Page 13 of Not Looking
“Morning sickness… and scent sensitivity.”
“Oh…” Then I remembered something. “Wait. I thought you got the snip. How’s she pregnant again?”
“The doctor said the term is recanalization.”
“You already talked to the doctor?”
She snorted. “Damn straight. I know my Yazzy would never cheat, and even suggesting it as a possibility would have me at the wrong end of a chancla. So I got myself checked out as soon as we got home from Mexico.”
“You found out while visiting her family?”
She nodded. “Her tías had come over to visit, so her mama put on a pot of café de olla. As soon as the coffee started to smell good…”
“A coffee addict mated a woman who has scent sensitivity to coffee when pregnant,” I chuckled.
She sighed and nodded. “At least I got one cup before her mama put it up. But since then, it’s drive-throughs or instant.”
“I thought you swore you’d never have another cup of instant coffee after her last pregnancy.”
She laughed. “That was when we assumed itwouldbe the last. I’d be a real asshole to subject my mate to her one major scent trigger.”
“So are you both excited… or…?”
She shrugged. “A bit excited, a bit stressed. We can afford it and have the room. But her pregnancies were so hard on her. We both wanted more, but I couldn’t put her through that again. That’s why I got snipped in the first place.”
“You’re keeping it, though?”
She nodded. “I didn’t even need to ask. She said she wanted to keep it, even knowing how hard it’ll be. And that was the end of that discussion. It’s her body, and I trust her to make the best decision for herself.”
“Do the kids know?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Mostly because we wanted to have these chats with family first. My vasectomy wasn’t exactly a secret, and we don’t want the kids saying things out of excitement that could get people assuming things.”
I smiled and nodded. “Makes sense. Do Mom and Papa know?”
She nodded. “We went over for dinner a few nights ago. Papa asked us to let him know as soon as we know the gender so he can start a quilt.”
I laughed. “As if he won’t already have half a dozen patterns picked out for either. He loves planning his quilts as much as he does making them.”
“Don’t forget buying fabric for them,” Jessie retorted. “That’s a hobby all its own.”
“How big a stash did you bring him from Mexico?”
She grinned. “Enough for Mom to complain she’ll have to get him new shelves soon.”
“As if she isn’t looking for an excuse to build them anyway.”
Jessie laughed. “We all know where you got your love of woodworking from.”
She paused, “That reminds me…”
“Hmm?”
The side door banged open as Michelle and Marco barged back in, carrying a basket with a handful of eggs—including two fake green ones. Russy followed behind, then veered to his bed.
“Any broodies?” I asked as they set the basket on the counter.
“No,” Michelle started, then a string in which the only words I understood were blanco and gallina.
