Ezra reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pack of cinnamon Trident. “I had no idea pregnancy would give you a superpower. Maybe we should test it out. How far away do you have to be from this cinnamon gum not to smell it?”
“You’re bananas,” Emily told him. “For now, though, would you mind sticking it back in your pocket? It’s accosting me.”
Ezra did as she asked, and lined the meatballs up in a frying pan while she slid the brownies into the oven. Then they worked together to make pasta. Fettuccini was the easiest, so that was what they made.
“Are you okay telling our families before the twelve-week mark?” Ezra asked.
She nodded. “We’d tell them if something went wrong anyway, so . . .” She shrugged, hoping, praying that nothing would. “Might as well tell them now.”
Emily thought of her dad, living with his second wife in New Mexico. A woman who was nice enough but who Emily could never think of as a stepmom or any other version of a mom. He’d be happy. Send a gift. Fly east to meet the baby. He came about once a year to see Ari’s kids, Hunter and Tyler, and Ari flew their family to Santa Fe once a year to see him. The sisters often talked about the fact that their mother would never have been a twice-a-year grandmother, but he seemed fine being a twice-a-year grandfather. She’d call him later. She’d tell Ari first.
After dinner, as Ezra was dialing his parents, who Emily was pretty sure would drive in from New Jersey tomorrow just to take them out for dinner to celebrate, she pulled out her own phone and sent a text to her sister. She used the exact same words she’d sent last time: Can you talk? I’m pregnant.
vii
Your dad and I were so careful.
We were always so careful.
Until one day we weren’t.
10
The next week, Emily was walking down Broadway to get a sandwich for lunch from Crust, which called itself a Brooklyn deli, even though it was located in Manhattan. Ari had been so exhausted the first few months of both of her pregnancies that she’d fall asleep no more than twenty-five minutes into any movie that Emily brought up to Connecticut to watch with her, but Emily didn’t feel that way—not now, and not the other time either. She felt, somehow, powerful. Though also more likely to cry at a credit card commercial or TV movie or a story Ezra told her about one of his patients. It was all she could do these last few days to make sure she didn’t cry at her own patients’ stories—the happy ones and the sad ones.
As Emily turned the corner, she saw Tessa, wearing her backpack, carrying a diaper bag in one arm and a whimpering baby in the other.
“Hey,” Emily said, hurrying over to her. “Can I help you carry something? Where are you headed?”
Tessa looked at her with tears threatening to overflow her eyes. “My babysitter canceled. And Chris couldn’t stay home from work. And now I’m late for class and I have to bring Zoe and she’s been fussy all morning and . . .”
Emily looked at the baby, who had a thick thatch of hair, chocolate-brown like Tessa’s. “I’ll take her,” she said, impulsively. “It’s lunchtime for me now anyway. Just pick her up from my office after class.” The minute she said it, she knew she shouldn’t have. She knew this wasn’t something a therapist was supposed to do for a patient. She knew that when she walked back into the center with Zoe, Priya would have something to say about it—and she wouldn’t be wrong. But Emily didn’t rescind her offer. She wondered if Dr. West would’ve done the same thing for her.
“I can’t—” Tessa was shaking her head.
“It’s fine,” Emily said. “You won’t be able to pay as much attention to your professor if you have to handle her, too.”
Tessa sighed. She looked like she was going to object again but then seemed to change her mind. “Thank you,” she said, handing over Zoe and her diaper bag. “There’s a bottle in here for her. She’ll probably want it pretty soon. And diapers and a change of clothes and a pacifier and everything.”
Emily adjusted the diaper bag on one shoulder and settled Zoe on her hip. “We’ll see you soon,” she said. “And here—I’ll give you my cell number. If you’re nervous, text me and I’ll send you back a photo. Prove to you that this kiddo and I are doing just fine.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Tessa laughed but typed Emily’s cell number into her phone anyway and then waved one last time and hurried toward the arts and sciences building.