Connie stared out the window, 1)oblivious to the instructor.
I was her birth partner, and we were in the first of several birthing classes required by the hospital. Everyone except the earth mother-type instructor was at least 10 years younger than Connie, and I had another decade on all of them. Besides being older, we were the only pair of women, and Connie was the only Chinese person. We definitely stood out in our small Connecticut hospital. Earth mother had just posed a typical icebreaker question, and it was Connie’s turn to answer. It was clear she wasn’t paying attention.

I caught Connie’s eye. “She wants to know your favorite ice cream flavor.” Connie’s face 2)registered surprise that only I could detect. She’s supposed to teach us about having a baby. Why ask about my favorite ice cream? Her expression asked.
Because everyone’s a little nervous here except for you, I’d later explain, but in the moment, as earth mother wanted us to be, I rolled my eyes and jerked my head: “Just answer the stupid question.”
“Red bean,” she said to no one, and returned to the window. I smiled brightly at the blank white faces. “Chinese ice cream!” I explained.
Unlike most close friends, Connie and I don’t talk much. It isn’t the slight language barrier that we’ve long since overcome, it’s that we both like to be quiet. Five years before the birthing class, Connie and her fast-talking husband had just opened a restaurant near our condo. My husband, Charlie, also no 3)slouch in the verbalization department, would order sushi and chat with Connie’s husband when picking up the order. But it was Connie who always answered the phone. Soon recognizing our number, she’d 4)chirp “Charlie!” into the phone, and in 10 minutes the order would be ready.

Occasionally I went along. While our husbands talked, Connie would act as hostess, take phone orders, waitress, make drinks, and work the drive-in window, and watch me sit silently. One Sunday she sat down across from me. She tilted her head a little, and said:“You are quiet. I am quiet. Our husbands, not so quiet.” There was a small smile. She touched my arm. And she was back to work. That declaration of friendship moved us to a place most friends take years to reach, if they get there at all.
Not many words have been spilled between us since then.
Connie at the drive-in window: “Hospital says I need a partner for birth classes.”
Me: “Meet you there?”
Me, as we timed labor pains: “You should teach me Chinese.”
Connie: “Huh? Maybe. Someday.”
Connie on the phone from China, visiting her family with her newborn son: “Pregnant again. Unbelievable!”
Me: “Do we need to do classes again?”
Connie: “No. We know now. Go to the hospital. Have baby. Come home. Simple.”
Connie, six months later: “Baby’s early. He’s in 5)NICU.”
Me: “On my way.”
Connie and I, side by side in the 6)pristine, 7)antiseptic NICU, watching the tiniest boy in the world, his little chest rising and falling. Saying nothing.
Her boys, now 5 and 6, spend most Fridays with Charlie and me. Connie has left her talkative husband and works two full-time jobs to “give the boys a good life.” No whining. No complaints. A full-time mother, she checks homework, drives them to karate, takes them to New York at Christmas to see the tree. I worry she has no life, that she’s exhausted.
“Don’t worry,” Connie says. “I’m OK.”
She’s my hero. The strong, silent type. Even if she hasn’t taught me Chinese. After all, quiet sounds the same in both languages.
康妮凝視著窗外,沒有注意到講師。
我是她的生產搭檔,醫院要求我們上幾堂產前課程,這是我們的第一堂課。除了講師大媽外,其他人都至少比康妮小十歲,比我小二十歲。我們除了年紀比較大之外,還是唯一一對女性搭檔,而康妮是唯一一個中國人。在我們所在的康涅狄格小醫院里,我們無疑很引人注目。講師大媽剛剛問了個讓大家互相熟悉的典型問題,輪到康妮回答了。顯然,她沒有認真聽。
我看著康妮的眼睛。“她想知道你最喜歡的雪糕口味?!笨的莸哪樕下冻隽酥挥形也挪煊X得到的驚訝。她應該教我們怎么生產。為什么要問我最喜歡的雪糕口味?她的表情發出這樣的疑問。
因為這里的每個人都有點兒緊張,除了你,我之后會這樣解釋,但在當下,由于講師大媽希望我們那樣做,我翻個白眼,扭頭道:“回答那個蠢問題就好。”
“紅豆,”她朝著空氣說道,又轉頭看向窗戶。我對著一頭霧水的其他人露出一個明亮的笑容?!爸袊难└猓 蔽医忉尩?。
與許多親密的朋友不同,我和康妮之間的交流并不多。這并不是因為小小的語言障礙,這一點我們早已克服,而是因為我們兩個都不怎么喜歡說話。在參加產前課程的五年前,康妮和她那嘴快的丈夫在我們公寓附近開了一家餐館。我那同樣愛說話的丈夫查理會在打電話點壽司時和康妮的丈夫聊天。但通常接電話的人都是康妮。很快,她就認得我們的號碼了,這時她會對著電話大叫一聲“查理”,而在十分鐘后,我們的訂餐就會準備好?!?br>