Page 38 of Your Sharpest Edge
“I’m very happy I’m pregnant and that he’s my husband and you’re my friend.”
It felt like a rehearsed response. She would give me these one-liners when she was rushing out of my apartment, always apologizing for coming even though I knew she would be there again. It was as if she was saying it more for her needs than mine.
“Okay.” It was all I could come up with in the moment without feeling like I was going to upset her with the truth.
“I’m due in the winter.”
I swallowed as I turned away. “Right during the season.”
She nodded.
“That’s good.” I needed to get out of here.
I needed a second because everything I wanted crashed down, and my world was no longer full. I was empty, bleeding out from every pore. I needed to breathe, but the air was no longer entering my lungs. I was empty.
“Please don’t?—”
I stopped her, reaching for her chin again, but I shoved my hands to my side and stood. Taking a seat next to her on thebench, facing away from her toward the lockers, I unlaced my skates. Act. Normal.
“I moved out here with my roommate?—”
“Yeah, Layla,” I added, remembering the story she told me about her best friend, who was also an ice-skater and lived up in Los Angeles, grateful that the conversation was being led elsewhere.
“You remembered?”
“Of course. You told me the story of you moving here at one of the first dinners we had together.”
“I am really grateful for you,” she whispered and fumbled with her skates.
“I’m glad we have each other,” I managed to choke out.
There was so much I wanted her to do. I wanted her to run. I would run with her, but how was I supposed to tell her that?
“I’m going to change,” I said once I pulled my skates off, heading toward the showers.
I needed a fucking cold shower, and I needed to leave this place and go out. I needed to get away from the suffocating tension.
“I can wait,” she offered. She held her skates and stood there, both of us chest to chest.
“No.” I turned away from her. I couldn’t say this while looking her in the eye. “I have plans tonight, so I won’t be able to hang out.”
“Oh.” Her voice hitched at the very end. “I didn’t?—”
I peeled off my shirt as I stared at her, replacing the warmth I felt for her with the coolness I was familiar with.
“I-I’m sorry,” she said softly, and I shook my head, desperate to reach out to her again and pull her back in. “If I did something...”
“You did nothing.” I reassured her. “I... have plans.”
She looked down, and I hated how she was falling apart in front of me, but I was also unraveling into a hundred different pieces.
She adjusted her sweatshirt. “Alright then.”
I turned around.
“I guess you’ll miss the shortbread cookies I made this morning.”
No, I won’t, not if you just leave him. I’ll eat everything you make.
