She made a face. “Ugh. No. Just thethoughtof pizza makes me gag right now.”
“Seriously?”
She gestured at her belly.
I scoffed. “That kid is going to beborngrounded.”
“You have no idea.” She picked up her own phone off the end table. “What about Thai? Does Thai sound good?”
“Thai always sounds good. And I guess as long as the kid lets you eat Thai, we can reduce the grounding to two months instead of three.”
She scoffed. “Please. This child is making me hate garlic. He’ll be lucky if he’s ungrounded before kindergarten.”
I arched an eyebrow. “He?”
Some pink rose in her cheeks, and she smiled. “Yeah. We found out last week.”
I managed to smile, too, pretending not to notice that pang of renewed grief beneath my ribs. “That’s awesome. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” From the way her smile faltered, she had a similar feeling—that awful twinge that came with remembering Leif wasn’t here.
They were having another baby boy… but Leif wasn’t here.
The team won a game… but Leif wasn’t here.
We were ordering Thai from the best restaurant in Sewickley… but Leif wasn’t here.
Rachel put her phone aside and pushed out a ragged breath. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I’m just… I’m glad Leif knew. About the baby. But it’s hard because he doesn’t know…” She trailed off as tears spilled over her lashes.
I slid closer and wrapped my arms around her, trying like hell not to choke on my own emotions. “I know it’s hard. I’m sorry.”
She held on and trembled, crying silently against my shoulder for a moment. “God, I’m sorry.” She pulled back and wiped her eyes with a shaky hand. “Everyone keeps telling me this will get better, but…” She shook her head. “Damn hormones.”
“I don’t think it’s the hormones,” I said gently. “I’m sure they don’t help, but like I just told you, I’ve been a mess, too, and I’m not pregnant.”
Rachel met my gaze, her eyes red and wet.
I clasped her hand in mine. “You just saw me fall apart, and believe me, it’s not the first time that’s happened. One of the things my therapist keeps telling me is that even though society doesn’t acknowledge it, losing a close friend can hitalmostlike losing a partner, you know? It’s not romantic love, but it’s love, and it fucking hurts.” I gently tightened my grasp o her hand. “Losing him has wrecked me in ways I never imagined it would. If it’s fucked me up this much as his friend—if it's going to have me breaking down and crying at the slightest provocation—then ofcourseit’s going to make a mess of his wife.”
Her shoulders slumped and some more tears fell. For a heartbeat, I was afraid I’d said the wrong thing and made it worse, but then she gripped my hand tighter and whispered, “I think I needed to hear that.” She swiped at her eyes again. “I feel like I should just snap out of this and go back to normal, or that everything I feel is just hormones, but it’s…” She covered her mouth as she started to cry again. “I lost my husband.”
I pulled her back into my arms and tried to hold myself together. Hearing and feeling her cry like this was absolutely heart-wrenching. Even more than when I’d had my own breakdown a moment ago. It reminded me of that day when I’d lost it in Shannon’s office; I just hoped this was because she’d also realized it was okay to feel what she felt and grieve Leif as hard as she loved him. Society didn’t understand friends grieving like this, and friends didn’t always know how to do it; maybe spouses didn’t know how either.
After a long moment, Rachel started to quiet, and I whispered, “I’m sorry,” because I didn’t know what else to say.
“Don’t be.” She drew away and reached for the tissues on the end table. “I think it’s what I needed to hear.”
“I know the feeling. My therapist and I had a similar conversation.” I wiped my own eyes. “We’re always trying to be stronger than we are.”
“God, isn’t that the truth?” She handed me a tissue, which I took gratefully. “Grief is bullshit.”
I laughed through my tears. “It really is. What the fuck.”
She laughed, too. “I want to speak to a manager.”
I snorted. “Right?”
We both chuckled and dabbed at our eyes.
