When I get down the stairs, I can hear Ethan singing to himself in the kitchen. I pass by the living room and discover he's taken the portrait down again. I’m obscenely grateful that he took it down again so I won’t have Dr. Hale staring at me. We just have to remember to put it back before we leave.

When I get to the kitchen, Ethan is wearing the Yankees shirt again and the too-long blue jeans. Now that I’m closer, I can make out what song he’s singing. “I’m Walking on Sunshine.” He always likes to sing in the shower or while he’s cooking—he actually has a nice singing voice—but he rarely belts it out quite like this. He is in a really good mood.

“Hey, Tricia.” He winks at me as he stirs something in the frying pan. “Sleep okay?”

I nod. “What are you making?”

“I found some eggs.”

As he says the words, the smell of eggs hits me. All at once, my stomach lurches. I try to suppress it, but I can’t. I race over to the kitchen sink and vomit up the residuals of the bologna sandwich I ate last night while Ethan looks on in horror. The vomiting seems to go on for several minutes, followed by another good minute of retching.

I guess this is what morning sickness is like.

“Jesus Christ.” He shuts off the stove. “Are you all right?”

“Uh-huh.” I run the faucet and scoop up a little water with my hand to rinse out my mouth. I hate vomiting. Not that anyone likes vomiting, but I find it particularly distasteful. “I’m fine.”

“Was it something you ate?”

“No. I just…”

“You just what?”

Ethan is staring at me now, his forehead bunched up. He’s really worried about me. I could lie and blame it on the bologna sandwich, but I have to tell him eventually. May as well get it over with.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Ethan.”

His eyes darken. “Okay…”

Tell him. Just tell him, you wuss. What’s he going to do—fly into a furious rage, murder you, and bury your body in the snow?

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.

His mouth falls open. The fork he had been holding clatters to the kitchen table. “You’re…”

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t intentional, obviously. It just happened, you know? One of those things.” I’m rambling now, but I can’t help it. “I was using my birth control and… Did you know antibiotics keep birth control from working? I didn’t know that. And anyway, so, I just found out. Well, about a week ago. And I know we said we were going to wait two years, but…”

“Hang on.” He holds up a hand. “This is for sure? You’re definitely pregnant?”

I hang my head. “Yes. I… I’m sorry.”