“Thank goodness.”
I cleared my throat, trying to relieve some of the tightness, and turned away from where Greg hovered inside our room, plainly eavesdropping. “Does Dr. Daud need something else? Instead of an MRI?”
“Goodness, no. Your screening panels all came back great, that’s the good news. The bad news—although I’m not sure it’s necessarily bad news—is that your MRI will have to wait a few months.”
“A few months? Why?”
“Mrs. Archer, your HGB test came back positive.”
“What does that mean?” I whispered, bracing myself for the worst.
“It means you’re pregnant.”
“I . . .”
Time stopped.
Sound halted first, then all movement external to my person. Every atom stood still in the entire universe and I existed in a singular moment where nothing existed except my consciousness and the meaning of the words you’re pregnant.
I stared at the words.
They stared back.
Then they waved and smiled and shrugged—like, We’ll be keeping you company for a while, so you might as well invite us in so we can give you cankles, and cravings for beef jerky and pickles dipped in mustard.
I wanted to push those words off a cliff.
Nothing about her statement made sense. I couldn’t be pregnant. Greg had been fixed five years ago because I knew, after having Grace, that I would lose my mind if we had any more children.
“Fiona?”
I started, shaking myself at the close proximity of Greg’s voice. I glanced over my shoulder, finding him standing directly behind me. His dark eyes told me he was near panicked.
“Is that your oncologist?” he pressed.
I shook my head and held up my finger, trying to keep up with Liz’s gushing flow from the other end and re-entered her one-sided conversation mid-sentence. “. . . so happy for you both. I couldn’t wait to tell you. I still remember when you and Mr. Archer came in together for the first time, such a handsome couple, and so in love. You two are—”
“I’m sorry, Liz? Liz, could you back up for a minute. Did you just say—”
“Yes. You’re pregnant. Yay.”
In my mind’s eye I could almost see Liz do her happy little dance, her white nurse’s shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor behind the reception desk.
“I see,” I said, not seeing at all.
My gaze lifted to Greg for a quick moment. It was clear he hadn’t heard the news and was obviously trying his best to not snatch the phone out of my hand and demand Liz give him all the answers immediately. I wasn’t finished processing the baby reveal, but I knew I needed to put him out of his misery as soon as possible.
“So, the screening panel, the doctor is certain I’m still in remission? No sign of cancer?”
Greg visibly relaxed, stumbling back a step and releasing a giant exhale.
“Yes! Still in remission, though you’ll need an MRI as soon as the new baby arrives.”
“Of course,” I said numbly, but when the words came out of my mouth they sounded weird, like I was being sarcastic. I fought the sudden urge to laugh hysterically.
After a few more pleasantries, all of which I coasted through, we hung up.
Greg stepped forward, opening his mouth as though preparing to lecture me. But before he could, Grace burst through our front door and came running toward us. Greg’s smile was instantaneous as he gathered her in his embrace. Jack wasn’t far behind, his exuberance surprisingly unfettered.
“I missed you so much,” Jack said, throwing his arms around me and speaking against my neck.
I rejoiced in the warm strength of my sweet boy, his fierce hug. A tremendous wave of emotion—relief, guilt, gratefulness—swept up and around me, stinging my eyes and sending me off balance.
“I missed you, too.” I leaned back to study his face and my heart lodged in my throat. Greg and I were Jack and Grace’s world. Sending up a quiet prayer of thanks for bringing us home unharmed, I fought to conquer my urge to bawl against Jack’s shirt.
“Next time, can we do video calls?”
Unable to speak, I simply nodded and smiled, pulling him into another tight hug.
Elizabeth and Nico strolled in seconds later. Welcome homes and long embraces were handed out liberally. And through it all I forced a tired smile, falling back into my necessary and familiar pattern of dealing with inconvenient feelings at some later, undefined point.
But this time the decision chaffed, though I knew logically it was best for everyone. Grace and Jack didn’t need to see their parents fighting as soon as they walked in the door. They’d missed us. I could wait. My feelings could wait. The argument could wait . . .
And like so many important conversations, whatever Greg was about to say would also have to wait until our company left and the kids were asleep. When the time came, we would have to speak quietly so as not to wake them with our argument.
Marriage with children is a study in delayed everything—delayed conversation, delayed resolutions, and delayed gratification.
And I wasn’t certain I could deal with the delays any longer.
CHAPTER 21