7.
April
. . .
Plans to tell the kids tomorrow trickled into two weeks.
Peter's work edged in again.
They didn't fight about it.
After a couple more late nights, their new normal resumed.
She understood.
. . .
"Zach, Grace! I need both of you to come downstairs, please," Alicia yells from the lower level of the house.
Cradling two wrapped boxes in her arms, she beelines from the kitchen to the living room.
"Now?" She hears Zach shout back.
Hiding the boxes behind a pillow on a sofa, she peers into the hallway and up the stairs. They're leaning against the iron baluster railing, wearing masks of impatience and annoyance.
"Yes, now! Dad's almost home."
What will they say, and what will she say repeats and repeats.
Neither has mentioned wanting a sibling in ... she can't remember how long.
Alicia sits on the sofa, waits, steadies her breathing and flips a wad of her loose curled thick hair over a shoulder, grimacing. She meant to pull it back. Pin-up half, anyway. It is longer than she prefers. A few inches shy of her bra strap and every strand is a hassle.
Her hair has grown like weeds within a month. Layers are now locks. Courtesy of this child. Limitless changes she doesn't remember from her previous pregnancies are happening with this child. Finding energy to go to the salon and sit for a few hours is equivalent to a voyage around the world.
"Are we in trouble?" says Grace, strolling in, rattling her to the present.
She sits opposite her on the other sofa. Zach follows suit.
"No." Alicia beams a warm smile. "No one is in trouble."
From the front room window behind them, she sees Peter's black sedan wheel into the driveway.
"Why isn't the TV on?" notes Zach, craning his neck up at the void mounted flat screen.
"Because we don't need the TV on. We're going to talk as a family."
"Why?" he retorts. "Are we moving—"
"Sorry I'm late." Peter strides in and settles beside her on the couch. "Eden Express's congestion on 94 is terrible."
Alicia nods and turns back to Zach. "Why would we move?"
"Today, a girl in my class said her family is moving to Japan because her parents got new jobs."
"Oh, no. We're not moving. And Dad's job isn't changing." She eyes Peter, with his right foot propped on his left knee and arm stretched across the back of the chair, smiling. He signals with a curt nod for her to go on. "We want to share a different type of change with both of you."
She reaches around the middle pillow between her and Peter and pulls out two silver ribbon boxes—one round, the other square.
"This is for you," she says, setting one in front of Grace on the coffee table, "and this is for you." She places the other in front of Zach.
They ogle the boxes, skepticism hardwired on every inch of their faces.
"It's neither of our birthdays," Grace comments.
"Or Christmas," adds Zach.
"Since when are you two hesitant to rip into a gift?" says Peter, chuckling. "Open them. They are not tricks, or a trap."
They exchange a glance, then reluctantly undo the ribbon bows. Alicia bites her lip and peeps at Peter. He wordlessly takes her hand. She holds on. Tight.
Zach is the first to speak. "What is it?" He scrutinizes the sonogram, a deep crease lining his forehead.
"What do you think it is?" says Peter.
"Um …" Zach turns the picture sideways, head tilting.
"A baby?" Grace queries, studying her copy.
Tears sting the edges of Alicia's eyes as she nods. "Yes. It is a baby."
"Your little brother or sister," Peter affirms.
The kids exchange furtive glances.
Alicia notices, and a sliver of panic ensues.
She contemplates how to play this. She's mused, too long, over revealing her budding secret after picking them up from school two hours ago. No idea she concocted sounded good.
Wrapping print outs of the sonogram from her last appointment as presents was a last-minute idea. By their stunned nature, clearly not a good one.
Peter saves her and suspends the numbing silence. "We'll be a family of five soon. What do you two think?"
Zach sets down the picture, folds his hands and regards them as if he's a father finding out about an unwanted child.
"You and Mom are adopting a baby?"
Peter roars in a laugh. "No, we're not adopting."
Alicia doesn't laugh. Her throat prunes dry and heart pounds a mile a second as she waits for more outbursts.
More looks.
Do they understand, now?
Are they happy? Angry? Dismayed?
They are so difficult to read, and along with the deafening silence, makes it beyond confusing and intolerable.
She clarifies, "I'm …" Holds both their gazes. "I'm pregnant."
"With that baby," Peter echoes. "In that picture."
Zach swings his attention her way, mouth twisting. "Mom, you don't look pregnant."
"I'm not far along, so, I'm not showing much. My clothes hide a lot. Right now, the baby is only as big as a ... a lime."
Grace squints. "A lime?"
"Yes, it is tiny. In a few months, as it grows, my stomach will change. You'll both see more. I will look different. Pregnant."
Zach and Grace exchange glances again. Then refocus on her.
Their puzzled eyes scan her body as if waiting for the slightest view of this alleged lime baby. Her oversized sweater conceals any signs they may hope to see.
Alicia clasps her hands and studies them.
Aims to interpret their speechlessness.
Shock? Is that what it is? She expected some shock, but not this.
"You two noticed I haven't been well lately, right?" She receives a shrug from Zach; blank stare from Grace. "How I haven't been able to take you to school some mornings? How Dad had to pick you up in the afternoon for a few weeks?"
Another shrug and blank stare.
"Those times," Alicia continues, "I could not be there is because of the baby. While my body adapted to the baby, the adjustment had me really sick for a while."
"So you're not sick anymore?" says Grace.
"Not as much. I may still be at times, but I'm feeling better."
"And you're not dying?" asks Zach.
Her eyes bulge. What the— "No!"
"I told you she isn't dying," Grace states casually.
Alicia glimpses at Peter. He's wearing an identical cloak of bewilderment. When did they establish this theory?
Dying?!
"So. You're, pregnant?" Grace circles back, her voice lulling with disbelief. "Like Reagan's mom was?"
Reagan—a little girl the same age as Grace—who lives next door, has a younger sibling whom was born last year. Grace witnessing the mother's bulging belly for months suddenly flatten to result in a screaming infant, also prompted an introduction of the talk.
There is so much talk to finish.
"Yes," Alicia responds. "Like Reagan's mom."
Grace eyeballs the sonogram. Her stony expression muddles. Morphs into concern bordering with a realization this conversation is not a dream. "We're really going to have a baby brother or sister?"
Alicia shoots an SOS look at Peter. He segues in and says, "Yes, you will. Remember you used to beg for a little brother or sister?"
"Yeah. When I was, like, seven."
(Grace was seven just three years ago. How is it possible she's matured into this ten-year-old already?)
Alicia's faint smile fades. All right. Presuming thrilled as number one in their chain of reactions was too far of a reach.
"Mom," says Zach, "how are you pregnant?"
Alicia squeezes Peter's hand, nails gouging his palm.
He stifles a laugh and wiggles his hand out of her clench to sit upright, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Zach, we've, uh, you and I … talked. You know …" He cracks his knuckles. "Your mom and I aren't exactly old."
Zach shifts his gaze back and forth between them, and then crosses his arms and slouches against the seat, mumbling, "Gross. Did not need to know that."
"When will the baby be here?" says Grace, unfazed.
"October," answers Alicia.
"Then we can know if it's a boy or girl?"
"We won't need to wait so long. We'll find out the gender in a month during my doctor's appointment."
"Oh." Grace wrings her hands. "Can—May I, go with you to your appointment?"
"Yes, you may." Rings of anxiety loosen around Alicia's throat. "Before that appointment, I have another, where the doctor examines my stomach to make sure the baby is growing properly, and I'm okay. Would you like to go to that one, too?"
"I'll be able to see it?"
"Yes. You will see the baby move and … hear its heartbeat. It sounds very different from ours."
"Um, okay." A slow smile blooms and lights up her face. "I want to go."
"Okay." Alicia zones in on Zach. He sits like a queen's guard in training for Buckingham Palace.
Peter wedges in to the peaceful moment. "Do either of you have anymore questions? Anything you want to know about Mom, or how things will change?"
"Will we have to babysit?" Grace interjects. "And will the baby mess up our stuff? Reagan always tells me how her brother destroys her room."
"No, you won't need to babysit. Dad and I will take care of the baby. We only want you two to … make the baby feel welcome in our family."
"But it will mess up our stuff?"
Alicia chuckles. "As the baby grows older and can move around the house more freely, it may get into your things. You two will need to be mindful if he or she is in your rooms. Where they are, what they're doing …"
Grace nods.
"Zach?" says Peter. "You've been quiet. Anything you want to discuss?"
Zach huffs, bundling the sonogram back in the box. "This is weird, Dad. We're almost adults. I'll be in college in a couple years."
"You'll be in college in, six years. That is a long time from now."
"But. Still. We'll have, a kindergarten brother or sister."
"I'm sorry this child is ruining your life plans, Zach," snaps Peter. "The baby is coming either way."
He shrugs. "May I be excused?"
"Yeah." Peter shakes his head in an air of befuddlement. Alicia trails Zach's sullen exit, her heart constricting as she wonders how much time to give him before checking in.
Grace moseys over to them. "I'm happy about the baby, Mom." She bends for a hug.
"Thank you for saying that, sweetie. You will be the best big sister." With a kiss to her temple, Alicia releases her.
Once the kids are out of sight, they slump against the sofa's back.
"Maybe we should have waited until I'm in labor," she mocks.
Peter snickers. "Zach will come around."
"I didn't think he would be that … opposed."
"Eh. Next year he'll officially be a teenager. He's a boy peaking with hormones." He rubs the back of his neck, yawning. "Although, I think he's more opposed to know we still have sex." She breaks in a slow smile, nudging him. "If he understood the way his mother spectacularly does certain things—"
"Peter!" She covers her mouth, laughing while checking the hallway.
He stands up, his playful grin dimming. "Listen. I need to head up and change. There's an engagement starting in an hour I forgot about. I'm slated to give a speech about crime reduction, my office's stream of success, failures, yadi ya."
She tries to recall if he previously told her of this event, and she forgot.
"Did you tell me about this?"
"I did not, because the organizers canceled it at the last minute a week ago. Now, it is back on, at the last minute."
This is not the first time he's forgotten about an event and told her in a brief window. She stares up at him, at his earnest face, searching, unsure of what she's expecting to find.
"Oh," she grumbles.
"I mean, I didn't think you'd feel up to ... do you want to go? I can call my mother and ask her to come over—"
"No, no. I am, tired, and I want to be with the kids. Make sure they're fine."
"All right."
"Where is it taking place?"
"Ballroom at the Waldorf."
She rolls her gaze from his to her lap. "You will miss dinner."
He sucks in a sharp breath, passing a hand over his mouth. "Honey, I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize, Peter."
"You know I would be home otherwise." Would you? lie on the tip of her tongue. "The timing of it all is—agh! This came across my desk an hour before I left the office. Commissioner Heaves will be there. If he was not, I would miss it."
A steely tug cycles in her chest. She drives down the instant disappointment with a deep, controlled exhale.
"Are you going to tell them?"
He'll fly solo tonight. But she would not wear the bearer-of-bad-news-parent-badge for the trillionth time. Especially after how the kids reacted.
"I'll tell them, and I promise to make it an early night." He kisses her forehead and dashes upstairs.
She picks up the sonogram Grace left out and traces her finger around the outline of the baby.
Looking around the empty room, she sighs.
. . .
11:04 p.m.
Blue digits from the clock on the bedside table are blinding.
He called at 9:54 p.m. to say he was on his way.
She called ten minutes ago to check on him. Quench her worry. Ensure he was not in danger.
He is fine; on the expressway.
She touches his side of the bed.
The sheets are cold.
Falling asleep alone is harder tonight.
A/N: This is the last update on this story for the year. Considering the next phase, figured this is a good break before the holidays. Updates will resume in January. Hope no one minds the 'bulk' updates (like I did today) as I'll probably 'dump' the rest of this story. :)
Wishing everyone a joyous and safe Christmas + New Year!