“Do you ever think about finding him? Your . . . father?”
“No,” said Fiona without hesitation. “And anyway, now, there’s no point.” She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t ever want my baby to feel that way,” Fiona said. “Unwanted.”
“Fiona—”
“I made my mom’s life so hard. And then I think about what I did—”
“You were wanted,” Jane said. “What you and Jasper chose to do—it was the right thing.” A pause. Then: “And this baby? She’s wanted, too.”
“She?”
“I have a feeling,” said Jane.
* * *
? ? ?
They hung up the phone. In her apartment, Jane settled back into the sofa. She folded her hands in her lap. It was Saturday, and she had the rest of the afternoon ahead, nothing planned other than a couple errands: the car due for an oil change, and another thing she couldn’t remember now. What was it? Something or other she’d put off all week. Still she sat there, considering what Fiona had just told her. A baby coming. Fiona and Bobby’s baby. She was going to be an aunt! Jane sighed. Everything was going to change. She stood and plodded to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and peered inside.
Fiona was going away, she thought. There were three cans of Diet Coke left. A wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano in a sandwich bag. Jane felt afraid. She thought of Bobby and despised him a little. She thought of the annoying habits he had that Fiona complained about, and then the ones she’d noticed herself but kept quiet on—analyzing Bobby was like commenting on the weather. He existed regardless, her best friend’s husband, and Jane accepted this as fact. She shut the refrigerator door.
At the grocery store later, after the oil change, Jane overheard a man on the phone asking if there was enough butter, or if he should pick up another package. Do we get the salted or the unsalted? he said. Jane thought it was a lovely question. She reached for the red carton of salted butter and placed it in her basket even though it wasn’t on her list.
She was happy for her best friend. She hadn’t known that Fiona wanted a baby. After her mother passed, Fiona suddenly became serious about meeting a man and marrying again. For a while, after divorcing Aaron, she’d shut off that part of herself, it seemed. All their lives, Fiona had attracted attention without trying. It wasn’t only that she was beautiful, smart, stylish. Jane understood now that there was something guarded about Fiona, as if she were always looking behind her, watching her back. Even while her eyes were fixed on you, Fiona was casing the room for the exits. Some alert quality about her that was unsettling, and sexy.
Jane had never felt jealous of Fiona. She didn’t compete with her; she’d only ever wanted her to stay. When they were younger, she never wanted Fiona to go home at the end of the night. She could sit in Shamu, talking on, forever. The two of them shared everything, and a compliment to one was accepted equally by the other, though most often, Jane knew, it was Fiona to whom the unsolicited kind words were directed, and Jane who stood in the refracted light.
Groceries stowed in the trunk, she drove back to her apartment listlessly.
Everything seemed back on track again in Fiona’s life. Last year, she’d transferred her credits to UCLA and completed the law degree she’d abandoned in New York. She passed the California bar on the first try. She met Bobby on Tinder. Now, a baby.
Jane was happy for her. Yes, she really was. But what was this other feeling, buried within it? Fiona was leaving again. She was always leaving. And this time, Jane feared there would be no coming back. A baby changed everything, more than a man ever could. She’d thought they had more time. There were still so many silences, passed over. Fiona was going away now—some other planet, where mothers lived—while Jane remained here in place. She moved through the apartment, from room to room, turning on the lamps, as though searching for something. Nothing was missing. She felt as lonely as she’d ever been.
Fiona and Jane
Fiona and Bobby were throwing a New Year’s Eve party—a big deal for them since Gracie was born. Won was in Ibiza or somewhere with the gaysian mafia. I tried to tell Fi I had another commitment, but she saw right through me; she knew my only plans were with a bottle of red and watching the ball drop on TV. I don’t want to be the seventeenth wheel, I said, at a party with a bunch of your straight married friends. It’s not going to be like that, she snapped. It’s going to be all kinds of people there. Don’t you want to spend New Year’s Eve with your best friend?