Macy ordered sparkling water with lemon. Beverly commented that it was boring and that she couldn’t “even enjoy a proper drink anymore,” which was both an unnecessary observation and a genuinely strange complaint to make about a pregnant woman’s beverage choice. Sydney followed up by noting that carbonation was bad for the baby, which produced the intended effect of making Macy switch to plain water just to make the commentary stop.
Halfway through the main course, Macy turned pale. Anyone who has been around pregnancy knows the look — the specific pallor that precedes morning sickness, which is misnamed because it arrives at all hours and does not ask permission. Macy excused herself quietly and went to the restroom.
When she came back, she said softly that she needed a moment before she could eat.
And Beverly said what she said.
The table went silent the way tables go silent when something has been said that cannot be unsaid and everyone present is rapidly calculating how to respond.
Grant examined his shoes. His parents performed the rigid stillness of people who want to be anywhere else. Sydney nodded along.
And Macy, who had baked a cake and worn a new dress and done everything a person does when they are trying to be included, began to apologize. Her voice was trembling. She was apologizing for experiencing morning sickness. She was apologizing for existing in her own body in a way that was inconvenient to a dinner reservation.
That was enough.
He Took Her Hand and Picked Up the Cake and Said One Sentence to the Table Before They Walked Out
He stood up the way a person stands when they have crossed a threshold they are not going to cross back over.
He took Macy’s hand.
He picked up the lemon cake she had brought — Sydney’s favorite, baked that afternoon, the gesture of a woman trying to be welcomed.
He looked at the table.
