Her fingers curl protectively around her belly, and I feel a sharp tug in my chest. I’ve thought the same thing about Matthew more times than I want to admit. That one day he’ll wake up and realize this is too much,I’mtoo much, and he’ll bolt.
Becks lets out a small, bitter laugh. “I call him Road Runner and shit,” she says. “Because I don’t know how else to deal with it.”
“You’re not alone,” Zara says gently. She’s sitting on the other side of Becks, her buzz cut somehow making her look both fierce and heartbreakingly soft. “I joke about my situation all the time.”
She glances at me, then back at the circle. “I was married to my high school sweetheart for twelve years. We tried to get pregnant, for so long but it just wasn’t happening. And finally, I realized I wasn’t happy. So, I left him.” She lets out a wry little laugh. “And then this happened. We decided to divorce with a bang. Literally.”
A few of us chuckle, though it’s tinged with sympathy.
“Now we live together,” she continues with a shrug, “but we’re nottogether. My friends call us the best divorced couple they know.” She rolls her eyes. “His girlfriend hates it.”
That earns a bigger laugh from the group, not because it’s hilarious, but because it’s painfully human.
The youngest woman in the group speaks next. She looks barely twenty, her features soft and her eyes downcast. “Mine’s from a one-night stand,” she says quietly. “I’m giving it up for adoption.”
There’s no shame in her voice, just a calm certainty, like she’s made peace with it. “My parents support me,” she adds. “They’re letting me stay at home, but they kind of ignore…” She pats her tiny bump gently. “This.”
Her body is so slim I can’t even tell how far along she is. “I’m Ursula,” she finishes, offering me a small smile.
Finally, Sheera speaks up again. She’s the oldest of us all. “I have two kids,” she says with a sigh. “Both in college. And now…” She gestures at the gentle swell of her belly. “I’m starting again.”
She takes a deep breath. “My husband is thrilled. He thinks he’ll get to be here for everything this time, the ultrasounds, the feedings, the first steps.” She offers a small, almost wistful smile. “But me? I’m just taking it one day at a time.”
Her eyes flick down to her bump, and she lets out a small sigh. “I had to quit my firm because, as you can see, I’m not exactly young. And the doctor said no stress.” She gives a helpless little shrug. “So… I come here and pretend I actually have a life. Instead of just being a mom.”
“Don’t say that,” Zara cuts in gently but firmly. “We’d be lost without you.”
She turns to me then, a grin tugging at her lips. “You know, we used to have this guy come in, a youth pastor or something. He’d sit here and tell us crap like, ‘Hold on’ and ‘You’re creating amiracle.’” She rolls her eyes dramatically, and the room fills with soft chuckles. “We laughed Tim right out of here.”
“Now it’s just us,” Becks adds, looking around the circle with a small smile. “Four…” She pauses, glancing at me and my hands twisted nervously in my lap. “Now five women.”
Sheera leans forward, her tone softer now, almost maternal. “So, as you can see,” she says, gesturing around the room, “we’re not your typicalbreathe in, breathe outLamaze class. We’re a little more honest. A little more real.”
Her words make a few of the others nod, and I feel the knot in my chest start to loosen.
“As for the heartburn,” she continues, tilting her head with a knowing smile, “try ginger tea after big meals. It’s not a miracle cure, but it helps.”
The group murmurs in agreement, offering little snippets of advice, “smaller portions,” “elevate your pillow” and it’s oddly comforting. They’re not doctors or instructors. They’re women who’ve been there, whoarethere.
“And for feeling like a failure…” Sheera’s voice trails off for a second before she meets my gaze directly. “I don’t think there’s a woman alive, a mother, who hasn’t felt that.”
Matthew
“The place is coming along nice,” Ma says as I push the door open to our new apartment.
“Ma,” I say, startled. “What are you doing here?”
She’s standing in the middle of the living room like she’s inspecting it for resale value, hands clasped behind her back. “Iwas in the neighbourhood,” she says breezily, like that explains everything.
I glance around automatically, scanning the space. “Where’s Brooke?”
She shrugs, casual. “Wasn’t here when I came to drop this off.”
On the counter, there’s a foil-covered dish, something heavy, probably lasagna or a casserole, because my mother has never shown up anywhere empty-handed.
I rub a hand over my face and exhale slowly. “Ma, we talked about this. Youcan’tjust let yourself in. The keys are for-”
“Emergencies,” she finishes for me, with that practiced mom tone that suggests she doesn’t think this is a big deal. “I know. I just wanted to drop some food off for my son and his family.”
