“Good, sir. Thanks.”
“Taking good care of my daughter?”
His question might seem formal, but his tone isn’t. Out of the two of them, her dad is much easier to handle. He just wants Sam to be happy.
The strangest thing happens over that four-course dinner: our parents become friends. Our moms get along exceedingly well. I think it’s because my mom could talk to a shoe and call it her friend. She peels back Mrs. Abrams’ layers like a highly-skilled psychiatrist.
“So, tell me more about your childhood!”
After dessert, they all want to move into the living room and play board games, but Sam and I have had our fill of family bonding.
We bolt the first opportunity we can get.
“Thanks for dinner, Mom, Dad! Talk soon! Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, we’ll see you in the morning for breakfast before you get on the road!” Sam shouts, quickly dashing around the room to dole out hugs.
After we step outside, she reaches for my hand and tugs me toward my car as fast as her short legs will take us.
“Hurry, hurry! My mom is probably thinking of some way to drag us back inside as we speak.”
We hop in and buckle up quick. We’re out of their neighborhood in no time.
“Phew. That went well. I think our moms are in love.”
I nod. “Yeah, it went better than I thought it would.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if your mom invites my parents to breakfast tomorrow.”
“Yeah, we should probably prepare ourselves now.”
“Hey, can you stop at that pharmacy up there?” she asks. “I need to run in and pick up a few things.”
I get into the right lane so I can turn into the parking lot.
She jostles her legs in the passenger seat like she’s hopped up on something. “Don’t you want to know what I need?”
“Um, not real—”
“A pregnancy test.”
I nearly careen off the road.
I end up taking up 2 ? parking spots near the back of the lot. Justin Timberlake is singing on the radio and Sam and I sit in the car while my brain catches up.
She jostles my arm. “Ian, you there?”
She waves her hand in front of my face, and reality snaps back into place like a rubber band. I turn to her, dopey smile and all.
“What the hell are we waiting for?!”
She beams and we simultaneously turn to yank on our door handles.
Inside the pharmacy, Sam drags her arm across the shelf in a dramatic flourish. Our small basket is filled to the brim. We buy one of each brand, which is overkill, but there’s no point in trying to talk her out of it.
“Because the people in the movies do it! Maybe they’re onto something!”
When we check out, the clerk doesn’t say a word, though she must sense the nervous energy pluming off of Sam because she gives her a small smile as she loads the pregnancy tests into two bags.
This is what we want. We’ve talked about it. I’ll be 32 in a month. Sam turned 28 a few weeks back. We have a lot of savings built up. I’ve already looked at the best options for college funds. We’re prepared, but it still feels like we’re two teenagers up to no good.
“Hurry, hurry,” Sam says as we finish the drive home. “I’ve been holding it since before dinner because I want to have enough urine for all these tests.”
“In my professional chemist opinion, you’ll need at least a gallon of urine.”
“You’re joking, but I actually have it!”
The bags are hefty and loaded down. When I pull into the driveway, Sam hops out of the car and makes a dash for the door. She runs straight for the master bathroom and I follow.
“Should we read the instructions?” I ask, frowning as Sam starts tearing open boxes like a hungry bear who’s just stumbled upon a picnic in the woods. “Make sure you’re peeing on the right parts?”
“I know the right parts, Ian. Movie people, remember?”
Still, I insist. Each test demands slightly different preparations. Some demand you pee directly on the applicator. Some want you to dip the end of the test stick in a small cup of urine. Some provide a line. Some spell out POS or NEG. Sam hops back and forth on her feet, clutching her crotch as if she’s trying to physically hold the pee inside herself.
“Hurry!”
“Okay, here. This one first.”
She pees on it and I pass her another. Then another. We have twelve lined up before she’s completely emptied her bladder.
“Damn,” I say, hands on hips, assessing our lineup.
She washes her hands with a smug smile. “What do you think, science man? Is that enough data for you?”
I smile and nod before stepping back and sliding down to the ground. The excitement of the last half-hour is starting to take its toll.
Sam stays standing, hands on her hips as she studies the tests. “How long do we have to wait?”
“The first one will be ready in five minutes.”
Saying it aloud makes my stomach drop. She turns back to me and I see she’s shaking now, her eyes filling up with tears. “What if it’s positive?”
I tilt my head and assess her. “We’ll be excited.”
“And if it’s negative?”
“We’ll probably be relieved, but we’ll also keep trying.”
“Maybe your mom is a psychic. You haven’t told her we’ve been trying, have you?”
“No. That was all her.”
“She said I was glowing.”
I smile. “You are.”
“How long has it been?”
I glance down at the timer on my phone. “Thirty seconds.”
“Oh god. I feel sick.”
“Good sick or bad sick?”
“I don’t know. I want this, but all of sudden I feel like we’re in over our heads. It’s the same feeling I had when you asked me to marry you.”
I understand what she means. We’d be na?ve to think this isn’t a huge step. Our lives are about to change forever.
“Come sit by me.”
I bend my knees so she can fit in the space between my legs. She turns, sits, and leans her back against my chest. My heart thumps against her shoulder blade. My hand wraps around her wrist and I feel her pulse, counting the beats in my head—faster than a hummingbird. I wrap my other hand around her stomach and press there, waiting, expecting. I know it’d be too early to feel anything, but I want to feel something.
“Ian? Do you remember when I dressed up as Hermione for Halloween and you told me I looked like a dweeb?”
I smile and lean my head back against the wall. “Yeah, I tried to kiss you that night.”
“What?!”
“Over by the punch bowl, but it was too late. You’d had like four shots and you threw up on me.”
“Oh my god. I remember feeling sick, but I don’t remember you trying to kiss me.”
I glance down and see there are two minutes left on the timer.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t all that smooth. You used to make me nervous.”
She laughs like that’s completely preposterous.
“I wonder how different everything would have been if you’d actually kissed me.”
Completely, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
“This is crazy,” she murmurs to herself.
Another minute passes and now there are only seconds before that first test is ready. Sam looks down at the time and her pulse punches through her skin.
“Do you want to look together?” she asks.
“You do it.”
I’m not sure I can stand at the moment.
Time slows to a crawl as she pushes up and walks over to read the test. Things flash through my mind: nursery paint colors, daycare, diapers, pudgy fingers and toes.
It’s a simple, old-school test with two lines for positive and one for negative.
It should take her one second to read it.
The timer starts to beep.
Sam looks down, grabs the test, whirls around, and screams.
Epilogue
S A M
TWO YEARS LATER
“Mr. President,” I say, nodding in deference as Ian hands me the popcorn.
“Madam Secretary,” he responds, equally sincere.
“Ahem, the Speaker of the House needs a refill.”
“Wah-wah-wah-wah.”
We both look down at Violet, who’s pulling up to stand on the edge of the couch. Her chubby-cheeked grin tears straight through my heart.
“Ian, can you believe we’re raising such a genius?”
“Not even a year and a half and she’s already speaking in full sentences.”