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Connie stared out the window， 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 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 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 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 NICU.”
Me： “On my way.”
Connie and I， side by side in the pristine， 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.
康妮凝视着窗外，没有注意到讲师。
我是她的生产搭档，医院要求我们上几堂产前课程，这是我们的第一堂课。除了讲师大妈外，其他人都至少比康妮小十岁，比我小二十岁。我们除了年纪比较大之外，还是唯一一对女性搭档，而康妮是唯一一个中国人。在我们所在的康涅狄格小医院里，我们无疑很引人注目。讲师大妈刚刚问了个让大家互相熟悉的典型问题，轮到康妮回答了。显然，她没有认真听。
我看着康妮的眼睛。“她想知道你最喜欢的雪糕口味。”康妮的脸上露出了只有我才察觉得到的惊讶。她应该教我们怎么生产。为什么要问我最喜欢的雪糕口味？她的表情发出这样的疑问。
因为这里的每个人都有点儿紧张，除了你，我之后会这样解释，但在当下，由于讲师大妈希望我们那样做，我翻个白眼，扭头道：“回答那个蠢问题就好。”
“红豆，”她朝着空气说道，又转头看向窗户。我对着一头雾水的其他人露出一个明亮的笑容。“中国的雪糕！”我解释道。
与许多亲密的朋友不同，我和康妮之间的交流并不多。这并不是因为小小的语言障碍，这一点我们早已克服，而是因为我们两个都不怎么喜欢说话。在参加产前课程的五年前，康妮和她那嘴快的丈夫在我们公寓附近开了一家餐馆。我那同样爱说话的丈夫查理会在打电话点寿司时和康妮的丈夫聊天。但通常接电话的人都是康妮。很快，她就认得我们的号码了，这时她会对着电话大叫一声“查理”，而在十分钟后，我们的订餐就会准备好。
我偶尔也会过去。当我们的丈夫在聊天时，康妮就会又当老板娘又当服务生、还要接电话、弄饮料、在窗口服务不下车的客人，以及看着在一旁静坐的我。一个星期天，她在我对面坐了下来。她微微侧头，说：“你很安静。我也很安静。我们丈夫，不太安静。”她微微一笑，碰碰我的手臂，便回去工作了。我们建立的友谊是很多朋友要花费数年才能培养出来的，要是他们真能结成这样的友谊。
那之后，我们也没说过太多的话。
康妮站在服务不下车的客人的窗口旁：“医院说我需要一个产前课程的搭档。”
我说：“那在医院见？”
当我们计算产前阵痛的时间时，我说：“你应该教我中文。”
康妮说：“哼？也許，有一天吧。”
康妮带着她刚出生的儿子回中国探望她的家人，她打电话过来跟我说：“我又怀孕了。真不敢相信！”
我说：“我们要再参加产前课程吗？”
康妮说：“不需要了。我们现在已经知道该怎么做。去医院。生孩子。回家。很简单。”
六个月后，康妮说：“孩子早产了，正在新生儿重症监护病房。”
我说：“我现在过来。”
我和康妮肩并肩地站在洁白无菌的新生儿重症监护病房里，看着这个小小的男孩，他那小小的胸膛一起一伏的。我们什么话也没有说。
她的两个儿子现在分别五岁和六岁了，他们经常会跟我和查理共度星期五。康妮离开了她那个健谈的丈夫，为了“让两个儿子过上好生活”，现在干着两份全职工作。没有发牢骚。没有抱怨。作为一个全职妈妈，她会检查孩子的作业，开车送他们去上空手道培训班，在圣诞节时带他们去纽约看圣诞树。我担心她没有个人生活，太过劳累。
“不要担心，”康妮说。“我没事。”
她是我的英雄。坚强沉默的英雄。尽管她没有教我中文。毕竟，沉默在两种语言里都是一样的。
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 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 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 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 NICU.”
Me： “On my way.”
Connie and I， side by side in the pristine， 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.
康妮凝视着窗外，没有注意到讲师。
我是她的生产搭档，医院要求我们上几堂产前课程，这是我们的第一堂课。除了讲师大妈外，其他人都至少比康妮小十岁，比我小二十岁。我们除了年纪比较大之外，还是唯一一对女性搭档，而康妮是唯一一个中国人。在我们所在的康涅狄格小医院里，我们无疑很引人注目。讲师大妈刚刚问了个让大家互相熟悉的典型问题，轮到康妮回答了。显然，她没有认真听。
我看着康妮的眼睛。“她想知道你最喜欢的雪糕口味。”康妮的脸上露出了只有我才察觉得到的惊讶。她应该教我们怎么生产。为什么要问我最喜欢的雪糕口味？她的表情发出这样的疑问。
因为这里的每个人都有点儿紧张，除了你，我之后会这样解释，但在当下，由于讲师大妈希望我们那样做，我翻个白眼，扭头道：“回答那个蠢问题就好。”
“红豆，”她朝着空气说道，又转头看向窗户。我对着一头雾水的其他人露出一个明亮的笑容。“中国的雪糕！”我解释道。
与许多亲密的朋友不同，我和康妮之间的交流并不多。这并不是因为小小的语言障碍，这一点我们早已克服，而是因为我们两个都不怎么喜欢说话。在参加产前课程的五年前，康妮和她那嘴快的丈夫在我们公寓附近开了一家餐馆。我那同样爱说话的丈夫查理会在打电话点寿司时和康妮的丈夫聊天。但通常接电话的人都是康妮。很快，她就认得我们的号码了，这时她会对着电话大叫一声“查理”，而在十分钟后，我们的订餐就会准备好。
我偶尔也会过去。当我们的丈夫在聊天时，康妮就会又当老板娘又当服务生、还要接电话、弄饮料、在窗口服务不下车的客人，以及看着在一旁静坐的我。一个星期天，她在我对面坐了下来。她微微侧头，说：“你很安静。我也很安静。我们丈夫，不太安静。”她微微一笑，碰碰我的手臂，便回去工作了。我们建立的友谊是很多朋友要花费数年才能培养出来的，要是他们真能结成这样的友谊。
那之后，我们也没说过太多的话。
康妮站在服务不下车的客人的窗口旁：“医院说我需要一个产前课程的搭档。”
我说：“那在医院见？”
当我们计算产前阵痛的时间时，我说：“你应该教我中文。”
康妮说：“哼？也許，有一天吧。”
康妮带着她刚出生的儿子回中国探望她的家人，她打电话过来跟我说：“我又怀孕了。真不敢相信！”
我说：“我们要再参加产前课程吗？”
康妮说：“不需要了。我们现在已经知道该怎么做。去医院。生孩子。回家。很简单。”
六个月后，康妮说：“孩子早产了，正在新生儿重症监护病房。”
我说：“我现在过来。”
我和康妮肩并肩地站在洁白无菌的新生儿重症监护病房里，看着这个小小的男孩，他那小小的胸膛一起一伏的。我们什么话也没有说。
她的两个儿子现在分别五岁和六岁了，他们经常会跟我和查理共度星期五。康妮离开了她那个健谈的丈夫，为了“让两个儿子过上好生活”，现在干着两份全职工作。没有发牢骚。没有抱怨。作为一个全职妈妈，她会检查孩子的作业，开车送他们去上空手道培训班，在圣诞节时带他们去纽约看圣诞树。我担心她没有个人生活，太过劳累。
“不要担心，”康妮说。“我没事。”
她是我的英雄。坚强沉默的英雄。尽管她没有教我中文。毕竟，沉默在两种语言里都是一样的。