I’m thirty-two weeks pregnant, and the window for out-of-state travel is closing. According to MotherWise rules, I can travel up until thirty-seven weeks. As long as both baby and I are healthy and I’m visiting a destination with an affiliated maternity center. That gives me about three weeks to finish the treatment.
At breakfast the next day I tell Clementine we’re going to Disney World when I’m finished with the project.
She squeals in delight. “The actual place? Not in VR?”
“The actual place.”
“This is all I’ve ever wanted!” She throws her arms around me as best she can, because of my bulging stomach. I smile and squeeze her tightly, imagining Clementine hugging her little sister. Barely able to contain my own excitement, for I’m close (so close) to getting exactly what I want too.
“What’s all the commotion about?” Wyatt asks, coming to the kitchen to rinse his coffee mug. He has an off-site meeting this morning so is taking Clementine to school on his way.
“Momma said we’re going to Disney World!” Clementine is bursting at the seams. There’s nothing better than seeing your child happy.
Wyatt’s eyes shift to mine. “Did she, now?”
His tone is mild but his expression anything but. “I thought we were going to wait to talk about that.”
I shrug, Clementine’s excitement overshadowing Wyatt’s displeasure. “Not everything needs to be a discussion,” I murmur. He says nothing in return.
I’m medically cleared to pop by the lab and have lunch with Dale, at the café inside the GIA building. I claim to need a few supplies and appreciate that Ana doesn’t ask why they can’t be delivered. She signs off on the request, and it’s as though I’ve been released from a long grounding.
My colleagues ooh and aah over my protruding belly.You look so healthy! So happy!My hair is shiny and thick, thanks to the hormones, my skin clear and cheeks rosy.
You’re all belly, Isla says.You don’t look like you’ve gained an ounce anywhere else.I flush with the compliment, enjoying it more than I’ll ever admit.
Over lunch, which we are late getting to (my watch alerting me I’m overdue for a nourish break), Dale fills me in on what’s happening at GIA. The gossip, mostly.
“This may or may not surprise you, but Tony and Isla are the latest lab romance.” He forks his salad but keeps his eyes on me to see my reaction.
“Really? Huh. I guess I’m not that surprised?” I chew a bite of pasta, a roasted cherry tomato popping in my mouth. The swirl of flavors—sweet basil, tart lemon, briny feta—mingles pleasantly on my tongue.
“Apparently it’s been going on for a while,” Dale adds. Then he glances around and leans closer. “Tony told me he’s going to propose.”
“They’re so young!” I shout-whisper, matching his conspiratorial tone.
I’m happy for Isla, even as part of me thinks she has no clue what she’s getting into. Marriage is a one-way ticket to motherhood, and career aspirations, of which I know Isla has many, often take a back seat.
As if reading my mind, Dale asks about my work, and I am appropriately, purposefully vague. We dance around it for a time, until dessert comes—poached pears, dressed up with vanilla sugar crystals—and then shift back to personal topics. Wyatt’s work. Our trip to Disney World. Curtis’s latest cookbook, which he recently signed a publishing contract for.
“He’s been testing recipes for the past couple of months, and this is his best collection yet.” Dale pats his stomach. “I married well. Though my pants aren’t as pleased with the arrangement.”
“I didn’t notice,” I say.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he says, before digging into his second poached pear. “But bless your heart.”
When I arrive back home, well satiated from both the food and Dale’s company, there’s something waiting for me. A small box, delivered as promised by Nick and signed for by Shelby.
It’s my gold ring, for the new baby.
When I received Clementine’s ring she was almost a year old. I was happy about the discounts. Glad to participate, because it was as easy as clasping my necklace when I left the house.
I take the ring out of its package and hold it softly in my palm.Identical to the others, it’s the circumference of a large blueberry. It shines with its newness. I glance at the delivery envelope and see the date, and am hit with a sickening punch in my gut.
Today is the anniversary of the day we lost Poppy.
Last year I suffered alone, because Wyatt seemed to forget the devastating anniversary. Or at least he didn’t mention it. Five years had passed by that point, and I was heartbroken when the sun set without us speaking her name out loud. But I let it go, because Maeve said we all moved on in different ways, on different timelines.
Not bringing it up doesn’t erase her existence, or her story, Maeve added. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I agreed.
