just you and Sadie.”

I bite my lip waiting to see how she’ll take that one. I keep making stupid comments, and I don’t mean to. Honestly. I’m happy for her. I think.

“It’s not the same,” she snaps.

“Of course not,” I say quickly.

“Sadie got pregnant on purpose.”

“Yeah…” My voice trails off. God, I just want this conversation to be over.

“When are you going to tell…”

“I have to go,” she says. She hangs up before I say anything else. I stare at Kit’s text for a long time, trying to decide what to do. He’s going to have a baby with my best friend, which means I can’t cut him off completely. But I have to cut off some parts. Like the part where I’m sort of into him. So maybe this texting bullshit has to stop. And sending me stories. I feel genuinely depressed about that one. And the hovering thing he does at parties and such. And—okay—I have to stop showing up at his job. I delete his texts without reading the last one. Then I delete him from my phone. I send Della a text that I know will repair what we lost in the last phone conversation. She’s easy like that.

Let’s pick out names!

Her text bubble appears almost immediately.

Daphne, she sends.

Hell no! I type back.

She gives me an lol, and just like that we’re back on track. Helena and Della. The quirky one, and the pretty one.

Kit doesn’t text me again. I check in with Della three days later to find out if she told him.

Yeah, she texts back.

Well?! What did he say?

D: He was ecstatic. Couldn’t be happier.

Right away? I’m pushing it, but I want to see how right I was about him.

D: Yes, right away.

She’s lying.

Della loses the baby. Kit calls to tell me. His voice is even and somber. I’ve never been on the phone with him before, and I wonder if he always sounds like this or if this is his grieving voice. I leave work right away and drive the two miles to their house. I know Della asked Kit to call; it’s her thing. Makes the situation bleaker when you need someone to make your calls for you. I’m not being harsh; it’s how she is. When she got her period for the first time, she made her mom call to tell me something had happened. People never really change, do they? When I arrive at 216 Trinidad Lane, her whole family is congregated in the living room. The sight of them all sitting there depresses me. It’s like a wake. Each of her family members hugs me in turn, then I am sent off to Della and Kit’s bedroom where she is lying on her bed in the dark.

“Hello,” I say. I climb into the bed with her, and she snuggles into me. “I’m so sorry, Dells.”

She sniffles.

“I’m not going to say cheesy, comforting, and slightly offensive things,” I tell her.

“I know,” she says. “That’s why I like it that you’re here.”

“Who said the worst thing?” I ask. “Out of all of them.”

“Aunt Yoli. She said my womb may not be fertilized enough to take seed.”

We both snort with laughter, and that’s what best friends are all about. Turning the bleak.

“Aunt Yoli once told me that my breasts would never make a hungry baby full,” I tell her. “I was only thirteen.”

We laugh some more, and I take Della’s hand.

She turns on the TV, and we watch Desperate Housewives until Kit relieves me, and comes to lie with her on the bed. We barely exchange a glance, but as we cross paths I grab his hand and squeeze. Sorry about the baby. He squeezes back.

I go to their house every night after work. Della is taking it hard. Harder even than I thought. I make their meals and stay with her while Kit is at work. And, once again, my life is consumed by Della’s grief. I don’t mind except that I’m tired. And I still have a little of my own grief to deal with. June accuses me of being an enabler. I think about the way I encourage June to wear ugly hats, and I know she’s right.

I am cleaning up the kitchen one night after she’s fallen asleep when Kit gets home from work. I see the lights from his truck, and I can’t help but feel excited. A non-depressed person to talk to! He hoists himself on the counter next to where I’m washing dishes.

“You have to take care of you too,” is the first thing he says to me. And then I start to cry. It’s so stupid, nothing bad has happened to me. I have no right.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to make this about me.”

Kit laughs a little. “You never make anything about you. Maybe you should.”

I wave him away. “I’m fine. Everything is good. What about you? You okay?”

Kit shakes his head. “You can’t change the subject and try to distract me.”

I watch the water drain out of the sink. “I’m really uncomfortable talking about myself. I’d rather you tell me about you.”

“All right. What would you like to know?”

“Had you told your family about the baby?”

His face doesn’t betray a thing. He’s basically unreadable. “No. It was early.”

Fair enough.

“How do you feel about it?”

He chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t know. I barely had time to process the pregnancy before it was over.”

“Are you sad?” I press him. I want to know something. He gives so little.

“I don’t know.”

“For someone who seems to know so much about everyone else’s feelings, you seem to know so little about your own.”