A somber version of the usual theme song started clonking as a graphic flashed onscreen: GREAT BRITAIN IN MOURNING.
“What updates could they possibly have?” I wondered, leaning against the doorjamb. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Nick, sprawled on the brown leather sofa in his sweatpants with a bowl of Hula Hoops resting on his chest, twitched at the sound of my voice.
“Sorry,” I said, flopping down next to him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I thought you were asleep,” Nick said. He moved his knitting to make more space for me. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Mom keeps telling me that I won’t sleep through the night for the next eighteen years, anyway.”
As soon as Nick and I had gotten home from Cambridge, I made a beeline for our upstairs linen closet. It contained a trove of items Bea didn’t want us to be seen purchasing: pregnancy tests, condoms, lube, anti-diarrheal meds, super-plus tampons (“Anything above regular is gossip fodder,” she’d said very seriously), and, for some reason, dental floss, as if the nation would be scandalized to learn that royals have to fend off gingivitis.
It’s too soon. We’re not ready. The thoughts flew through my head on repeat, like the Times Square news crawls except at warp speed. I cannot be pregnant. It’s too soon. We’re not ready.
I’d snuck into Half Bath #3, the one with the little brass tiger faucet knobs, and ripped open the pregnancy test with shaking hands. I’d never held one before. The closest I’d ever gotten was in high school, when Lacey made me buy her one at Walgreens during what would turn out to be a baseless panic. I let out an involuntary laugh as I tipped it into my palm and it landed like a feather in my hand. Such an innocuous plastic wand; how light a trifle for such a heavy situation. I’d known this moment would come for me eventually, and I’d imagined it being amid either a fit of hopeful anticipation, or tearful panic. Instead I’d felt numb. And still a little nauseated. It should have been statistically unlikely that both Lacey and I would get pregnant accidentally within the space of a year. We couldn’t each be that fertile and that forgetful at the same time.
But we were. I was. Pregnant, the wand screamed at me. Maybe the proverbial twin connection, the one that meant Lacey and I often didn’t need to finish our sentences or craved the same junk food at the same time, also extended to our wombs. Except Lacey had been thrilled by her unexpected pregnancy, and the primary emotion I was experiencing was terror. It’s too soon. We’re not ready.
When I slunk out of the bathroom and dove under the covers, I mumbled the news to Nick through the duvet like a ten-year-old confessing to her mother that she stole money from her wallet and blew it all at 7-Eleven. It had only taken a few seconds for Nick to slide down under the covers with me. I hadn’t been sure he’d even understood, but there are only so many ways you can interpret, “So, it looks like I’m pregnant,” even delivered through a duvet.
We’d stared into each other’s eyes. In his, I’d seen both wonder and a little confusion about whatever he was seeing in mine.
“Gosh,” he’d finally breathed into the humid little bed-cave we made. “This is a huge surprise.”
“No kidding,” I’d moaned.
“But a nice one,” he’d replied. “Isn’t it? We’re going to be parents. A little you or a little me running around here smashing Auntie Georgina’s souvenir eggs.” He stroked my cheek. “I think it’s lovely news. But if you don’t feel that way…”
I could see the balloon of his enthusiasm leaking air, and I turned my face into the mattress. “Dammit,” I said. “I ruined a big life moment.”
“You’ve ruined nothing,” Nick said softly. “It was not your responsibility to make it a certain way.”
“Yeah, but I always imagined us deciding to try, having a lot of fun doing it, and then finding out it worked and you picking me up and twirling me around. And instead I acted ambivalent, and made you feel sad about something you really want,” I said. “And what am I even stressing about? We’re married and we love each other, and we’ll have plenty of help and we have plenty of money. So.”
Nick frowned. “Those are all fine reasons to have a child, if you want to,” he said. “But I only want that if we both do.”
“I have to want that, don’t I?” I asked, my mouth still half in the mattress. “It’s been made very clear to me that having a baby is one of my primary responsibilities. I don’t get to not be ready. Whatever is in here, he or she is the heir to the throne. There isn’t room for me to have complicated feelings about it, because my jurisdiction has pretty much ended.”
The words had tumbled out of me almost faster than they’d come to mind. Nick took a breath, then winced, and peeled off the comforter. We took greedy gulps of the colder, fresher air.
“I hate that you feel that way,” Nick said. “It’s your body, and it’s our baby. No one is in this but you and me. This room is the jurisdiction.”
I tilted my head. “Theoretically,” I said. “But you can’t ignore the fact that if we don’t have a baby, this whole thing falls apart.”
“Bollocks. Gran’s aunt and uncle didn’t have babies, and that’s worked out all right,” Nick pointed out.
“That wasn’t because they didn’t want them,” I reminded him. “It’s not even that I don’t want one! Eventually. It’s just…” I rolled onto my back. “The obsession about when we’re having a baby is already intense. But we’ve only been married a year and a half, and for a lot of that time, you and I were
