“I’m pregnant,” she said.
“Oh my god!” “Holy shit!” “Congratulations!” The group showered Lea with shock and excitement.
Maura was the only member of the group who stayed quiet, though nobody seemed to notice. Of course she was thrilled for Lea, but she couldn’t help but feel stunned. Lea was a short-stringer, too. Did she not suffer the same fears, the same burdens? Maura wondered if Lea had made all the same calculations, yet arrived at a different answer.
“Thank you, guys,” Lea said. “I figured I’d have to tell you all soon. It’s twins, so I’ll be showing in no time.”
Twins, Maura thought, at least that was good. At least they would have each other.
“Who’s the father?” Chelsea asked, and a few others shot her an alarmed look. “What? Is that like a taboo thing to ask?”
“Don’t worry,” Lea said. “I’m actually a surrogate for my brother and his husband, so my brother-in-law is technically the father. But the eggs were mine, so we’re hoping the twins might bear a slight resemblance to my brother, too.”
A collective “Ohhh” rippled through the group, but the revelation had a strange effect on Maura. A part of her felt relieved, there was no need for envy. Another part felt a little sad.
“Your brother and his husband must be so grateful to you,” Hank told Lea.
“Well, they did say that if it’s a boy and girl, they’re naming them Lea and Leo.” She laughed. “I sincerely hope they’re joking.”
Terrell touched Lea’s hand softly. “You’re giving them the greatest gift,” he said.
And Lea smiled. “That’s exactly what they said to me.” She rested her hands on her stomach. “It’s strange, because my brother and his husband both have fairly long strings, so it seemed to me like they already had the greatest gift,” she said. “But maybe they didn’t see it like that. And now, it turns out, I was the one who could give it to them.”
Maura remembered when the Pope had appeared on his balcony, declaring the boxes a gift from God. Perhaps for some people—like Lea’s brother, or Sean, or Nina—they were. But for everyone else, for the people in Room 204, at least there were other gifts, as Lea said. The trouble was simply recognizing them.
The musical that Terrell had mentioned—the dreams of a hundred short-stringers gracing the Broadway stage—sure sounded like a gift.
The moment, each morning, when Maura woke next to the woman she loved, a woman with every reason to leave.
The fact that she and Nina could even love each other, freely and openly, at all.
She decided, right then, to tell Nina the truth.
An hour later, Maura sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her girlfriend.
“I should tell you something,” she said. “I know that we never planned on having kids. And my string has only made it more clear that we shouldn’t. But, honestly, sometimes . . . I struggle with that.”
Nina looked poised to interject, to offer something kind and encouraging, perhaps even reopen the subject. But Maura shook her head.
“We don’t need to get any deeper into it,” she said. “It is what it is. But I didn’t want to keep any secrets from you. I just wanted you to know how I feel. That apparently it’s possible to regret something, or at least wonder about something, while still knowing it was the right choice.”
“I didn’t even know it was bothering you,” Nina said.
“Well, I can put on a pretty tough face,” Maura confessed. “I know I’m lucky, I’ve never been lacking in confidence.” She smiled thinly. “But sometimes that can make it difficult to be . . . vulnerable.”
Nina sat down next to Maura. “I’m glad you told me,” she said. “You can always be vulnerable with me.”
“Do you ever find yourself . . . rethinking it?” Maura asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Nina said quietly. “It’s not like I ever made the choice to not have children. I just never made the decision to have children, you know? And then, once you and I found each other, I just felt . . . complete.”
Maura nodded and took a breath. “I know how you feel,” she said. “But the crazy thing is that it wasn’t even something I wanted, until I realized that I probably couldn’t have it. It’s like the door slammed in front of me before I could really take a look at what was inside. And maybe it isn’t even really about children. Maybe it’s the fact that now I can’t stop thinking about all the other doors that might be closing, too. Like, what if I never find a job I really love? What if I don’t get to see that much more of the world? What if I never do something that . . . leaves an impact?”