Some Women by Emily Liebert

delicious secret for just a day. At most. Only one day had tumbled into a few, and eventually she’d started to feel guilty for depriving her loved ones of the joyous news.
    She’d thought about telling Trevor the previous evening, until he’d announced that he was leaving first thing in the morning for a quick business trip to Boston—there and back by dinner.
Perfect
. She’d call her mother and get the recipe for the Southern fried chicken Trevor had swooned over last time she’d visited them. And those mashed potatoes. Had she used cream cheese and cheddar? If Mackenzie was feeling especially ambitious, she’d bake her famous peach cobbler, its aroma so potent it permeated every square foot of their home. Weeks later, she could swear she still smelled it, sunk deep into the fabric of their curtains and couch cushions.
    When Trevor arrived home, she’d have their dining room table dressed in their finest linens with the elaborate china place settings, heavy silver flatware, and delicate crystal glasses they’d received as wedding gifts but had yet to have occasion to use. She’d pop a bottle of champagne and pour herself a full glass, so as not to let on at first, although she knew she’d barely take a sip, if that. Mackenzie had heard of women who drank their way through pregnancy, allowing themselves a conservative helping of wine here and there. It wasn’t that she judged them or even begrudged them this small indulgence; it was that she’d waited for this for so long. And nothing—
nothing at all
—would stand in her way of carrying a full-term, healthy baby. At least not if she could help it.
    She sat down at the kitchen table with a tall glass of orange juice and a plate of eggs. Typically, she craved coffee in the mornings. Strong, black coffee. Three cups by noon, accompanied by a bagel or muffin. Carbs and caffeine. But not anymore. Mackenzie needed sustenance, vitamins, protein. She grimaced at the whole-grain toast, smeared with avocado she’d prepared on the side. As soon as she was done eating, she’d set things up for dinner, call hermom for a list of ingredients, and head to the supermarket, all before her late-afternoon appointment with her gynecologist. It was Friday, but she’d taken the whole day off, well aware that she wouldn’t have been able to get anything done at work in advance of hearing her child’s heartbeat for the very first time. Come to think of it, would she be able to hear the heartbeat yet? Probably not. She’d read somewhere that this milestone came later on, maybe seven or eight weeks in. There was so much to learn. A trip to the bookstore was definitely in order. She could already envision the thick parenting tomes splayed on her bed, while she scoured each chapter, absorbing as much useful knowledge as there was space in her head. She’d try to remember to pick up something for Trevor too. Weren’t there whole books targeted toward fathers-to-be?
    Mackenzie lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth just as the phone rang.
    â€œHi, Mom.” She swallowed quickly. “I was just about to call you.”
    â€œOh, that’s funny, sweetheart. Daddy and I were talking about plans for Thanksgiving, and I thought I’d give you a jingle. It’s just a few weeks away.”
    â€œWow, I forgot it was so soon.” The truth was, between work and trying to conceive, she hadn’t focused on much else in a while. “Do you think you guys want to come up here?” She knew the answer before she asked.
    To say that Mackenzie’s parents were out of their element in Eastport, Connecticut, was tantamount to declaring that Ozzy Osbourne had never used drugs. Their excursions into Manhattan were even worse. The first time she’d introduced them to Times Square, she’d thought her father was going to keel over in front ofthe entrance to the St. James Theatre in the middle of