The lavender balloons bobbed against a perfect blue sky as I walked toward my best friend’s baby shower. Twenty years of friendship with Colette had taught me her tells: the slight curve of her lips when hiding something, the practiced tilt of her head when she wanted attention.
But today, something felt different. Wrong. My husband, Bennett, sensed it too, his doctor’s eyes tracking movements others missed.
When his hand gripped mine and he whispered, “We have to go now,” I should have listened. Instead, I brushed him off, making excuses like I always did for Colette. It wasn’t until we were halfway home that he said the words that would shatter the foundation of my oldest friendship.
Three simple words I refused to believe. What I didn’t know then was how deep the deception went or what it would cost me to finally see the truth about the person I thought I knew better than anyone else.
I pulled into the circular driveway of Colette’s suburban home, gravel crunching under our tires. The house was draped in soft lavender and cream-colored streamers, with clusters of balloons dancing in the gentle spring breeze. Cars lined both sides of the street, more than I expected for what Colette had described as an intimate celebration.
“Looks like half the town showed up,” Bennett said beside me, adjusting his collar.
He’d been unusually quiet during our drive over, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.
“You know Colette,” I replied. “She’s never done anything halfway.”
My husband nodded, but something in his expression seemed off. Bennett was usually the social butterfly between us, the one who made friends with strangers in checkout lines and remembered the names of our neighbors’ pets. Today, he looked watchful.
“You feeling okay?” I asked, placing my hand on his forearm.
“Fine,” he said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just tired from that double shift.”
I let it slide. Bennett’s work at the hospital often left him drained, and I didn’t want to start Colette’s baby shower with an argument. We walked up the manicured path to the front door, my arms laden with a gift basket filled with organic cotton onesies, children’s books, and a handmade blanket I’d spent the last three months knitting.
The door swung open before we could knock.
“Sarah!” Colette squealed, her arms outstretched. My best friend stood before me, radiant in a floor-length pale pink dress that flowed around her body. Her blonde hair was styled in loose waves, a flower crown perched atop her head. Her makeup was impeccable, highlighting her bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She looked like something out of a glossy pregnancy magazine, the kind where models with fake bumps sell the dream of maternal bliss.
“You look incredible,” I said, handing Bennett the gift basket so I could embrace her.
Colette held me at arm’s length, her body angled slightly away from mine. “Don’t squish the little one,” she laughed, patting her stomach.
I noticed she wore the bump proudly, but something about how she touched it seemed practiced, almost theatrical.
“We wouldn’t want that.” I smiled, trying to catch Bennett’s eye, but he was scanning the room behind Colette, his gaze methodical.
The entryway opened to a transformed living space. Lavender floral arrangements adorned every surface. A professional photographer circulated through the crowd, capturing candid moments. In the corner, a bartender mixed mocktails and mimosas at a marble-topped bar. A neon sign blazed on the far wall: It’s a girl in cursive pink letters.
“This is… wow,” I breathed, taking it all in. “Colette, this must have cost—”
“Don’t worry about that,” she cut me off, waving dismissively. “Most of it was donated. People have been so generous.”
Bennett’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he remained silent. Alaric, Colette’s husband of three years, approached with two glasses of champagne. Tall and angular, with dark hair starting to recede at the temples, he handed one to Bennett.
“For the non-pregnant among us,” he joked, his British accent clipping the words.
“Congratulations,” Bennett said, clinking glasses. “First-time fatherhood. Big change coming.”
“The biggest,” Alaric agreed, though his eyes darted briefly to Colette. Something passed between them, a look I couldn’t decipher.
“Sarah!” a familiar voice called from across the room. Opal pushed through the crowd, her curly hair bouncing with each step. Behind her trailed Sierra and Gage, my old high school circle, complete once again.
“It’s been forever,” Sierra exclaimed, pulling me into a hug. Her willowy frame was draped in a bohemian dress, paint stains visible under her fingernails despite her obvious attempt to scrub them clean.
“Six months is hardly forever,” I laughed.
“In artist time, it’s an eternity,” she countered.