If she were pregnant, she wouldn’t be drinking. Shouldn’t be drinking, anyway. I tried to remember the last time we’d had alcohol together. Our recent visits had mostly been walks and coffee dates. She’d brought sandwiches to the store a couple of times and we’d had a picnic on the front counter. But I was almost certain that Freya had had a mimosa on a recent brunch date. Maybe she wasn’t expecting?

Her text came back.

Busy in the studio. Coffee tomorrow morning?

Her refusal to meet for drinks meant that she could be pregnant. But I needed confirmation. And I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

I need to see you. It’s about Low.

The message was read, but she didn’t respond right away. My heart pounded as I waited for the shivering ellipsis that prefaced her reply. Finally, they came, followed closely by the words:

Come to the studio.

• • •

I’d been in Freya’s pottery studio a couple of times. In contrast to her pristine home, it was a disaster: dust coating every surface, buckets full of muddy clay on the floor, filthy rags draped over the backs of chairs or the edge of the sink. But in the midst of it all were racks of Freya’s creations at various stages of finish. They were all so beautiful that they compensated for the slovenliness of the space.

Freya wore a large smock, which did double duty in protecting her clothes and hiding her bump. If there was one. She wiped her hands on a cloth.

“Hey, hon.” Freya kissed my cheek.

I decided to dive right in.

“Low says you’re pregnant.”

Freya’s face darkened. “It wasn’t her place to tell you.”

“So it’s true.”

She reached for my hand then, her blue eyes soft. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew it would be hard for you to hear.”

“I’m your friend,” I said, through the lump in my throat, “I’m happy for you.”

“Are you sure? I know how much you wanted a baby and I never wanted to be a mom. It doesn’t seem fair.”

But maybe it was fair? I had betrayed my best friend and my husband when I slept with Max. Perhaps karma had played a hand in conception. “I’m thrilled for you. Honestly.”

“Thank God.” She gave my hand a squeeze, then released it. “Because I’m going to need you. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”

“We’ll figure it out together.” I would get over my envy, tamp it down inside of me. I would be there for Freya and her child. My infertility would not impact my support.

“I would have told you, but I was in shock,” she said. “I wasn’t even sure I could conceive. We’d always been kind of lax with birth control. I just assumed we couldn’t get pregnant.”