First You Tell Him You're Pregnant
By Patsy Covington

Okay, first you tell him you’re pregnant. No, wait. You have to get him to come over first. There’s a baseball game on television. The Kansas City Royals play the Cleveland Indians. He’s a Royals fan. That’ll work. Tell him to bring beer because you’re out. Then he comes in and you kiss him but nothing big. Just a peck on the cheek. No traps. No guilt. No blame. He leans to let you kiss him quickly on the lips. Then he puts the beer in the refrigerator. He opens one and asks if you want one. You’re nervous so you wave your hand to indicate no. You’re finding it hard to talk. Your throat closes up. Your eyes… but you blink hard and go wash your face again. When you come back he’s watching a commercial. The game isn’t on yet. Now you have to do it. Now — before the game comes on. So you do. You tell him you’re pregnant. Only you don’t say it exactly like that. Pregnant is a hard word. It sticks in your throat. You say, “Mike,” and he glances at you. The game is coming on. So you hurry. You say, “I’m gonna have a baby.” It doesn’t come out. The last three words don’t come out at all. He pauses a minute for you to finish. Your throat is totally closed. The muscles in your neck hurt. You put your fingers over your lips to stop the trembling. He says, “What?” Not in a mean way. He just wants to know what you have to say because the game’s coming on. “A baby…,” you whisper. He takes a drink of beer. Wipes his mouth. Reaches for the remote. Stops. Pushes his body forward on the sofa. Picks up the remote. He turns the television off. Turns his head toward you — but not his body. Cool air blows in through the window. His eyes quickly check your still-flat stomach. “You’re pregnant?” His eyes… Arctic air rolls past the sofa. “Yes.” Your voice sounds weird. He stands up. “Man.” He pauses. “What’re you gonna do?” An icicle drips onto your arm from the ceiling.