And I mean it completely. The past year has been the happiest of my life, full of discoveries both big and small. I’ve learned that Freya sings in the shower, that she’s terrible at parallel parking but excellent at negotiating with street vendors in foreign markets. I’ve learned that she steals the covers but always apologizes in her sleep, that she cries at commercials with dogs, that she makes the world’s best scrambled eggs.
I’ve learned that caring for someone doesn’t make you weak or distracted. It makes you stronger, more focused on what actually matters.
The Red Dawson deal turned out to be everything I hoped it would be, and more. The Texas wind farms are generating clean energy and healthy profits, and the partnership has opened doors to projects across the Southwest. But the real success of this past year hasn’t been professional. It’s been personal.
“I have something for you,” I say, reaching into the picnic basket for the small, wrapped box I’ve been hiding since this morning.
“Ben, it’s our anniversary, not my birthday. We agreed no gifts.”
“We agreed no expensive gifts. This cost maybe twenty dollars.”
Freya unwraps the box to reveal a simple silver bracelet with a small charm in the shape of an airplane.
“For all our journeys,” I explain as she examines it. “And all the ones still to come.”
“It’s perfect.” She holds out her wrist so I can fasten it for her. “I adore it. I adore you.”
“I adore you, too. More than I ever thought possible.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the waves roll in and listening to the sound of children playing further down the beach. A family with two small kids has set up camp nearby, and I find myself watching them with interest rather than the mild annoyance I would have felt a year ago.
The father is helping his daughter build an elaborate sandcastle while the mother chases their toddler son away from the water’s edge. They look exhausted but happy, the kind of controlled chaos that comes with small children and family vacations.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Freya observes, following my gaze.
“They do. Tiring, but fun.”
“Do you ever think about that? Having kids?”
The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. We’ve been married for a year, we’re both in our thirties, and we’ve built a life stable enough to support a family. Of course the topic would come up eventually.
“I think about it more and more lately,” I admit. “Especially watching families like that one. Do you?”
“All the time.” Freya fidgets with her new bracelet, not quite meeting my eyes. “Actually, Ben, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Something in her tone makes me sit up straighter. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring this up all week. I didn’t want to spring it on you, but I also didn’t want to wait until we got home because I’m terrible at keeping secrets from you.”
My mind immediately jumps to worst-case scenarios. Is she sick? Is there a problem with her career? Did something happen that she’s been afraid to tell me?
“Freya, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She finally looks at me, and I can see tears starting to form in her eyes. “Everything’s perfect, actually. It’s just… well, it looks like we’re going to have our first travel companion a little sooner than we planned.”
It takes my brain a moment to process what she’s saying. “Travel companion?”
“Ben.” She takes my hand and places it on her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hit me like a physical force. Pregnant. Freya is pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.
“Are you serious?” I manage to ask.
“Completely serious. I took three tests to be sure, and then I called my doctor when we got here. She confirmed it yesterday when I went into town for supplies.”
“Yesterday? You’ve known since yesterday and didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to find the perfect moment. Our anniversary seemed right.”
