Me: Whatever you say.

Molly stands up and I grab her hand before she can leave. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go to the restroom. Want to join me?”

“You think that’s funny, but I actually—”

“Potty-trained me. I know. You’ve told me a million times. It’s gross.”

“Get out of here before I tell everyone in this cafeteria about the time you shit in Grandma’s flower pot.”

“There’s no one here.”

“Then I’ll write a song about it.”

“You haven’t written anything in years,” she mutters, then she walks away.

My phone vibrates again and a tremor of regret reverberates inside me for all the ways I haven’t been good enough for Molly. I must be such a fucking disappointment to her. I used to write songs for her all the time and I’d sing her to sleep. I stopped writing three years ago. It’s pointless. No one needs me to write songs. They need me to play my fucking instrument and bring the band the occasional bit of bad press.

I turn my phone over on the table to check the screen and this message brings the faintest hint of a smile to my lips.

Senia: Are you okay?

Me: No. I’m at the hospital.

Senia: What’s wrong?

I don’t have to tell her anything. Something tells me that Senia will probably come running to my side if I speak the right empty promises. But I really don’t feel like fucking her.

I just need to talk.

Me: Can I call you later?

She makes me wait a torturous forty minutes for her response. Molly is back from the restroom and seated across from me, using my phone to text her friends, but even Molly smiles when she sees the text message pop up on my screen.

Senia: Fine. But you’d better not tell me you’re pregnant.

Once the doctor releases Grandma, I help her to my car and Molly climbs into the backseat. Grandma’s blood pressure was still on the low side, so they asked us to keep a close eye on her and to make sure she gets plenty of rest.

“Molly will make the turkey tomorrow,” I assure her as she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

“The turkey’s been sitting there in that brine for too long. It’s no good any more,” she replies softly. “I’m sorry I screwed up. I just didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Grandma, why don’t you just try the chemo?”

“Because it won’t do a damn thing but make me sicker. I don’t want you two cleaning up my messes. I just want to go quietly.”

Molly sniffles loudly in the backseat and I resist the urge to look in the rearview mirror. I don’t want to see what this is doing to her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Grandma says, reaching into the backseat to comfort Molly. “I don’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late,” Molly grumbles. “Can you take me to Carissa’s?”

“No, you’re staying home with me and Grandma.”

She groans roughly, the sound garbled by the tears clogging her throat.

“Just take her to her friend’s house,” Grandma insists.

I crane my neck a little to get a look at Molly in the rearview mirror and I find her hugging her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. Normally, I’d tell her to get her dirty shoes off my leather seats, but she doesn’t need that; she needs a friend.

After I drop her off at Carissa’s, Grandma and I arrive home a few minutes later and I’m overcome with a pang of guilt as I remember that I never brought Grandma the brown sugar or cider she asked for. I help her out of the car, though she keeps insisting I stop all this fussing over her.

By the time she’s taken a bath and slid under her covers, I’ve cleaned up all the half-prepared food in the kitchen and refrigerator – to purge the house of all reminders. Then I sit back on the sofa and sigh. This is it. The moment I’ve been looking forward to and dreading all day.

I haven’t had a conversation with a girl, on the phone, for … years. I’m not sure what possessed me to ask Senia if I could call her. All I know is that I want to hear her voice. Just the thought of needing anything – anyone – like this is terrifying.

“You are going to hate me,” she says.

This is not the greeting I expected when I dialed her number, but I’m intrigued. “Why am I going to hate you?”

I half-expect her to tell me that she doesn’t have time to talk or that, on second thought, she really does want me to stop texting her. But the two words she whispers next make my balls shoot straight into my throat.

“I’m pregnant.”

“What the fuck? Is this a joke?”

“I wish.”

These two words catch me even more off guard, then it hits me. “Wait a minute. If you’re pregnant, why did you tell me to stop texting you?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know when I sent you that text message. But then I got sick a couple of hours later, and I knew something was wrong. Thanksgiving is my holiday! I can eat an entire pumpkin pie and not get sick. I was made for this day. Then I realized I’m two days late. I’m so lucky Claire’s gone for the night. She can’t know anything about this.”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Do you keep pregnancy tests on hand for this sort of thing?”

She clears her throat nervously. “Um, yes. You don’t want to know what I have in my goodie drawer.”

I chuckle. “Actually, I think I do want to know. I want to know very badly.”

“Shut up. This is serious shit. I’m pregnant!” She whisper-shouts the last two words and this makes me smile.

I’ve never gotten anyone pregnant. Before I found out about Grandma a few weeks ago, I was always extremely careful not to become reckless like Elaine. I suppose I should be disappointed in myself, but I can’t help feeling a sense of pride for my little swimmers. They did their job on the very first try, as if they’d been training for this performance all their lives. Well, I guess they have had lots of practice.

“So what do you want to do?” I ask. I think that’s what I’m supposed to ask. I don’t think telling her to get an abortion is the way these things are handled, but I doubt either one of us is ready for a baby.

Then an evil but brilliant idea flashes in my mind. I immediately try to push it out, but it keeps nagging and poking me as I wait for Senia’s response.

“I don’t know.”

Crap. She’s crying.

“I’m not trying to tell you to get rid of it,” I insist.

She chuckles. “Yeah, like you want to have a kid. You’d probably rather get cancer.”

I can’t even move my lips to form a response to cover up what I’m feeling right now. She had no way of knowing what she just said would affect me so deeply, but she can sense something in my silence.

“I’m sorry. That was a real jerk thing to say considering I have no idea why you were at the hospital today.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. My grandma … She has stage-four breast cancer.”

“Oh, no. And I was telling you to stop texting me and now I’m calling you to tell you I’m pregnant. Oh God. I feel so selfish. I’m so sorry.”

She starts crying again and I get a strange urge to kiss her tears, to taste them the way I did before.

“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t know. But I have a way you can make it up to me.” She groans and I laugh. “Not sexual favors. I was kind of hoping you might want to come hang out for a little while. My sister’s gone so I have to stay here to keep an eye on my grandma. It’s kind of lonely.”

Did I really just say, It’s kind of lonely? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Did you just tell me you’re lonely?”

“You know you want to come over,” I say, trying to recover a bit of my dignity.

She sighs before she responds and the sound of her breath in my ear gives me goosebumps. “Text me the address.”