Page 10 of Faultlines

Across the kitchen, Ethan chuckles, a spoon clinking against his cereal bowl. “Your people are here.”

“My people are loud,” I groan into my coffee mug, the ceramic warm against my hands.

“They’re not wrong about your usual Saturday pants situation, Dad,” Ellie says playfully as she appears from the hallway, her bare feet padding on the wood floor.

“It’s Saturday, that’s what weekends are for,” he says, taking a noisy bite of cereal.

“I’m not complaining,” Sloane calls from the foyer, her voice closer now. “No one should be expected to wear real clothes before noon.”

The women burst into the kitchen with bakery items from The Cinnamon Finch. As Lucy places the pretty lavender boxes on the island, Sloane makes a beeline for the nearest chair, dropping into it with a dramatic sigh. After decades, they don’t need an invitation.

“Okay, spill,” I say, turning to Lucy.

Sloane laughs. “Tell them about Captain Conception.”

Lucy groans. “That’s not his name.”

“I have many names for him in my head,” Sloane says, grabbing a scone. “The man is a superhero who makes babies for a living.”

I laugh. “What happened at the appointment?”

Lucy covers her face. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Sloane scoffs. “She’s leaving out the part where fertility doctors are seemingly male models now. Six-foot-three, jawline like he moonlights in cologne ads.”

Even Ellie perks up.

Ethan laughs. “What’s his real name?” he asks.

“Dr. Finn Tierney,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ethan asks, grabbing a doughnut.

“More tests,” Lucy says, her joking demeanor fading. “Blood work, procedures…they have to check everything.”

“And Jensen?” I ask.

“He’s getting tested too,” she says. “Dr. Tierney said it’s a team sport.”

“And then?”

“Then,” she says, taking a deep breath, “if everything looks okay, we start with medication, and then…maybe IVF. Hopefully, we’ll get a baby before we run out of and then.”

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I think so.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s just hard,” she says, staring down at her coffee. “I spent most of my life assuming this would happen naturally,” she says, her voice suddenly quiet. The clinking of coffee cups stops. “You know? You get married, you decide you’re ready to start a family. Eventually there’s a baby. Sitting in a fertility clinic with so much unknown wasn’t part of the plan.”

Sloane bumps her shoulder affectionately.

“Hey,” I say, taking her hand again. “You’re allowed to be scared.”

Her eyes well with tears. “Yeah, I know.”

“You don’t have to pretend in front of us.”