Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“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.
