Dana told me she was pregnant on a Thursday morning over coffee at the bakery on West 74th.
She said it the way Dana said most things: directly, with full eye contact, and with the expression of someone who had already processed the information and was watching you catch up.
"Eleven weeks," she said. "We weren't trying but we weren't not trying."
"Dana," I said.
"I know."
"You're going to be a mother."
"I know. It's extremely inconvenient."
"You're going to be wonderful at it."
"I know that too," she said. "But don't tell anyone I said that."
I reached across the table and put my hand over hers and we sat like that for a moment, two women who had been in each other's lives for more than a decade and had been present for all the important things.
"Are you scared?" I asked.
"Compl
