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It had become tradition to go on a trip together every time they found out Jenny was pregnant. It was an accidental tradition - they found out she was pregnant with their first child while on an anniversary trip to Paris, when Jenny had sprained her ankle in an ice skating accident. Their second child took them to Rome, their third - this one - brought them to Boston. She wasn’t showing yet, forever insisting to Ian that they travel while she could still sit comfortably in airline seats.
Early pregnancy was typically easy for Jenny, and there was no sign that it would be different this time around. Her first trimester was always smooth sailing, the only inconvenience being a food she had to give up. With Young Jamie, it was marinara. With Maggie, fruit jelly or marmalade. This pregnancy’s choice hadn’t made itself known yet.
Her doctors called her a champ while her sister-in-law, Claire, looked on with suspicious envy, her pregnancy having rendered her completely uncomfortable the whole nine months. The two Murray children were back home at Lallybroch, where their Auntie Claire and Nunkie Jamie housesat.
“Maybe it wasna a good thing to come to Boston so near to winter,” Jenny said, tucking her chin into her scarf and her mittened hands into her pockets as they made their way through the Boston Commons.
They hadn’t realized how ugly Boston would be in late November, with the trees skeletal and bare, the skies grey. The leaves were brown and shriveled, scattered on pale, dry grass. Christmas lights had been strung throughout the tree branches, the cords of unlit lights emphasizing the dead look of the trees. Despite the cold and ugly surroundings, they were happy to be away, to have some time to themselves before an infant upended their routine - again.
“Och, it’s no colder here than at home, Jen,” Ian replied, walking alongside her. He shook out his shoulders, indicating that if she moved faster she’d warm up. “Forecast said it’s nearly 40 degrees today. Apparently that means ‘cold.’”
“Americans and their Fahrenheit; it’s all nonsense. Translate to what makes sense, please?” He had watched the morning news in the hotel room while she showered, likely picking up the forecast there.
He laughed. “5 degrees, about. Yer nose is all red, ye look like Rudolph.”
“Very funny,” Jenny said flatly, and shivered.
Ian draped his arm around her, pulling her into his warmth, his eyes scanning the city block near them for a place to warm up. “How about some hot tea, mo nighean?”
She nodded, and he steered her towards the crosswalk to leave the Commons. The coffee shop was small and crowded, and they had to wait in a cramped line. Jenny looked for a place to sit and wait for Ian to place their order but no spot was free. Instead, she leaned into Ian’s shoulder, glancing over the menu.
“Coffee, please,” she mumbled to Ian, taking her hands out of her pocket and flexing her gloves. “Er, Americano, I guess is how ye’ll have to order it,” she amended, remembering the terrible drip coffee she’d smelled - and then avoided - at breakfast.
Ian gave her a sidelong glance, silently challenging her choice of caffeine.
“Oh, shut up and order it,” she scoffed, poking him in the chest. “One willna hurt the baby.”
“I didna say a word,” he responded, his mouth turned up at the corner. “A table opened up, will ye grab it?”
She made her way through the crowd, sliding onto the free bench Ian had indicated and waited for their order. It was cozy in the coffee shop, and she unbundled her scarf and set it beside her, glancing around. American Thanksgiving was coming up, and everything in the shop seemed to be decked with decorative pumpkins, squash, and synthetic autumn leaves in colors much prettier than what was outside.
Ian made his way to her, holding aloft two paper cups. “Here ye are, your Americano,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. She grasped the cup with both hands, the warmth of it seeping into her chilled joints, and she relaxed into her seat with a blissful sigh.
“It’s nice to be out without children constantly underfoot, isn’t it?” she asked him, but before he could answer she caught a whiff of something sweet from his paper cup. “What did ye order?”
“A latte.”
“Mmphm. Lattes dinna smell like that.”
“Oh no? Would ye like to try it?”
She cautiously reached for his drink and peered into the hole in the lip of the lid. She saw a trail of cinnamon decorated the foam.”What is it?” she asked again, bringing it up under her nose for a closer sniff.
“Pumpkin spice latte.”
Jenny lifted the cup to her mouth for a taste. The moment the sweetness hit her tongue, she nearly choked, and she forced herself to swallow to keep from spitting it out over the table. “Oh my God,” she wheezed, coughing. Her stomach lurched and she thrust the latte back into Ian’s hands.
Ian laughed hard, and loudly, embarrassing Jenny. “Baby doesna like pumpkin, I suppose.”