Page 14 of The Firefighter’s Forever

“To brood?”

“To work.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I ignore him.

The small office off the hall is empty. I shut the door, sit behind the desk, and pull out my phone. For a second, I just stare at the search bar, hating how useless I feel.

Then I type: what to do when someone is pregnant.

The results are somehow worse than knowing nothing.

Prenatal vitamins. OB-GYN appointments. Due date calculators. Nutrition. Blood tests. Ultrasounds. Foods to avoid. Things to watch for. Things that are normal. Things that are emergencies. Within five minutes my head is spinning.

I set the phone facedown on the desk and scrub a hand over my face. I need answers from someone who actually knows what they’re talking about. Someone who’s been through this. Someone who knows what actually matters and what the internet makes sound terrifying because the internet is a damn nightmare.

Then I think of Hudson.

Three kids. One more on the way. The man has spent half his adult life either expecting a baby, holding a baby, or assembling something for a baby.

He’s in the bunk room when I find him, sitting on the edge of the lower bunk and lacing his boots. The room is empty aside from him, quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning.

He looks up when I stop in the doorway. “What’s up, Cap?”

“You got a minute?” I ask. “I need to ask you a couple things.”

6

HARMONY

The day after I tell Lucas about the pregnancy, he comes by with a paper grocery bag tucked under one arm and a look on his face that tells me he’s trying to make it seem casual. Inside are saltines, ginger chews, peppermint tea, a sleeve of plain bagels, prenatal vitamins, and three different kinds of hard candy because, apparently, Hudson at the station said his wife swore by lemon drops. Lucas stands in my parents’ kitchen while I unpack everything, looking braced for me to tell him it’s too much.

I don’t.

I can’t.

It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me in a long time, and the fact that he clearly had to ask someone what to buy only makes it worse. Or better. I still don’t know which word applies to half of what I feel lately.

After that, he checks in every morning without fail. He texts me asking how I slept, whether I’m nauseous, whether I ate something, whether I need anything. When I tell him I made a doctor’s appointment, he asks if I want him there, then immediately follows it with, No pressure.

That part gets me. The no pressure.

Because I can feel the pressure of everything else, the weight of one positive test turning into two, turning into a calendar notification, turning into a pregnancy app telling me the baby is the size of a poppy seed, then an apple seed, then something else so small I can’t believe it has the power to rearrange my entire life.

I keep waiting for the shock to wear off all at once. It doesn’t. It loosens a little at a time. Some mornings I wake up and remember immediately, my hand drifting to my stomach before I’m even fully awake. Other mornings, I make it all the way to brushing my teeth before the nausea reminds me.

I’m pregnant.

Eventually, the sentence stops feeling impossible. But it still doesn’t feel simple.

This isn’t how I pictured having children. I’ve always wanted them, but in the vague, someday way that came with an imagined husband, a house of our own, a nursery painted in a color we picked together, and a life that already had space carved out for a baby. I didn’t picture moving back into my childhood bedroom at twenty-eight, unemployed, pregnant after one night with a man who used to be my best friend.

But the more the reality settles, the harder it becomes to call it an accident.

Because it’s Lucas.

He’ll be a great dad. I know that with a certainty that doesn’t need evidence, although I have plenty of it anyway. He’s a deeply good man. Protective. Thoughtful. Willing to put his own life on the line for others. On paper, he’s the perfect guy, really.