We sit in silence for a minute, the deli noise fading into background static. I'm waiting for him to yell, to tell me I'm an idiot, to threaten to tell Emma. Instead, he just looks tired, like he's been carrying the weight of this knowledge for days and is relieved to finally put it down.
"I'm supportive," he says finally. "For the record. You're good for each other. She's healing, you're happier than I've seen you in years. So I'm supportive."
Relief floods through me so fast I feel lightheaded. "Really?"
"Really. But Jackson, you need to tell Emma, and soon."
"I know."
"Like, yesterday soon. Before she figures it out herself."
"I will. We're planning to?—"
"Planning isn't doing." He leans forward, his expression serious. "Emma is scary. Pregnant Emma, who finds out you've been lying to her for months? Terrifying. Like, hide-the-sharp-objects terrifying."
"She's not that bad."
"She threw a plastic fork at my head last week because I ate the last pickle."
"You ate her pickle. That's different."
"My point is, hormones are making her volatile. And if she finds out from someone else, or walks in on you two, or just figures it out because you keep looking at Maya like she's the only person in the room—" He stops. "It'll be bad. Really bad."
He's right, I know he's right, and the guilt sitting in my chest grows heavier.
"We'll tell her. Soon."
"When?"
"I don't know. After the playoffs? When things calm down?"
"Playoffs are in April. It's January. That's three months of lying, Jackson."
"I know."
"And what if she finds out before then?"
"She won't."
"Are you sure about that? Because I figured it out. What makes you think Emma won't?"
I don't have an answer for that, just a sick feeling in my gut that he's absolutely right. Emma's always been perceptive, especially when it comes to me, and pregnancy hasn't dulled that instinct. If anything, it's made her more attuned to the people around her.
Chase sighs, rubbing his face like he's aged ten years in this conversation. "Look, I get it. Telling her is scary. She's your sister, and Maya's her best friend; this could blow up spectacularly. But the longer you wait, the worse it gets. Trust me on this."
"You won't say anything?"
"Hell no. If this goes tits up and Emma asks if I knew, I knew nothing. I'm Switzerland, completely neutral." He points his sandwich at me. "But you need to tell her, and you need to do it before she figures it out on her own."
"What if she hates us?"
"She won't hate you. She'll be pissed, yeah, probably won't talk to either of you for a few days. But she loves you both too much to stay mad." He pauses, taking another bite. "The lying, though, that's what'll hurt her. Not the relationship. The fact that you didn't trust her enough to tell her."
He's right, we've been lying to Emma for months, sneakingaround in her own house, making her feel stupid for not noticing what's happening right under her nose.
"I'll talk to Maya," I say. "We'll figure out how to tell her."
"Good. Do it soon." Chase finishes his sandwich, crumpling up the wrapper with more force than necessary. "And for what it's worth? I'm happy for you. You deserve this; you've been miserable and alone for too long. Maya's good for you."
