The “oh” escaped my lips, high-pitched, definitely surprised.
Alecia smiled, nodding. “I know, right?” she said. “I’m as shocked as you are.”
I looked at Jason who wouldn’t meet my eyes. Alecia captured my hands in hers and jumped up and down just like we used to do when we were teenagers. I was supposed to do it too, jump up and down and screech because she was engaged to Jason, my Jason. My stomach did, however–bounce up and down as if on a nausea-inducing carnival ride.
“I’m happy, so happy for you,” I said, meaning it, for Alecia.
She frowned. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m feeling kind of yucky,” I said. “You know, hanging around preschoolers five days a week, constantly catching something.”
She hugged me, preschooler ailments be damned. “We’ll celebrate when you’re feeling better.”
Which felt like it might be when hell froze over, but I kept that to myself. I wouldn’t let her get hurt, even if my insides felt like they might explode. I glanced at Jason once more, met his eyes, and my imagined preschooler sickness grew in leaps and bounds and hopscotched around and suddenly my life felt like an REM song and I felt not so fine.