Page 267 of What We Become

“When, Fury?” Knox asks gently.

I count backward. Do the math. Count again because the first number doesn’t make sense.

“Seven weeks,” I say. “Maybe eight.”

The kitchen goes very, very quiet.

Knox’s hand moves to my shoulder and tightens like he’s recalibrating.

“It’s okay,” Milo says. “I’ve prepared for this.”

“What do you mean, you’ve prepared?” Holden calls after him as he walks out of the kitchen. “Milo!”

The only answer we get is the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, the creak of a door, rummaging, a drawer opening and closing. He comes back carrying a giant paper pharmacy bag.

He sets it on the table.

“What is that?” Holden asks.

Milo opens the bag and begins removing boxes. Seven different brands of pregnancy tests, lined up across the kitchen table like soldiers at inspection.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eli says.

“I’m never kidding about reproductive logistics.” Milo reaches into the bag again and produces a bottle of prenatal vitamins, which he sets at the end of the line. “I’ve had this bag packed since month two. In my go-bag. Behind my backup laptop. Next to the bleach wipes, the plastic sheeting, and the Capri Suns.”

“You packed pregnancy tests in your go-bag,” Holden says flatly.

“And prenatal vitamins. And a pamphlet about midwives and doulas. And a list of baby names sorted by linguistic origin, cultural significance, and compatibility with the surname Adams. Truthfully, I tried to find a way to combine all of our names into a brand new name at first. But that list got an update after the wedding.” He looks at me and gestures to the boxes like a game show host. “Pick one, kitten.”

I stare at the table. Seven boxes of possibility stare back at me.

I look up slowly. “This is insane.”

“Correct,” Holden says.

“Affectionately insane,” Micah adds.

Knox hooks a finger under my chin. “Fury.”

I look at him.

His face doesn’t move. His eyes are too dark. Too focused. Too alive. “What do you need?”

What do I need?

A normal answer would probably be privacy. Water. Time. A complete rewiring of the universe. Instead I hear myself say, “I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m either dying or about to hatch.”

Milo raises one finger. “In fairness, if you are pregnant, there is a third option that includes both.”

“Not helping.”

“Never my intention. Occasionally my outcome.”

Eli comes up beside me and kisses my temple. “You don’t have to do anything right this second, little savage.”

“I need to know.” I lean against him and point at the boxes. “One test.”

Milo immediately picks up three.