I nod and smile brightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” I stand still for another long moment, then bounce up to give him a peck of a kiss, excitement bubbling in my veins.
When I back away, his lips twitch, then he uses his thumb to point to the back door. “I’m going to put up a swing. Unless you need me in here for something?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
“I expect the swing to take about five minutes. Does that sound right to you?” he asks slowly.
“Sure. Probably. I don’t know much about swings. I’ve never put one up before.”
“Right. Are you sure you don’t want us to put it up together? For moral support.”
I never realized how hard it could be to get my husband out of the way. To be fair, I’ve never tried before.
“You put up the swing. I’ll come out and join you later.”
He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Okay.”
He presses a kiss to my lips and squeezes my hand. “See you on the porch.”
Timeistheweirdestthing. When you’re distracted, twenty minutes can fly by. When you’re hovering over two pregnancy tests you just peed on, the prospect of waiting three to five minutes feels like hours.
I clutch the edge of the counter to keep myself from shaking and stare at the little windows on the tests, willing a second blue line to show.
It hasn’t been three minutes. I should do something else and come back to them.
Yeah, as Grandad Miller would say, “That ain’t happening.”
I know a line is going to show. I feel it, from the mild cramping the internet says happens with implantation, to feeling more tired than usual, to my immune system changing.
My period is only one day late. I should give it another day. If the tests are negative, I should take another one tomorrow if my period doesn’t—
A small shriek sneaks out of me, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. It’s there. A second blue line, faint but getting darker. It hasn’t even been three minutes. My gaze flips back to the other test. It has a blue line too.
Two positive tests.
My head swims and joy erupts inside me. I run in place, my feet pitter-pattering against the black and white tile floor, my body completely overwhelmed by the need to let some of it out. I force myself to stop squealing so my husband and our security guards don’t come running.
It takes me approximately two more minutes to calm my breathing. I look in the mirror. My eyes are bright and my cheeks flushed. My hair is a mess, plopped on top of my head in a precarious bun with strands escaping everywhere.
I have news to tell Henry. I can do better than this.
Decision made, I race to pull the tie from my hair, brushing it out to fall around my shoulders and down my back.
My hand shakes when I apply mascara. I laugh a little and grab a cotton swab to clean up the mess I made.There. Mascara and lip tint.
I should put on better clothes.
I don’t think I’ve ever changed so quickly, but I don’t need to look ready for a night out. Just ready for Henry.
I slip the black cotton maxi skirt on and throw on a form-fitting, white, off-the-shoulder top with it. Shoes are next. The white sneakers with my orthotic lift are fine. Henry doesn’t care about my shoes unless they hurt my feet.
It’s time to tell my husband.
When I step out onto the wide back porch, I find him pacing, one hand on the nape of his neck and a wash of late afternoon sun at his back.
He freezes at the sight of me, then visibly relaxes. After a moment of silence, he points to his left. “I put the swing up.”
I glance toward it briefly, then back at him and beam. “Yes you did. Thank you.”
