“Hey now,” she murmured. “Calm down, it’s just us here. Everything is okay.”

I shook my head.

“Has something happened? Or is this about Finn?”

“It’s not Finn,” I said.

She rubbed my back with her fingertips. Her touch drew goose bumps over my arms, and I drank again. This was so much worse than I had anticipated. How could I possibly risk losing her friendship? Fear made it difficult to even speak.

She brushed my chin, turning my face toward her.

“Listen, I can tell you’re frightened,” she said. “And that you want to say something to me.”

“Sorry.”

“Just take your time. I’m not going anywhere, all right? I promise.”

I breathed out. Then, with care, I set the glass on the floor and folded my hands in my lap.

“How do you feel about me?” I asked.

A pause.

“I love you,” said Millie, with almost unbearable gentleness. “I should think that’s obvious.”

“As a—as a friend? Or—”

“If you’re asking whether I’m romantically attracted to you?” She sighed. “It’s more complicated. Which I think you already know.”

“Does it have to be? Complicated?” I tried to smile. “I mean, Hanna and I could probably find a way to share you. And Daje thinks I’m okay.”

“It’s not them.” She leaned back on the couch. Her expression was pained.

“Then it’s me?”

“Here’s the thing.” She picked at the loose stitching on the armrest. “I know you’re in love with Finn.”

I shook my head.

“I’m not saying that’s wrong,” she said. “Or that you ever meant for it to happen. Given the opportunity, I’m sure you would change your feelings, but you don’t get to make that choice. No one does.”

She pulled a thread and the hole in the upholstery grew wider. The stuffing peeked through. I wanted to tell her to leave it alone, but I stayed silent.

“So that’s why it’s complicated,” she said. “Because if we started something, I would always know I’m the person you settled for, instead of the one you truly wanted.” Her voice dropped. “I’m not strong enough for that, El. Please don’t ask it of me.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry, I should never have—”

My throat hitched. Instantly, Millie leaned over and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I tried to push her away, to tell her I was fine, just being ridiculous, but she did not let go. She stroked my hair, and I felt like a child, lost and confused and overwhelmed.

“I can’t handle this alone,” I whispered.

“Hush.” She held me tighter. “I’m still here. I told you, I’m not going—”

“Millie, I’m pregnant.”

Her hand stopped moving across my hair. There it was, out in the open, out of my mouth and irrevocable. The words hung between us like they possessed a physical weight. I buried my face in my hands.

“I’m two weeks late,” I said through my fingers.

“It could be stress.”