“I wanted to,” I said, setting the groceries on her small laminate kitchen table. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“I am trying,” she said, walking over to the sofa where a basket of freshly washed pastel green onesies sat. She began to fold them, her movements slow and deliberate.
“Have you heard anything more from the father?” I asked, keeping my voice light as I unpacked the carton of eggs.
Monica stopped folding, her thumb rubbing the hem of a tiny sleeve.
“No,” she said, looking down at the basket. “He is still completely out of the picture, Laura. He made his choice.”
“It must be hard,” I said, “handling all of this preparation alone.”
“I have you,” she said, looking up with a quick, tight smile that did not reach her eyes. “That is more than enough.”
She stood up to put the kettle on, leaving her keys and her phone on the kitchen counter. I watched her back as she filled the kettle, her shoulders tense beneath the knit wool of her sweater.
“I will put these dry goods in the pantry for you,” I said.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she said. “The top shelf is empty.”
I walked down her narrow hallway toward the pantry cupboard, which stood right beside her bedroom closet. The closet door was ajar, revealing a row of winter coats and a small shelf of storage boxes.
Resting on top of the lowest box was a cream-colored leather diaper bag with gold hardware. The designer logo was stamped clearly across the front pocket, matching the name of the boutique from the forty-five dollar receipt currently tucked inside my purse.
My hand went to my pocket, my fingers pressing against the sharp edges of the folded paper.
“Is the water boiling yet?” Monica called out from the kitchen.
“Almost,” I said, closing the closet door until it clicked shut.
The slip of paper was small, but it felt heavy enough to sink a ship.
The soup at the Lake Union Cafe arrived lukewarm, but neither of us sent it back.
Monica adjusted her knit cardigan, her fingers hovering near her collarbone as she spoke about nursery color swatches. Under the edge of the linen tablecloth, my thumb found the record button on my phone.
