I was holding Some Boy in my lap when my grandma abruptly changed the subject of conversation. “So, are you still pregnant?”
I blinked in confusion, caught off guard, and couldn’t come up with anything to say other than, “No.” A slow shake of my head.
“Oh,” she sighed, disappointed. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, Grandma. What I mean is, I haven’t been pregnant since Some Boy. Did you think I was?”
Now it was her turn for confusion. Her aqua blue eyes squinted and she bit the corner of her lip contemplatively. She was trying to recall a recent conversation. “You were two weeks pregnant. You told me just recently. I was so excited I even told my friends.”
My sister and grandpa stopped their side conversation and the room hushed as I grasped at words to explain.
“No, Grandma. I’m sorry. We’re trying to have another one but it just hasn’t happened yet.”
Color rose to her cheeks as she thought through what I was saying. But she was convinced and it took a few minutes to explain to her that she must have had a vivid dream or something. I was suddenly very aware of the age gap between us. 47 years. She was nearing 75 and she always seemed sharp as a tack with a natural wit. This is my grandma who has a single glass of wine and starts making sex jokes. Grandma who religiously hit the tennis court every single day until her lungs started giving out a couple years ago. Grandma who still, to this day, could take anyone in a round of cards and would call people a “wussie” if they whined about it. Perhaps, it sadly dawned on me, my grandma was starting to get old.
Colby and I awkwardly said goodbye and went on with our road trip up to Monterey Bay. I didn’t give much thought to it over the weekend, other than to call my mom and ask if she might have, for whatever reason, given Grandma the impression that I was pregnant. Nope. She must have imagined it.
Then I started feeling sick. Nauseous, tired. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
Nate smirked, raising his eyebrows in that teasing way he does. “When did you last take a pregnancy test? Maybe your grandma’s right.” We laughed and I grabbed a purple box from the medicine cabinet. We’d been trying since Some Boy was born and had gotten our hopes up a couple of times, but we’d all but given up a month ago. The desire to have our kids close together (and our seeming inability to get pregnant again after it was so easy the first time) was stressing me out, along with a loaded work schedule, a new home to adjust to, and a teething baby. I was no longer tracking my ovulation, and we’d been so busy we’d all but stopped even making the effort. The odds weren’t good, but I figured it certainly couldn’t hurt to just go pee on a stick. I had a stockpile of them, after all.
The line was so faint, I thought it was a fluke. I tore through another box, and another.
The first person I called was my grandma. “You were right! I started feeling sick and, from what I estimate, I’m about five weeks pregnant now. I had no idea.”
“Yes,” she said. “Five weeks. That sounds about right to me.”