She sat on the closed toilet lid with one hand over her mouth and laughed through tears she had not given herself permission to expect.
Mitchell found her there three minutes later because she had texted him from ten feet away in the kitchen. He came in still holding his coffee mug and saw her face before he saw the test. Then he saw both. Then the mug hit the sink counter because he put it down too hard and coffee splashed onto the backsplash and neither of them cared.
“Are you serious?” he whispered.
Wendy could only nod.
He knelt in front of her, hands hovering like he was afraid touching her would make it untrue, and then they were both laughing and crying and saying nothing coherent at all. Later they went out for pancakes on a weekday because normal people wait for weekends and they could not bear normal. Mitchell reached across the booth, took her hand, and said, “We’re going to be parents,” in the same tone people use when they say grace or make vows.
For two whole days Wendy let herself feel uncomplicated joy.
Then she started telling people.
Her parents sounded thrilled, at least at first. Suzanne’s voice rose into an excited pitch Wendy had spent years chasing. Philip said, “Well, that’s big news,” in the tone he used for positive business forecasts, which was not warmth exactly but at least acknowledgement. Cheryl sent six heart emojis, one baby bottle, one crown, and a gif of confetti raining over a cartoon stroller. Wendy stared at her phone and thought maybe this was how adulthood softened everyone. Maybe babies rearranged old loyalties. Maybe becoming a mother would make her own mother see her differently.
The dangerous thing about long deprivation is how little hope it takes to make you reckless.
For a while things seemed manageable. Mitchell hovered in the good way, learning everything he could about pregnancy nutrition and infant sleep without turning Wendy’s body into a project. They bought a used dresser for the nursery because the budget was tight. Mitchell painted it white in the garage one Saturday afternoon, getting streaks on his forearms and insisting he could absolutely assemble furniture without instructions. He could not. Wendy sat cross-legged nearby, laughing so hard she had to put one hand over her barely-there bump.