“You know that I just found Karrie putting cream on her legs,” I tell her, and my wife laughs. “She doesn’t want to have mermaid legs.”

“That is your mother’s fault,” she tells me and slides into bed next to me. “I’m exhausted,” she says, and I look over at her. Being outside, she has a gorgeous tan, and the little freckles on her nose are coming out. “Who would have thought that I would be going to bed at seven thirty, and I am not even sorry about it.”

“Didn’t you nap today, too?” I point out, and she looks at me. “For two hours.”

“What day is it?” she asks, sitting up in bed. Looking over at me, she then grabs her phone, going on something, and then chants, “No, no, no, nononononono.” Getting out of bed, she squeezes her nipples. “They hurt,” she says to me, and I look at her so confused when she runs to the bathroom and then comes back a minute later.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask her as she paces the floor in front of me.

“I’m late,” she says.

“For what?’ I ask her. “Pretty sure you had nothing to do today since it’s Sunday.”

“I don’t mean that, Markos. I mean, I’m late,” she says, pointing at her vagina, and now I get it.

“How late are we talking?” I ask her, and she just continues pacing in front of me.

“About three weeks,” she says. “I mean, with the kids not in daycare anymore, and with your parents here, I don’t know it slipped my mind.” She stops and looks at me. “How many times did we have sex?”

“Since when?” I ask her, getting up now. “This week? Ten, maybe eleven times. But you’re on the pill,” I tell her. “I mean, you take the pill every single night.”

“I do,” she tells me and then looks down. “I mean, I do except for the time I forgot.” She looks at me. “Hey, I was drunk, and you were all handsy, and I was all up in there.” She points at my cock, and I cover myself now. “I forgot one time. Maybe two.”

“It only takes one time,” I tell her, and then she puts her hands on her hips.

“Wow, who is teaching sex education now,” she hisses, and the phone rings from the bathroom. “Well, I guess we get to see if you put a bun in the oven.” She walks over, and I grab her hand to stop her and see the tears well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t cry,” I tell her and grab her in my arms.

“I know that you weren’t expecting this, and neither was I, but it’s our baby.”