“Another chance, how?”

“To be a good father. To the next one. Where’s the nest? I don’t think you got the one with the nest in it.”

“What next one?”

“The one in here,” I say, tapping my stomach. I spot the box marked “Nest/Baby Chicks/Baskets,” and point to it. George leans back against the big blue bunny and it almost tips over. He catches it. “You’re not pregnant?”

“I am.”

“Janelle, I thought we talked about this.”

“We did talk about it. Can you pull my car out into the driveway so I can spread all my things in here?”

“I told you I didn’t want any more kids. I’ve had enough of kids. I’ve already raised two, and they’re finally grown and paid for. I’m fifty-one years old. I don’t need to start over. I’m too damn old to start over.”

“No you’re not.” I hand him the keys from the hook on the wall next to the door leading to the kitchen.

“I thought you were using protection,” he says as he presses the garage-door opener and opens the door of my Volvo.

“Protection from what, George? I can hardly believe it even found its way up there, considering.”

He starts the engine, then sticks his head out the window. “Are you complaining?”

“No.”

“Well, something managed to find its way,” he says, and backs the car out into the driveway.

Cars dart by. I just watch. There’s far too much traffic on this street. One day I’d like to find a quieter one to live on. A cul-de-sac, even. When he gets out of the car, he comes back in and pushes the garage-door button. As it lowers, I blurt out: “I’m having it.” The tarp is always in the same place. I spread it out in the spot where my car was and, one by one, place every single item on top of it.

“Look, don’t sound so defensive, Janelle. I’m not saying I don’t want it. It’s not like something you pick up for me at the store.”

“I’m thirty-five years old, George. My days are so very numbered. Besides, Shanice has always wanted a brother or sister, and now she can get her wish. Look at Hugh Hefner.”

“I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Well . . .”

“How far gone are you?”

“Seven weeks.” There’s the pink egg. Thank the Lord. Now. Tomorrow, right after my exams, I can put them all out in the front yard. It’ll be lovely.

“Anything could happen,” George says.

“What do you mean: anything?”

“There’s still time to change our minds.”

“I’m not changing my mind,” I say, and walk past him toward the kitchen door.

“Sometimes you remind me of my ex-wife, you know that?”

“Don’t you dare compare me to her,” I say. “I’ve been compared enough in my life.”

“I’m not comparing per se, but she loved to push me into a corner to get what she wanted, too. This feels pretty damn familiar.”

“Look, I’ve got studying to do.”