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When she was 15, the first sign had been the smell of coffee turning her stomach.
She’d walked into the kitchen, ready to help herself to coffee and a pastry before school, when the smell of it hit her. Her stomach had rolled in a way it never had before, the room around her had spun for a few seconds, and she slapped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to push back the rising nausea. She was interrupted by her parents ’ housekeeper, a kind woman called Isabelle, who had taken a liking to Emily, and it was enough to distract her, enough to let her swallow the bile back down before she smiled and carried on a conversation with Isabelle like she did every morning.
She didn’t think about it again until the next morning. Had forgotten the wave of nausea and had willfully ignored her exhaustion and the constant taste of metal in her mouth. It was only when her period didn’t show up, something that had been regular since she’d started at 13, that it clicked.
It’s why, as soon as she and Aaron started trying for a baby, she impatiently waits for her stomach to turn at the smallest of things. She’s willing the coffee Aaron makes every morning to make her feel nauseous. She overanalyses whenever she’s tired, trying to work out if she’s more tired than usual, or if it’s just been a long day. She wants it so much, wants to carry on building the family that she, Aaron and Jack had laid the foundations for, that she’s disappointed when it doesn’t happen. The disappointment only gets worse whenever her period arrives, a final nail in the coffin of the hope that was getting harder to find each month that passed her by.
She huffs as she sits on the couch, reaching for the TV remote so she can flick through the channels until Aaron finishes cleaning up after dinner. She’d tried to help at first, as she always did, but when she felt herself on the edge of tears, her eyes stinging and shining when the sight of the remnants of their dinner on the soaking dishes didn’t make her feel sick, he’d sent her to the living room with a soft smile and a kiss on her forehead.
She’d been emotional lately, quicker to anger or sadness than usual, and she put it down to her disappointment that she wasn’t pregnant yet. Something that had seemed so easy, too easy, when she was young and couldn’t want it, but that felt close to impossible now she was married and ready. A cruel trick from the universe that she was trying to tell herself wasn’t a punishment from a God she’d stopped believing in years ago.
She finds her favourite reality TV channel, grumbling under her breath when a commercial break starts the second she dumps the remote next to her on the couch. She wished Jack were here instead of away with Jess and Roy so she could use him as an excuse to watch an animated movie she’d watched countless times. She’s about to grab her phone to keep her mind occupied for the next few minutes when she’s drawn in to the TV, focused on the simple music of the wordless commercial as it tells a story about a little girl and her father through origami birds made out of gum wrappers. She watches as the girl grows older, guided through the trials of growing up and heartbreak by her dad and the tiny origami birds made of foil. Emily couldn’t explain the familiar press of tears at the back of her eyes, nor the burn in her throat as she tries to swallow down emotion that feels nothing short of absurd. Any attempt to stop crying is lost when the father on the screen drops a box as he’s packing the car to take his daughter to college, countless origami birds scattered across the floor, a lifetime of love folded into tiny bits of foil important enough for her to take with her.
Emily is so invested in what she’s watching, so drawn in by the storytelling, that she doesn’t realise Aaron is standing behind her until he clears his throat. She turns to look at him just as tears splash down onto her cheeks, her attempts to wipe them away thwarted as more follow suit.
Aaron, to his credit, really tries to hide his smile as he walks over to her, “Sweetheart, are you crying…at a gum commercial?”
“No,” she says, an automatic response that sounds like a lie even to her. She shakes her head at herself and wipes away another tear, growling in frustration when she feels her throat tighten when she simply thinks of the commercial she’d just watched. “Yes,” she admits, groaning as she places her head in her hands, “I’m a mess.”
He sits next to her and puts his arm around her shoulders, stamping a kiss against the top of her head as she leans against his side, “You’re not a mess.”
She scoffs and pulls back to look at him, “I cried this morning because Jack made me coffee. I cried 10 minutes ago because the soaking dishes didn’t make me feel like crap, and now I’m crying because of a fucking Extra Spearmint Gum commercial,” she says, shaking her head at herself, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was…”
She trails off, her mouth going dry as she gasps, her eyes meeting Aaron’s as the penny drops for both of them.
“Do you think…” he says, trailing off himself, his excitement lodged in his throat as he doesn’t dare to say the word, suddenly superstitious as if simply saying it would stop it from being true. She swallows thickly, and her chest shudders as she tries to breathe, the flowers of hope she thought had died in the longest winter starting to bloom in her chest.
“I don’t know,” she says, her heart hammering so loudly she wonders if he can hear it, if his is beating in time with hers, “Last time…in Rome I felt so sick, and I was tired, and I’ve felt fine.”
“Apart from the crying at gum commercials,” he quips playfully, and she narrows her eyes at him, unable to fight the smile that spreads across her face as her eyes meet, “Do you still have some tests?”
“Yeah,” She nods, thinking of the box of them at the back of the cabinet in their bathroom. She’d stopped preemptively testing months ago, unsure she could take looking at a negative test again, and she’d hidden them behind her boxes of tampons. “I do.”
“Do you want to take one?” He asks, and she shrugs, unsure if she does want to know, but aware that not knowing would be unbearable.
“Yes.”
When she doesn’t move, he squeezes her hand, his thumb running back and forth over the pulse point in her wrist, “Do you want to take one now?”
She nods, and he stands up, his hand still wrapped around hers as he helps her up, “If I’m not-”
“Then I’ll get you a large glass of your favourite wine and run you a very hot bath,” he says, his arm around her shoulders as they walk upstairs, “And if you are-”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” she says, cutting off what she’s sure will be a nice sentiment, all too aware it will only add to the disappointment if the test is positive. When they make it to their bedroom, he hugs her just outside the ensuite door. She hugs him back just as fiercely, taking a moment to breathe him in, “I love you.”
He pulls back to look at her, “I love you too. No matter what.”
It’s a reassurance she appreciates, something she hadn’t realised she needed to hear, and she kisses his jaw before she steps back, “I’ll let you know when you can come in.”
She digs out the box of pregnancy tests and reads the instructions even though she has them memorised. She follows them to the letter, clicking the plastic cap back on the end of it when she’s taken it. She slips it onto the bathroom counter before she finishes up on the toilet, giving herself another second to herself before she flushes, knowing it would be a signal to Aaron that he could come in. She washes her hands and then opens the bathroom door, unsurprised to find him standing just on the other side of it, his phone in his hand and the timer visible on the screen.
“I started it when I heard the flush,” he says, and she smiles at him, stepping back so he can join her in the bathroom. She stands with her back to the counter, the pregnancy test face down behind her, and she crosses her arms over her chest. They stand in silence, somehow both comfortable and stifling, every possibility stretching out in front of them as they wait for the few minutes on Aaron’s phone to count down. He catches it before it goes off, not wanting the silence to be broken by the alarm. When she doesn’t move, he doesn’t either, makes a point of following her lead, “Do you want to look, or do you want me to do it?”
“I’ll do it,” she says, blowing out a shaky breath before she turns, her eyes fixed on the back of the test for a moment before she picks it up, emboldened by a flash of bravery that has her turning it over before she can talk herself out of it. She stares at the result, at the two lines staring back up at her, and it takes a second to register. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth the moment it does, “Oh my God.”
Aaron turns to look too, his breath catching in his chest at the sight of the result, “Em…”
She looks up at him, tears already shining in her eyes, her chin trembling, and her chest so tight she thinks it might crack open, “I’m pregnant.”
He kisses her, trembling lips against trembling lips, and he pulls her into a hug, the positive test still clasped in her hand, her arm trapped between them, “We’re having a baby.”
She chokes on a sob, “We’re having a baby,” she says, sniffing as she pulls back to look at him. She wipes a tear from his cheek, and her smile shakes, “You can never tell anyone that we found out because I cried at a gum commercial.
He chuckles, his promise pressed against her lips as he kisses her, “Your secret is safe with me.”
Her nausea kicks in three days later, fierce and overwhelming in an instant. She figures out quickly that mint makes her feel better enough to function, and when she tells Aaron, he buys her the gum from the commercial that started it all.