“Oh, no.” She snatches it off my desk and holds it up, admiring the two blue lines. “I want to save it. You know, as a keepsake.”

She wants to save it? She wants a keepsake from a pregnancy she’s going through just to get a ticket to art school? Is it just me or is that odd?

If anyone should want to save the pregnancy test, it should be me. And I don’t want it. I mean, it’s got urine on it. But I don’t want to make a big thing of it. So I don’t say a word as Monica carefully tucks the pregnancy test back in her purse.

Chapter 11

Today, Sam and I have been married for eight years.

We’re going out tonight to celebrate, to a nice Spanish restaurant in midtown that serves really good paella. Most nights we stay in and cook or else get takeout, because I’m always so busy, but we always go out on our anniversary.

Sam finds parking a few blocks away from the restaurant, which is something of a miracle. The major bonus of his refusal to lease a spot in a parking garage is he has become amazing at parallel parking. I’m certain he’ll never squeeze the Highlander into that tiny little spot, but he insists he can do it. As he attempts to maneuver his car into the space, a small crowd of pedestrians gathers to watch.

“You’ll never make it, buddy!” one guy yells out.

“Watch me!” Sam yells back.

When he makes it into the spot (as if there was any doubt), he’s met with a smattering of applause. I’m still not sure how he did it. There’s no more than a couple of inches of give on either end of the vehicle. Sam always says the eternal goal is to have zero space on either end of the car.

As we walk the short distance to the Spanish restaurant, Sam reaches for my hand. He always holds my hand when we walk—he did it when we were dating, and he does it now, after eight years of marriage. It’s sweet.

“I’m glad we’re married,” he says as he squeezes my hand.

I laugh. “Good to know.”

He’s not just saying it because it’s our anniversary—it’s obvious Sam is truly glad to be married. The first couple of years we were together, before the fertility stuff went off the rails, he would say it constantly. I’m really glad we’re married. Or, I’m so glad I have a wife! Or sometimes, Thank God we’re finally married. I don’t think he liked dating very much. He said it was exhausting.