On Second Thought(124)

Oh, my poor sister. I’d spent half an hour sitting with her on the couch, looking at her white face. Daniel, God bless him, didn’t say much after I opened the door and said, “Congratulations.”

Instead, he made her a sandwich. “It’ll be okay,” he said, whether to himself or Kate or me or all three of us, I wasn’t sure. “It’ll be okay.”

There wasn’t much else to say.

As I drove up the FDR Drive, Jonathan called. “Are you free?” he asked.

I glanced at the time. Wow. It was only seven o’clock. It felt like a lifetime had passed since we’d left for Brooklyn late this afternoon. “Um...yes.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I am.”

“Would you like to come here for dinner?”

“I would. I’ll be there in about an hour, okay?”

“Very good.” There was a pause. “Drive safely, sweetheart.”

My grip loosened on the steering wheel. “I will,” I said.

Sweetheart. He called me sweetheart. The endearment nestled in my heart, a warm little jewel on this complicated night.

An hour later, I pulled into the driveway. “I’m on the patio,” he called, and I went down the slate path, past the tree where the girls had a swing, past the front door.

The sun had set, but remnants of orange and red held on. Jonathan had lit a fire in the copper fire pit and a bottle of wine rested in an ice bucket. Two lounge chairs sat side by side.

“It’s lovely to see you,” he said, kissing me, and my heart swelled.

“You, too.” I rested my head against his shoulder. “How was your day?”

“Very good, thank you. Your replacement lacks your, ah, unique energy, but he’s doing a competent job so far.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He poured me some wine. He’d changed into jeans (I was surprised he owned a pair, but he did, and he was rocking them) and a maroon crewneck sweater, and he looked very much like what he was—a son of the Hudson River Valley, established, sure of himself, confident, wealthy.

Happy.

Then he sat down next to me, glanced down at the ground and did a double take. I followed his gaze.

Oh. My purse was open, and there was the backup pregnancy kit. Kate had opted to believe the first two tests. He raised his eyes to mine and didn’t so much as blink.

“About that,” I began.

“Yes. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“It’s not mine. The kit, I mean.” I took a sip of wine.

“So you just carry around pregnancy tests?”

“I repeat,” I said. “It’s not mine.”

He continued looking at me, the flickering light of the fire making it hard for me to read his expression. “I see.” He sat back, tension radiating off him. I would’ve loved to tell him it was for Kate, but I hadn’t asked if that would be okay.

The sky was now almost black with a thin deep red line on the horizon.

I sighed and took another sip of wine. The bugs chirred and sang, and a mosquito whined by my ear.

“If you were pregnant,” Jonathan said, not quite looking at me, “for one, you shouldn’t be drinking—”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“—and for two...that would be... We’d figure it out.”

“Jonathan. Listen to me. Read my lips. I am not pregnant, I’m on the Pill, as I’m sure I’ve told you ten or fifteen times.”

“I know. I just... But if you were pregnant, it...it wouldn’t be horrible.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s very touching. Why don’t you stop now? We don’t need to have this conversation.”

He dipped his head in exasperation. “What I mean is, I...I like children. I’m sure I’d like your children quite a lot.” He paused. “Our children.”

And there it was again, that stealth missile of sentiment that hit me right in the heart. Captain Flatline was trying to say something lovely.

“Well, I already like your children quite a lot,” I said, my voice a little husky. “I bet our children would be very nice, too.”

The almost-smile rose, changing his face from unreadable to frickin’ adorable.

“Maybe in a year or two, we should have this conversation again,” he said.

A year or two. He was thinking toward the future, and with me in it.

And that was fine with me. I didn’t need more than that right now. No engagement ring, no plans, just maybe someday, and that was enough.

Then he reached over and took my hand, and we sat side by side as the red faded, and the dark blue sky felt like a blessing.

“I think you may be at 70 percent,” I said, and he laughed and kissed my hand and then pulled me onto his chair and kissed me properly, long and deep and wet, his hands under my hem, unzipping my dress, until the mosquitoes drove us inside to bed.

Hooray for mosquitoes.





Chapter Thirty-Two

Kate

Sitting in Daniel’s living room, two pregnancy tests telling me that, yep, I was knocked up, it dawned on me that God had a helluva sense of humor.

How many times in our marriage had Nathan and I done it? Seriously, how many? I’d taken my temperature, counted days, pressed on my abdomen to see if I felt the pinch of ovulation. In ninety-six days, I’d bet we’d had sex at least a hundred times, even taking into consideration his trip to Seattle and the days my period was too gross. We’d been newlyweds. Not young newlyweds, but enthusiastic newlyweds just the same.