She’d told me about her crazy mother and their fraught, on-again, off-again (mostly off-again) relationship. I simply couldn’t imagine Freya as a parent.

She moved to the small paned window and stared out into her driveway. “My periods have always been sporadic,” she explained. “I just thought I was getting fat.” She turned back toward me. “I don’t even know if I’m going to keep it. But I’m already in my second trimester.”

I should have said something to make her feel better about this terrible mistake; that was my role as her friend and confidante. But all I wanted to say was: Get rid of it. Make it go away before it ruins your life and mine! I couldn’t be so callous, of course, but the words of support would not come.

Then she said, “Promise me you won’t tell Jamie.”

“Jamie?”

“She wants a baby so badly, and she can’t have one. This will devastate her.”

My employer had never mentioned her desire to be a mother, but I guess it made sense. Whenever an infant or toddler came into the store, she was all over it. After, she’d seem wistful, lost in thought, even tearful. During our hours together, Jamie often tried to engage me in conversation. When I remained uncommunicative, she’d babble on about her former marketing career, her husband’s fantasy trilogy, her college experiences at the University of British Columbia. But my boss had never admitted she wanted a family.

“I won’t tell her.”

“Thanks,” Freya muttered, heading for the door. “I’m going to lie down. Clean up the mess in the kiln.”

When she left, I looked down at the intricate butterfly wings I’d been working on. Somehow, I had snapped them in two.

Chapter 22

22

I didn’t sleep well that night. Normally, I went out like a light, even on the hard attic floor. But that night, I stared at the rafters for hours. Freya was pregnant. If she had the baby, it would usurp my space in her life. She wouldn’t come to the studio anymore, wouldn’t have time to do pottery with me. I knew firsthand how demanding babies were, how noisy, smelly, and needy. Freya might allow me to continue my work, but did I want to without her? Was my pinch-pot plan as fulfilling without her involvement?

And I didn’t want to go back to my parents’ house. Even if my mom’s assurances that Eckhart would grow out of his monster phase were true, I didn’t want to be there. My youngest brother had tipped the scales. We had gone from being a large, noisy, loving family to a chaotic shit show. The last few months had shown me that I needed space and calm and quiet.