Page 76 of Everything You Want Me to Be

“She didn’t want me pushing her wheelchair around. I dropped her off at Winifred’s for a visit.”

“Okay.” I waited for the accusation, the tears and the rage, but nothing came. She kept sitting there with that unreadable expression.

“Is there something else?” I took a step toward the stairs, instinctually retreating.

“Sit down, Peter.”

My ass hit the chair immediately. Part of me even welcomed what was coming next. It was the end of my marriage—new paperwork to file in front of the old—but the end of the deceptions, too, the end of pretending I was anything good.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “You’re acting strangely.”

She took a deep breath and looked at her hands.

“I fainted at the doctor’s office.”

“What?” Surprise rushed through my veins like some delicious drug. “What happened?”

“It was silly. We just had to stay in the waiting room longer than I thought and we were sitting for so long and it was hot in there. When the doctor called our name, I stood up too fast and blacked out. I came around on the floor with a nurse and the receptionist standing over me. They helped me up and made me drink some water.”

“Did you even eat any breakfast this morning? You’re taking care of everything around here except yourself. That’s why you fainted.”

“I know. That will have to change.”

“Do you still feel dizzy?”

“A little.” She nodded. “The doctor asked me some questions and then gave me a test.”

The thought of Mary being sick seemed impossible. She’d become Elsa’s guardian and champion; she’d singlehandedly reinvented the farm; she paid the bills, cooked the meals, and cleaned the house, all with that Reever stoicism. She was the fucking bionic woman.

“What test?”

“It was positive.” Her voice was small. Suddenly I wanted her to look at me; I needed to see her eyes.

“What test, Mary?” I got up and crossed the room, dropping in front of her to make her look at me. When she did, I saw confusion and hesitation. I could tell she was working up the nerve to tell me. Whatever it was—and it was something clearly unrelated to the fact that she had a cheating, lying husband—was tearing her up inside.

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” I shot up and stumbled back. “What?”

My brain stopped working. The room went black at the edges, like I’d read in scenes with certain heroines and always dismissed as sentimental, hyperbolic writing. How could she be pregnant? Was it even mine? Mary wasn’t the cheating kind, but we hadn’t had sex in months, we hadn’t...

Then the living room came back into focus.

“The day the window guy was here?”

“It must have been. They asked about my last period, said I was six weeks along. The dates match up.” Her fingers laced over her stomach, holding tight.

I ran my hands through my hair, wiped my mouth, trying to come to terms with what was happening.

“What are you going to do?”

“Start eating breakfast, I guess.” She released a quick, nervous laugh. When I didn’t say anything, she continued.

“I picked up some prenatal vitamins and some saltines. Mom said I needed saltines.”

I still couldn’t speak.

“I know we haven’t been in the best of places lately.” My bark of laughter only gave her pause for a second; she was picking up steam. “But this is what we wanted.”