The Choices We Make by Karma Brown Page A

there,” Hannah said, smirking when I grimaced and slapped a hand to my mouth. “You’ll be fine, princess. Ben, can you get Katie a drink?”
    Hannah laughed when I snatched the fresh margarita from Ben; the green, slushy drink was filled to the very top of the glass and nearly splashed out. I took a quick sip, getting a hit of the rock salt that mingled on my tongue with the sweet and sour of the drink. “Thank you,” I said, taking another sip. I hoped drinking wasn’t a bad idea tonight, with a migraine threatening—then I decided I didn’t care and took an even bigger sip.
    â€œMaybe I should just give you the pitcher?” Ben asked, laughing. David cast me a quick glance, and I knew what he was thinking—that I should slow down if I didn’t want to end up in a dark room with a bucket beside me all day tomorrow—but he wisely said nothing.
    â€œHa-ha,” I said. “This will be fine, thank you.”
    Ben and David started chatting about work and baseball, which was my cue to tune out and focus on Hannah. Sitting on a bar chair in the kitchen, I sipped my ice-cold margarita and observed her. She looked better than the last time I saw her, though perhaps a bit thin—her cheeks hollow and her apron knotted tightly around her waist.
    â€œYou look skinny,” I said. “What’s up with that?”
    â€œIs that supposed to be a compliment?” She laughed, pouring the chocolate egg mixture onto the cubes of bread, which were piled in a baking dish that looked well loved, a caramel-colored film lining the edges of the white ceramic dish.
    â€œDepends I guess if you want to be called skinny.”
    â€œPlease, I am not skinny .” Hannah turned on the oven timer and topped up her margarita. “But I’m for sure going to tell my mom you said that. She’ll be thrilled.” She smiled wryly at me and pushed the bowl of guacamole toward me. “Eat.”
    I nibbled a tortilla chip heavy with guacamole. Hannah’s guacamole was amazing thanks to a secret ingredient she refused to ever give up. “How is Ellen doing?”
    â€œOh, you know. Busy playing bridge, and cruising, but not too busy to mail me articles about how reducing stress can up your chances of getting pregnant.”
    â€œShe means well, sweetie.”
    Hannah sighed. “I know. And I shouldn’t even complain because at least I have her around to drive me crazy.” She looked at me sadly and reached out to rub my hand. “Sorry.”
    â€œIt’s okay. You complain away. I love your Ellen stories.”
    â€œYou’ll love this one, then.”
    â€œWhat? Tell me.” I scooped up more guacamole with a chip and leaned on the countertop.
    â€œYesterday she sent Claire and Peter a giant ‘Congratulations, you’re expecting!’ bouquet to their office and Claire hasn’t told anyone at work yet. Peter was relieved because he wanted to tell everyone right away, but Claire lost her shit.”
    My mouth hung open, the chip not having made its way in yet.
    â€œOh, right. Didn’t I mention Claire was pregnant? Surprise!” Hannah rolled her eyes and dipped a nacho chip into the guacamole.
    â€œOh. Fuck,” I said.
    â€œExactly my reaction. Not even planned. A big ‘oops,’ and she’s not thrilled about it, either. You know Claire. Motherhood is at the bottom of the list, right under scrub the—” Hannah looked up and stopped talking abruptly.
    I turned to see Ben and David coming into the kitchen. “I’m going to show David the office,” Ben said.
    David cleared his throat and put his beer on the island counter without looking my way, and I hoped Ben and Hannah hadn’t noticed the uncomfortable tension between us.
    â€œOffice?” I asked after they’d gone upstairs.
    â€œWell, looks like we don’t need a nursery, so...” Hannah pressed her lips tightly