Each day she waited, knowing that it was killing him inside, but still he held his ground. It seemed that keeping the contents of that house out of her reach was more important than any desire she could ignite within him. She felt angry and hurt, but trusted her instincts and knew that somehow the answer would come. Then, one day she woke and realized that the nauseous feeling she was experiencing each morning meant that she had finally won. She laughed at the simplicity of her situation. Then she plotted how she would share the news: She was going to bring his child into the world.

She went to see him at the grocery store where they first met, coming up beside him, rubbing the underside of his elbows the way that he liked. Instinctively, he ground his back into her. She had clearly deprived him of a great many Tuesdays and enjoyed his sense of neediness. He went to the storeroom to get his things and together they walked to the Friendly’s across the street.

They sat in their usual booth, and while Therese ran her finger along a crack in the Formica, Tim studied the menu with grave intensity. “Maybe the fish and chips? What do you think?”

Therese sighed. She didn’t understand this ritual of his—why he had to insist on getting something different each and every time they came. It irritated her immeasurably, but she refused to allow it to taint the mood she was in. She could not wait to share her news and Tim’s culinary adventure was not going to deflate her enthusiasm. “I was thinking about your house.”

The menu rose a bit higher until all she saw were his eyebrows. She had encountered this response many times before and, in the past, nothing she would do or say made any impact. Today was different because today she was getting inside. For some reason, a picture of the father she had never met flashed before her. She blinked twice and forced the image to disappear. She swallowed quickly, trying hard to delight in the moment. “I just thought that maybe you could show it to me so that we could decide to stay or look for one of our own. You know, for when the baby comes?”

She couldn’t see his face. Instead, the menu loomed over her and all she could make out was a large smudge of brown sticky goop—the likely remains of a spilled Coke. Instantly her mouth filled with bile, but she swallowed it down, refusing to allow anything to ruin the euphoria of her victory.

Finally, the menu lowered.

She had won. She knew it before he said a word, by the way his shoulders sloped just a little bit lower. She knew it when he paid the bill, leaving behind cold fries and an uneaten plate of fried fish.