“Welllllll,” she drew out the word, staring down at her plate as she paused long enough for me to understand what was about to happen. “I’m pregnant!!!!” She was beaming. I gasped a little, heat rising to my cheeks.

“Oh my God, Cristina! That’s so exciting! When are you due?” Quickly, the details began to tumble, and as I listened, I felt myself unclench; the anticipation was over, though what replaced it wasn’t much better. Hearing her excitement in sharing her due date, how sick she’d been feeling, that she’d know the gender in a week or so—I found it hard to stay in my seat. To endure the knowledge that she had been handed everything I wanted—and so quickly. They’d only been trying for a couple of months. I have no idea what my face looked like, but I did my best to smile, nod, ask questions, muster up every bit of what I was capable of giving as a friend.

Outside the restaurant, we said goodbye beneath snowflakes that had just started meandering to the ground. “Thank you for telling me,” I said, trying to convey the weight of my words through the pressure of our embrace. “Oh my God, of course!” she replied. “Thank you for being excited for me.”

As we parted ways, walking down the sidewalk in the direction of our own distinct futures, it struck me that those words were only partially true. She had almost certainly dreaded sharing her news with me, just as I’d dreaded hearing it. But there we were, relieved at having finally acknowledged it all the same.

Buried deep inside the ache of it all, there was shame—at the ugliness of my envy, my unbecoming hope that a friend would dim her own light, tamp down her own joy. Yet I’d like to think such a thing simply offers another way to shine. Rather than the lit-from-within beam of pregnancy, that primal incandescence, what if the thing that radiated was a softer, quieter glow. What if it became a beacon for those of us lost in the dark.

Excerpt adapted from You May Feel a Bit of Pressure by Amy Gallo Ryan, published by Unsolicited Press. © 2025 Amy Gallo Ryan. Reprinted with permission from Unsolicited Press.