*** Breaking the ice ***

He’s in one of his moods, she noted. That was a bad sign, a very bad sign. She could tell he’d had a bad day. His appetite frustratingly low, he poked at the clam chowder she’d spent all afternoon trying to perfect to his tastes, which seemed to change every now and then.



She prepared herself for the speech she had spent practicing, that after a few trial and errors, she could do it without getting very emotional.



Now, everything was gone. All of it. She’d expected butterflies, but now, she had june bugs instead. She had to tell him. She just had to. But what if he went bonkers right there, on the dinner table? Their helper would hear. He’d be heard throughout the entire neighbourhood, let alone the kitchen. What then?



But she couldn’t keep it from him any longer. If he finds out by himself, he’d blame her for not telling him earlier. Worse, he’d never trust her anymore. That too is just plain dire.

He shifts in his chair, “Your soup is getting cold.”



“What?” she looks up.



“I said your soup’s getting cold.”



“Oh,” she says, realizing that she was doing it again, swimming her spoon in the ocean of her soup bowl as she swam in her own galaxy of thoughts.



“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said and put the spoon down deliberately to look up at him. Her heart gave a summersault when she saw that he was looking at her. He still had that effect on her. Oh, he was so beautiful. With those staggering dark brown eyes, eyes that could make any woman sit straighter in her chair. A voice so gorgeous that he could charm birds right out of their nests. She gazed at him and traced out his handsome manly features with imaginary fingers. He looked as if he’d just jumped out of the stage. Her friends used to tell her what a big fish she’d caught. Even she had been amazed that he’d chosen her from all his legion of admirers, not that she was one of them.



“Yes?” he said, wearing a confused expression. Her heart somersaulted as his face twisted into a puzzle.

She takes a deep breath and shakes herself out of the trance. She takes her wine glass in her hands and plays with it. How was I supposed to start? Remember that time…no no, remember when you said…? Yes that was it! She began. But after that line she was lost again.



“Oh, how should I put it…” she fumbled with her words. God, where are you!? Her throat clots up. Her heart threatens to rip out of her chest. Her fingers shake. The June bugs boogie. What happened to her speech!?



“I love you,” she said instead, knowing that she’d hate herself for the rest of the night.

His face breaks into a relived smile.  “Thanks,” he said “You just made my day.”

He reaches over and gives her hand a little squeeze, “I love you too,” he whispers back.

Smiling to herself she looks down to hide her tears. Somewhere in her stomach, she feels movement. She swore that she could hear it talk. “Chicken!” it said. Oh am I? I can do it. “Can’t, prove it,” it said.



“There’s something more,” she brushed her skirt and glanced at him.

He watched her expectantly.

To hell with proper dialogue. “I’m pregnant,” she said simply. There I’ve done it! She said to it. I hope you’re satisfied. She waited for it to come.



“What?” his voice was flat. She studied his face, waiting for it to turn dark. When nothing registered on it, she looked away, disgusted. Then, it came. His soup bowl fell to the tile floor, bleeding chowder all over it. So, it’s the china you chose this time. He scraped his chair back noisily, and at once, he was at her side.



Confused, but ready for anything, she looked up. He grinned at her. Flabbergasted, she blinked at him. When he couldn’t refrain any longer, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her out of her chair in a tight bear hug. He kissed her once, twice, before she drew back and searched his eyes. She found her answer. Thank you, oh thank you, God!



She took his face in her hands and drew his head down, loving him ever so fiercely.