Tracy said. “I haven’t recovered from the wedding yet.” “It’s not definite,” Marisa replied, pouring coffee into Tracy’s cup. “I haven’t seen a doctor.” They were sitting in Marisa’s kitchen on a Saturday morning in late March, with the first spring thaw melting the icicles on the roofline outside the window. “Didn’t you take one of those home tests?” “Yes, but they’re not always accurate.” “Come on. Was it positive?” Marisa grinned. “You didn’t have to say it,” Tracy said, smiling conspiratorially. “You’ve got the glow.” “I’ve got the nausea, I can tell you that. I can’t contemplate food until about three in the afternoon.” “You must be so excited.” “I think I’m just in a daze. If anyone had told me when I left Florida that three months later I would be married to Jack, and pregnant, I would have laughed. Derisively.” “Have you told Jack?” Marisa shook her head. “I just found out this morning, and I didn’t want to tell him over the phone.”
