Page 77 of Slapshot Baby

"It's complicated."

"I understand. But confirming his blood type would help us plan. And practically, this is easier to navigate with support."

"I know."

"We're catching it early. That's our advantage. I want to be honest with you, though. This isn't something you should carry alone if you don't have to."

I nod. She squeezes my shoulder and leaves.

The ultrasound image stays frozen on the screen. That blurry little ghost with a heartbeat my own blood is gearing up to fight.

I've spent my entire adult life being capable. Handling things. Solving problems with competence and the occasional well-timed joke.

I can't joke my way out of this one.

My baby needs something I can't provide alone.

And the one person who can help doesn't even know the baby exists because I'm too scared to tell him.

***

In the underground parking garage, I sit in the driver's seat with the engine off.

The ultrasound printout is in my purse. I pull it out once, stare at it, and shove it back.

Biscuit is at home, probably eating something she shouldn't. The thought of her dumb, trusting face makes my eyes burn.

I drive home on autopilot.

Biscuit greets me at the door with her whole body wagging, her tail spinning in circles, one ear perked up and the other flopped over, blissfully unaware that anything in the world exists besides me.

I pat her on the back. “Hey, little girl.”

She barks, jumping up and down.

She’s not as complicated as this pregnancy. She just needs me to sit down so she can climb into my lap.

I sit on the kitchen floor and let her.

She licks my chin, my ear, goes for my mouth. I bury my face in her fur and breathe in her warm scent.

"I have to tell him, Biscuit."

She sneezes on my arm.

"Thank you. Very insightful. You'd tell him, wouldn't you? You'd tell the whole street. You have no discretion whatsoever and it's my favorite thing about you."

She thumps her tail against the cabinet like we've reached an agreement.

I pull my phone out. Kai's name sits on the screen.

With one tap and two sentences, I can end the weeks of secrecy right now.

I'm pregnant. It's yours.

That's all it takes.

My thumb hovers over the call button. The coward in me and the fighter in me have a brief, violent argument. The fighter wins by a hair.