The expression on Brad’s face was one of shock, as if he hadn’t heard right. Of course he had, but she hadn’t meant to tell him like this. Not right now, anyway.
“Wow,” he said, staring down at her, his hands on his hips. She lay back and rested her arm over her forehead.
“Yeah, wow is right.”
“When did you find out?” he asked. She didn’t miss how he seemed to be taking in all of her as if deciding how best to bubble wrap her and tuck her in, as if she needed safekeeping—which she didn’t, not by a longshot.
“I haven’t yet, officially. I’m late.”
He stiffened and gestured with his hand. “Wait a second. You think you’re pregnant, or you know you’re pregnant, which is it?” The way he watched her, she knew he was trying to figure out what was going on in her head, what she was thinking. Sometimes she wondered whether his first thought was always that she was overreacting. The fact was she’d been worrying about a lot of things lately.
“I just figured it out this morning when I was cleaning out the fridge. There was this awful odor.” She waved her hand and swallowed. Just thinking of it made the bile rise. She could still smell the odor of rotting fish. Even though she’d emptied the entire fridge expecting to find the culprit shoved way in the back, it hadn’t been. It had, in fact, been reasonably clean. She’d then turned her nose up at a second cup of coffee and wondered for a second, counting, realizing how late she was.
Brad appeared confused.
“Odors always set me off, or they did,” she said.
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