“Exactly,” she says, still frustrated. “It takes half a second for her to—”
“Karissa.” I force my voice to be gentle. “Baby, I promise you, I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t in complete control of the situation.” I look toward Emma, who’s distracted with her doll. “She’s not even paying attention.”
Karissa looks from her to me. “I don’t care.”
“I’m almost done,” I tell her. “As soon as I’m finished, it goes in the safe. Like always.”
She blows out a breath, not arguing further, and walks into the living room to sit on the couch.
I finish within the next few minutes, just like I promised, and take it to the safe. Something hits me on the way there…guilt maybe, about being dismissive.
When I get back downstairs, I find her at the sink, rinsing out Emma’s sippy cup. Emma is still in the living room, climbing on the couch. I lean against the counter beside her and watch her for a second before speaking.
“I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t look at me, just mutters, “For what?”
“I should’ve done that in the garage or when she was in bed. I was being stubborn.”
She reaches for the towel to dry her hands. “No, it’s fine. I know you’d never let anything happen to her,” she says quietly. “I just worry because she’s so quick, Cody, and it terrifies me sometimes.”
I nod. “I know.”
“I do trust you.”
“I know you do,” I tell her, hand resting on her waist. “You’re a mom, though, and you worry. It’s okay.”
She shakes her head, frustrated. “No, it’s not. I’ve been extra uptight about things lately. I need to let it go; it’s making me crazy.”
I chuckle, trying to lighten the air. “It’s just the season; it’s busy. We all go a little crazy.”
She walks across the kitchen, hanging the towel over the oven rail with a sigh. “I haven’t been like this—micromanaging everything—since I was pregnant with Emma.”
I freeze, but she doesn’t. She keeps moving like she didn’t just drop a bomb in the middle of our kitchen. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she bends to scrub something off the oven door.
“Wait…what?” I push off the counter, my voice sharper than before.
Karissa stops. Her whole body goes still before she slowly straightens and turns to face me.
Her eyes are wide. “Oh my gosh. I-I didn’t even—” she stutters. I step closer, a smile on my face.
Five minutes later, she’s in the bathroom. The door creaks open and she steps out, the little test clutched in her trembling hands. Her whole body looks unsteady, like the weight of what it could say is too much. I wrap an arm around her.
“Do you think it’s possible?” I ask quietly, my hand rubbing circles on her back. My throat is tight, but there’s a spark of excitement I can’t hold back.
I guess anything is possible, considering how we’ve been handling things lately. But honestly? In the middle of the season like this, with early mornings and long days, we barely have time to breathe, let alone make a baby. I’m exhausted, she’s been on edge, I couldn’t even tell you when this would’ve happened.
“Should we look?” she asks.
My heart’s thudding harder than I’d like to admit, but I nod.
She flips the test over.
Pregnant.
We stare at the word, then at each other, stunned.
I scoop her off her feet, just enough that her toes lift from the ground, and hug her tight. I spin her halfway around before setting her down again. Her eyes are glassy with tears.
