Page 124 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth briefly. “It was advanced, and things got really scary for a bit.”

Something tightens beneath my ribs.

“At the time, I wasn’t very concerned about things like my ability to get pregnant sometime in the distant future. I was mostly thrilled I was still alive.”

I stare at her. She says it lightly. Not joking, exactly, but with the practiced distance of someone who has spent years learning how to say a terrifying fact without letting it take over the room.

“You’ve known this since you were fifteen?”

“More or less.”

“And you’ve been carrying it by yourself all this time?”

“My family knows.”

“You know what I mean.”

She does. I can see it in her face. Five years. I have been friends with Reese for five years.

Five years of grabbing a meal together, and late-night movies, and road trips, and library stories, and birthday parties, and people-watching, and family dinners. Five years of knowing which brand of peanut butter she likes, and how she organizes books, and why she wears bee jewelry every day, and what kind of cereal she eats when she’s stressed.

And this enormous grief has been with her the entire time. I didn’t even know it was there.

“I wish you’d told me.”

Her face falls immediately.

I tighten my hand around hers. “I wish you’d told me because I hate that you were carrying something so heavy for so long, and I didn’t even know enough to help you carry it.”

Her eyes shine, and she blinks quickly. “I wasn’t carrying it all the time.” She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “And most of the time, I don’t think about it. Or I try not to. It wasn’t relevant to our friendship, so there was no reason to announce my reproductive prognosis over nachos.”

“I’m not saying you owed me your medical history because we were friends.”

“I know.” She exhales. “Once…” Her fingers move beneath mine. “Once things changed between us, I knew it was different. I knew I had to tell you. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Sooner than the day after our first kiss?”

She gives me a look, and I almost smile.

“I’m serious. You didn’t hide this from your husband for seven years and then casually mention it while filing taxes. We kissed for the first time last night.”

“I know.”

I wait.

Her gaze drops again. “But part of me wishes I had told you years ago anyway.”

That catches me. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Reese.”

Her thumb rubs once across the side of my hand. “Because then you would’ve known before you fell in love with me.”

Everything goes quiet again. Not in the room—inside me. I study her face. “You wish I’d known so I could’ve decided not to fall in love with you?”

Her eyes close briefly. I can tell she doesn’t want to say yes. Then, very carefully, she says, “So you could’ve made the decision with all the information.”