God...she was pregnant. Maggie blinked, momentarily shuttering Nash’s very unhappy face. She knew he had every right to be angry, but wrapping her head around this was taking some time. And despite it all, her insides were singing.
Yes, singing. A baby. A baby. A baby.
‘Where are you going?’ Nash growled as Maggie pushed past him, scurrying into the house.
‘I’m taking the other test.’
Nash stared after her. What the hell? Following her, he found her pawing through her handbag in the kitchen. ‘The other test?’
‘They didn’t have any single test kits,’ she said, locating the other pink box and heading for the toilet.
‘There’s no point,’ he said, following her. ‘it’ll be the same.’
Maggie turned around. ‘It’s wrong. It has to be.’
She was trying not to get excited. Trying not to get carried away. How many tests had she done in the past convinced she was pregnant? How many times had her hopes been raised, only to be dashed so wretchedly?
Nash sighed, resignation already taking a firm foothold in the mountain of his blind panic. ‘It’s not. You don’t get false positives. Only false negatives.’
If he’d had any idea how much Maggie wanted to cling to that, he would have kept his mouth firmly shut. But she’d been down this road one too many times. She was forty, for crying out loud.
And infertile.
‘It’s wrong,’ she insisted, before closing the door in his face.
Because if he was right, if the test was right, it would be just too surreal.
Nash paced outside, his brain churning, thoughts tossing around like garments in a tumble-dryer. He checked his watch. A minute later he checked it again. What the hell was taking her so long?
‘Maggie.’ He banged on the door. ‘What on earth are you doing in there?’ he growled.
How long did it take to wee on a stick?
Maggie startled. The flow she was trying to coax instantly disappeared. She couldn’t believe her bladder was choosing this moment for an attack of performance anxiety. She could see the shadow of Nash’s pacing footsteps in the polished floorboards under the crack of the door which was putting her urinary tract under a lot more pressure.
‘Give me a break,’ she said crankily. ‘I only did this twenty minutes ago. It’s not a bottomless cup.’
‘Do you want me to turn a tap on?’
Maggie glared at the door. ‘I want you to go away.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Great! Maggie shut her eyes and concentrated. Hard. On waterfalls and pouring rain and dripping taps. And warm, yellowish fluid of another origin. Surrounding her baby. Nourishing it. Cocooning it. Protecting it. Rocking it to sleep.
She smiled at the thought and finally found the release she was after.
This time she looked straight away, preparing to count to one hundred and twenty Mississippi’s before she saw a change in the test window. But it was there already.
Another pink plus sign.
Maggie stood for a few seconds, just staring at it, until another bang on the door interrupted the sheer incredulity she was feeling.
‘Damn it, Maggie.’
Opening the door, she found Nash looking equal parts harried and annoyed. And when he quirked his eyebrow at her she said, ‘I’m pregnant,’ and promptly burst into tears.
***
Nash stood, temporarily paralysed, as Maggie’s face crumpled and great heaving sobs screwed her face into a mask of utter grief.
Oh, God. Not tears. How could he be angry with her when she was so heartbroken?
Still, he was surprised at her reaction. For a woman who’d spent a good part of an entire decade and a lot of hard-earned money trying to get pregnant, he’d thought she’d be ecstatic.
Maybe this news was as appalling to her as it was him? Maybe she’d got past the urge to procreate? The thought was comforting and he took her in his arms and held her while she sobbed into his chest.
‘Shh,’ he crooned, stroking her hair. ‘It’s okay.’
Maggie clung to his shirt while the news swirled around her in a whirlpool of emotions. Excitement. Incredulity. Amazement. Disbelief.
But mostly joy.
She was delirious with joy. After years of yearning, years of desperate maternal cravings, she was finally going to be a mother.
‘This doesn’t have to be the end of the world,’ Nash murmured against her forehead. ‘We have options. It all might be a bit of a mess right now but we’ll figure it out.’
A bit of a mess? Maggie pulled away from his chest and stared at him. What on earth was he talking about?
Everything was perfect.
‘Are you kidding?’ She sniffled, wiping the heels of her hands across her cheekbones. ‘This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.’
Nash frowned. Her face was blotchy, her nose was red but she was suddenly smiling at him like a crazy person. ‘So... those were tears of happiness?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Supreme happiness.’
‘Right,’ he said, hoping he didn’t look as confused as he felt. Or as panicked.
‘I need another cup of tea. Do you want one?’ Maggie brushed past him, her mind on nursery colours and baby names.
Cup of tea? Nash watched her disappearing back. A slug of whiskey would be better.
Much better.
He took a few moments to let the enormity of it all sink in. A father. He was going to be a dad. A memory of his father’s face at his sister’s funeral rose through the jumble of his thoughts, the misery and desolation etched deeply into the grooves of his forehead, grooves that had never gone away.
Nash drew in a ragged breath, fighting against the tonne of bricks sitting on his chest to find Maggie humming —humming, for God’s sake — when he joined her in the kitchen.
Handing him his mug Maggie headed for the deck, placing her cup on the wooden tabletop where she’d been sitting earlier. But she didn’t sit.
She couldn’t.
She felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, excitement and nervous energy making sitting still an impossibility. She hugged herself as she stared at her small back yard, picturing a fort in one corner — with a ladder and a slippery dip. And a set of swings in the other.
Nash watched her, staring aimlessly. Where the hell did they go from here? ‘So?’
His voice intruded in on Maggie’s little fantasy and she turned to face him. For the first time she noticed his pallor. He usually looked so tanned, it was odd seeing the colour leached from his handsome face. And everything about him betrayed his tense watchfulness, from the tightness around his mouth to the erectness of his stance.
He always looked so loose, so relaxed, like he was about to break out into the broadest grin.
But not right now.
Right now he looked like any number of parents she’d been involved with who’d just been given bad news. He looked like he’d had the stuffing knocked out of him.
‘Oh, Nash, I’m sorry. I know you never wanted this.’
Nash nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. Maggie had at least acknowledged that this news affected both of them. Pulling out a chair, he sat down and she followed suit. ‘What do you want to do now?’
Maggie spread her hands. ‘I honestly haven’t thought about it.’ She looked into his face and saw worry etching lines into his forehead and around his eyes. ‘But look,’ she assured him, placing her palms flat on the table, ‘you don’t have to worry. I don’t want anything from you. I understand. It’s okay. I’m going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.’