“Hello,” I said, putting down my things. “What are you two up to?”
“Nothing,” said Marci, which was as always her usual response when hiding something. “Aren’t you going to give your wives a smooch hello?” She made a smooching sound with exaggerated lips. I walked over and gave them each a kiss.
“No wine? Usually you two are sipping wine on a Friday night.”
“Can I get you a drink?” asked Susan, getting up.
“Thanks, but I can get it myself. You guys want one?”
They both shook their heads. I fixed my drink and joined them at the table.
“We have something to tell you, Ryan,” said Susan.
“She does,” said Marci. “I’ll wait and see how that goes.”
“Okay. I’m all ears, as they say. Shoot.”
Susan revealed what looked like a thermometer and handed it to me. Near the top of its thicker end was a hole with a pink cross in it. Being the sort that didn’t jump to conclusions, I looked at Susan.
“We’re having a baby, Ryan.”
A wonderful heat flowed through up spine, unlike all those other types of heat since our threesome marriage began, and I felt dizzy. Regardless, I stood, as did Susan, and we came around the table to hug. It was the warmest, deepest hug I’d ever received, and one which I will never forget. A fury of frenzied discussion followed, the particulars of which none of us really registered as they came too fast, and then we settled down. I took a gulp of my drink to calm myself. Susan and I had planned to have children all along, but we’d never put a date on it, and here it was. I was going to be a father.
In the hubbub, I’d forgotten Marci also had news. I knew it couldn’t top Susan’s but was curious, nonetheless.
“Marci, you said you had something say too?”
She gave Susan a look and a smile, and from her lap produced a similar stick with an identical pink cross. I looked at it and then at both of them and wasn’t sure if I was seeing or understanding correctly. I went into that mode commonly referred to as speechless.
I looked at Marci. Her eyes were watering.
“We’re going to have a baby, Ryan!” She jumped out of her chair and once again, I was in the grip of an evermore hug, the kind that told you it was always be there when needed.
Susan joined in and for several minutes we rocked together in silence. Both Marci and Susan cried. It was a happy occasion.
And possibly the weirdest one I could ever have imagined. My two wives were pregnant. In the near future the household would almost double. What if one or both of them carried twins? We would need to get a minivan. We would become one of those couples, except for the extra spouse bit.
After some further swift exchanges, we settled down once more. It was only then that I thought of something rather important. How could they be pregnant? They used birth control. It was unlikely both their brands, whatever they were, failed simultaneously. This could only mean—and this was a point our children would later be thankful for—they had planned the whole thing. They had decided without me to have children. This did not make me angry or even annoyed. I was in whatever Heaven lies beyond the seventh one. I was gloriously happy. Still, we had to set the record straight.
“One thing,” I said, interrupting their impromptu planning for a nursery. “How is it you’re both pregnant? You both use birth control.”
They looked at each other, and it was somehow signaled Susan would speak.
“Honey, we’ve all been so happy together and, naturally, Marci and I talked about the future, and kids, and wondered if we should both get pregnant, and then we got so excited by the idea that, well... We stopped taking our birth control after our last period.”
The period was “singular” because they had coordinated their menstrual cycles to the minute. I had heard this happened with women living together but never believed it.
“And neither of you felt I should be in on the plan?”
“Ryan, we always agreed we wanted kids, but we didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“It’s true that I wanted to very much. I can’t deny it.”
“And now we will. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It is, but… Well, it’s done, isn’t it? You should probably now tell me how far along you both are. It might help with the planning.”
“Seven weeks,” said Susan.
I looked at Marci. She gave me a “what?” look.
“Well, how far along are you?”
“Susan told you. Seven weeks.”
“You’re both seven weeks? That’s seems a little odd.”
Susan laughed. “Not really.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when we decided we wanted to get pregnant, we planned everything out. Remember when we kind of slowed down, you know, in the bedroom?”
“There and everywhere else as I remember.”
“We wanted you to save yourself up until we were both ovulating. Then, we both had you come inside us like, a lot. You remember don’t you? We totally exhausted you.”
There had definitely been a change in pattern seven or eight weeks before. At first, and only for them, I thought the novelty of our arrangement had worn off. My usual signals went unacknowledged whereas before, the merest clue I was aroused meant a stampede. That lull was followed by an epic weekend of near non-stop love making but no oral sex in my direction. It had taken me a week to recover.
“So, you’ve been to the doctor. Is there a due date? Or should I say, are there due dates?”
“January 1!” They said this in unison and laughed.
“Jesus,” I said. Hearing an actual date slammed it home. In less than eight months I would become a daddy twice over and possibly all at once. Wouldn’t that be something.
“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed Susan’s tits. She’s already wearing my bras.”
“What do you mean? Oh, I see what you mean. Really?”
“Yeah, look at ‘em.” I looked at Susan’s chest. It did
