A wife.
The word tastes like panic.
How the fuck do I tell April that right now, when she’s curled against me and I’m holding her like she belongs here? How do I tell her I need more than her body, more than her womb? I need her name on a legal document that binds us together by law? I could frame it as practicality. Security. A legal shield. I could offer her money. Real money. Enough to take care of Angela and Ava forever. Enough to give her an out in a few years if she hates me, if this collapses, if I turn out to be exactly what she fears.
I’m digging a hole. I know I am, but with her warm in my arms, with my hand splayed protectively over her stomach like I can already feel the future there, I find myself doing it anyway. I’m laying the groundwork, warming her to the idea without naming it, and hoping the softness I’m allowing myself tonight will make the truth less sharp when it finally comes. For the first time in years, the thought of tomorrow doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like possibility.
Chapter 21
April
The waiting room smells like antiseptic and old magazines. I sit in a molded plastic chair, stomach doing slow, nervous flips, hands buried in the sleeves of my sweater. I feel like a fraud, like someone’s going to call me out and say,you’re not really pregnant, you’re just pretending, get out of here. When they draw the blood and run the levels, it’s real. Confirmed.
The nurse returns with a clipboard and a smile. “Congratulations,” she says, like I’ve won something. The word hits me like a wave I didn’t see coming.Congratulations. Like this is a thing to celebrate. Like I’m not quietly unraveling, sitting here alone, holding a piece of paper with numbers on it that mean everything and nothing. I nod, swallow hard, and smile like I know how.
Pregnant. I’m actually pregnant. I should be happy. Anthony was all over me last night, and the thing I was worried about most doesn’t seem to be an issue at all. But that doesn’t mean I know exactly where I stand with him, and it doesn’t mean I can hide now. I’ll show eventually. And I’ll have to tell Angela. I step outside, phone in hand.
Me:
Just left the clinic. Blood test confirmed it
Anthony responds fast, like he was waiting with his phone in his hand since I left this morning.
Anthony Voss:
Thank fuck. I’m glad. Really.
Are you okay?
I stare at the words longer than I should, trying to work out a response.I will be,I type, then delete it.I don’t know,deleted.
Me:
Going to Angela’s now. Then I’ll come to work. Try not to miss me too much
I don’t wait for his reply. The text is risky enough to make me want to, but my brain’s already decided that I have to tell Angela. Today.
————
Angela’s townhouse still smells of toast and strawberry shampoo, with an added hint of coffee this morning. My sister’s hair is up in a messy knot, an oversized t-shirt slung off one shoulder. Ava’s busy at the kitchen table, glitter-gluing something into oblivion.
“Hey,” Angela says, handing me coffee like she already knows something’s wrong. “You look like you saw a ghost.” I almost laugh.
We sit. Ava hums some song from a Disney movie while my shaky hands hold onto a mug. I don’t give myself time to chicken out, even though I have to force the words.
“Can we have a sister chat?” I ask, glancing once at Ava before watching Angela. I know better than to ask for an adult chat around Ava; she’ll just insist she’s a big girl.
Angela doesn’t hesitate. “Ava, sweetie, can you play in your room for a few while Auntie April and I talk?”
“‘Kay,” she groans, slipping from her chair and wandering down the hallway.
I wait until I hear the click of her door before I let myself say it. “I went to the doctor this morning.”
Angela’s eyes flash to mine, and immediately, I know I started with the wrong thing. She’s got too much medical trauma with her daughter for me to start with that. “You?—”
“I’m pregnant.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “…What?”
