“Well, my antenatal group is having a final get-together barbeque before we start birthing babies, but I can’t decide if I’ll go.”

“Why?”

Ignoring his question, I hold up a mug. “Tea or coffee?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

I smile wryly. “I’m having raspberry leaf tea because it’s supposedly meant to help induce labour.”

Scott’s eyes widen in horror. “Might pass on that one. I’ll have an ordinary tea, thanks.”

I busy myself with making the tea.

“So, you didn’t say why you’re on the fence about the barbeque,” Scott states.

“They’re nice people, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to surround me and ask a million questions.”

“About what?”

I fill Scott in on the disturbing news that I’ve taken three different people to antenatal class already. He laughs till he cries, which I guess is fair enough.

“You’re going to be mobbed, Trish,” he says, wiping his tears. “Their imaginations will be running wild.”

“How so?”

Scott shrugs. “They might think you’re part of some weird cult. Or maybe you’re taking co-parenting to the extreme – two gay dads and two gay mums.”

His smile is contagious.

“That’s hardly encouraging me to go.” I indicate towards the back door. “Should we sit outside?”

“Absolutely.”

We retire to the porch and I do my best to sit up straight and not look like I’m uncomfortably eight and a half months pregnant.

“Did you go to your dad’s funeral?” Scott asks.

I nod and fix my gaze on the rosemary. I swear I only trimmed it a couple of weeks ago, but it’s getting scraggly again.

“How was it?”

“Fine.”

I’m on edge, concerned Scott’s going to probe further, but he falls silent. It’s not an accusing silence, or a threatening one. It’s calming. I take a couple of deep breaths, sip my unpleasant-tasting raspberry leaf tea and study him out of the corner of my eye. He’s cupping his mug in both hands and has his legs stretched out in front, crossed at the ankles. His faded denim shorts have a small rip on the thigh and a couple of dark leg hairs are poking through. I have a sudden desire to place my hand over that hole and rest it there. When I tear my eyes and thoughts away from his shorts and risk a quick glance at his face, Scott’s looking at me. For a moment the silence continues, our eyes locked together.

“It’s beautiful,” Scott whispers.

“What is?”

“This moment.”

Blinking, I look away.

Scott clears his throat. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask, Trish. Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

How does he manage to remain so relaxed? My heart is thumping so hard, I’m sure Scott must hear it.

“No. It’s a surprise.”

“What do you think you’re having?”