Page 103 of Josephine and Clay

Rent.

Utilities.

Groceries.

Medical appointments.

Prenatal vitamins.

Maternity clothes eventually.

Cribs. Two.

Car seats. Two.

Diapers. An impossible number.

Childcare?

Savings?

Emergency fund?

Hospital bills?

I underline hospital bills so hard the pen nearly tears through the page. Then I write beside it: Research insurance coverage. Call Office… don’t cry while on the phone.

I sit back and press the heel of my hand between my brows.

This is fine. It’s totally manageable. People have babies every day. People have twins every day. People raise children without large families, without partners, without safety nets that feel steady beneath their feet. It happens. It's possible.

Therefore, I can do it.

That's math.

Probably.

My stomach turns, and I reach blindly for the sleeve of crackers I now keep on the table like an offering to some temperamental deity. I nibble one slowly, breathing through the wave of nausea until it passes.

“Good morning to you too,” I mutter down at my abdomen.

Nothing answers, obviously. Which is good, because if one of them kicked back this early, I’d probably pass out again and Dr. Harris would never let me live it down.

My phone buzzes.

For one dangerous second, my pulse jumps because I think it might be Clay.

It isn’t.

Penny: Checking on you. Did you sleep?

I look at the notebook. At the lists, the cup of tea I made and forgot to drink, the three crackers lined up beside my budget like tiny beige soldiers.

Josie: Yes.

Immediately, three dots appear.

Penny: Liar.