JOSH

In Hazel’s bed, I sleep like a rock. I don’t think I even dream, or if I do, it’s just a series of nebulous flashes of her body, and her laugh, and the unreal heat of her wrapped around me all night.

We wake up to the blast of her alarm, entangled, with the covers kicked to the floor. I’m naked, she’s wearing only underwear, and although I come into consciousness slowly, trapped in a syrupy warmth I’m not quite ready to leave, Hazel sits up after only a few breaths into awareness and looks down at me, eyes blurry. Her eyes stay unfocused for a few seconds before she blinks, clearing them, and bends, kissing me in a soft peck. “You’re still here.”

In a wave of happiness, I wonder whether we’ll move in together … and when.

Hazel pulls back and her attention is snagged over my shoulder. She grimaces at the sheets in the hamper in the corner, the ones we pulled off the bed and replaced before falling onto the mattress in an exhausted heap. As if remembering, she stands, and moves quickly out of the room and to the bathroom, closing the door down the hall with a solid click.

Last night wasn’t the first time I’ve encountered blood during sex, but maybe it was for her? I can hardly imagine that, but it seems to have shaken her more than I would have expected.

Rolling to sit, I perch at the side of the bed, blinking down at Winnie where she stares adoringly up from the floor. “Morning, sweetie.” I rub her head and can tell the restraint it’s taking her to not jump up here and join me, but thankfully she resists. Being naked in bed with Hazel is bliss. Being naked in bed with her dog would be awkward.

In the kitchen, and inside one of Hazel’s Muppet canisters, I find just enough coffee beans to brew a pot. By the time she comes out—still dressed only in her underwear—I’ve got two cups poured, and reach for her sleep-rumpled form, pulling her between my legs.

“You left,” she mumbles into my neck.

Her chest pressed against mine is distracting enough to make her words slow to process. So instead of replying with anything witty, I just suck on her neck and ask, “What time do you have to be at school?”

“Normally seven thirty, and I’d be so late that I’d probably put my clothes on backwards. But I’m going to stop by my doctor’s before I head in. They know I’ll be a little late today.”

Her doctor? I’m not sure how to ask about what happened last night, so I go for vague. “You okay this morning?”

A tiny hesitation, then, “Are you kidding? I’m amazing.”

She is amazing—creamy skin, the maddening freckle on her shoulder, the full swell of her breasts—and the thought that she’s mine, and I’m hers, rolls around in my head. A burst of light cuts through me, a flash of joy, and I reach for her, gripping the back of her neck and pulling closer.

The minute our lips touch, my mind quiets but my body seems to take off, ramping toward that place where I can’t think, can only feel. My fingers graze the exposed curve of her throat down to her collarbones. Her hands come to my waist immediately and I feel her push up onto her toes, closing any distance between us and stretching, eager for one kiss, and another.

It’s chaste, but it’s not simple. Nothing with Hazel ever is.

I tilt her head, kissing her bottom lip, her cheek, her jaw.

I glance over her shoulder to the illuminated clock dial on the front of the stove. It’s 7:18. I take a breath, silencing the need to make up for lost time.

My mouth settles on hers and lingers. She smiles.

“Good morning, Josh Im.”

I kiss her chaotic hair. “I’ll say.”

I let myself savor this, the simple joy of standing in the bright light of her kitchen, arms wrapped around each other, and knowing that I don’t have to hold back now. But it’s the way she’s holding me—the way she clings with her face pressed to my neck—that gives me pause. She’s not playfully gnawing on my shoulder, or threatening to suck giant hickeys into my skin. She’s not asking if I want to go roller-skating to the bagel shop before work. She’s just so quiet.

Of course, it’s okay for Hazel to be quiet sometimes, but this feels different. It feels like a silence that’s full of something—a worry, a question, maybe an uncertainty.

I search my brain for something to say. I want to ask her if she knows about Emily being pregnant. I want to ask her whether she’ll stay at my house tonight, and every night after. I want to ask her to say the words one more time before she leaves for work, the quiet I love you too, you know.

She turns her luminous brown eyes up to my face. “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering what you’re thinking,” I say with a grin.

“We have big things to discuss,” she says quietly. “Remember?”

“Still? I thought the ‘I love you’ covered it. What else is there?”

She stretches, kissing me. “You love me?”

“I do.”

“And you’re free tonight?”

I run my hands down her body. “You don’t want to talk now, while you get ready?”

She shakes her head and it drags her lips across mine, back and forth. “Tonight.” With a smile, she steps back and turns to walk to her bedroom.

There’s a stack of mail on the counter, a Harry Potter coloring book, and a receipt under a pile of change. Three letters stand out to me.

e.p.t.

Nothing sinks in right away, but the letters are like a dissonant chime. Almost distractedly, I lean in, pushing aside a quarter to read the entire line.

e.p.t. first respo … 5 @ $8.99 ea

Pregnancy tests? Did Hazel buy the tests for Emily?

Confusion laces my thoughts together, but my heart starts pounding pounding pounding as the row of dominoes tumbles.

The blood last night. Hazel’s panic. Big things we need to discuss tonight.

My eyes snag on the dark corner of a photo under her keys. I’ve never held one of these, but I know what it is.

When I pull the ultrasound photo free, I already know what I’m going to see, but it knocks the breath out of my chest anyway.

Bradford, Hazel

November 12

9w3d

And, in the very center, a round body, a head, two tiny buds for arms, two tiny buds for legs.

My own legs nearly give out and I sit heavily on the bar-stool, staring at the photo in my hand. I know Hazel hasn’t slept with anyone but me in … well, a long time. And the first night we had sex—drunk sex, floor sex, I might be falling for you sex—was two months ago.

Emily isn’t pregnant—Hazel is. She’s been pregnant this entire time, and we had no idea.

I stand, unsteady, and put the photo back beneath her keys, tilting my face to the ceiling. It isn’t panic. It isn’t dread. It’s shock—yes, definitely this is a surprise—but … I close my eyes and I can see it. I can see Hazel pregnant. Can see how it would feel to crawl into bed next to her, put my head on her belly and listen. I can see my parents losing their minds, Emily going overboard with gifts. In this moment, with these thoughts running wild through my brain, I grow nearly light-headed. And I understand completely Hazel’s panic last night.

Holy shit, she was bleeding.

I come up behind her while she’s brushing her hair and balance my shaking hands on her hips.

“Hey, you.” She leans back into me and then turns in my arms, stretching to kiss me.

Shock has left a metallic tang in my mouth and numbs me, making me feel like my hands aren’t mine. “I want to go with you this morning.”

Her face furrows in confusion. “To school?”

“To the doctor.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to do that. I know you have a busy morning, too. It’s just routine—”

“I want to be there.” I think my choice of words jogs something in her, because when her eyes meet mine, she searches for confirmation there. Reaching up, she cups my face in her hands, her gaze flickering back and forth between my eyes. “Don’t you think I should be there?” I ask.

She swallows, and her eyes are soft with guilt. “You know?”

“The ultrasound was on the counter.”

At this, her face absolutely crumples. It hurts, the answering reaction in my chest. It’s like being punched. I pull her to me, cupping her head and holding her as she breaks.

“It’s okay, Haze.”

She hiccups, pressing her face to my neck. “I just found out on Monday.”

Two days ago. That must have been where Emily was—she was at the doctor with Hazel.

“I saw the tests at Em’s house,” I tell her. “Actually, I thought she was pregnant.”

When she flattens her palms against my bare back, I can tell they’re shaking. “I was going to tell you.”

“I know.”

Her sob rips through me. “I wanted it to be a happy moment.”

“It still can be. We just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“They said bleeding can be normal, but … I’m so scared something happened.” Another sob breaks her voice on the last word. “I’m already in love with this little monster, and I’m so scared, Josh.”

I’ve barely processed what’s going on, but already my panic seems to swallow the words forming in my brain. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it, okay?” I pause, and I’m terrified of the answer to the next question. “Are you still bleeding?”

“A little.”

My heart drops, and I tighten my arms around her, catching my reflection in the mirror. I look wild. Hair a mess, eyes wide and bloodshot. My mouth is a harsh frown, my pulse is a hollow echo in my throat.

..........

Beside me, Hazel’s knee bounces up and down. I reach over, placing a calming hand there.

“I’m going to chew my nails off,” she whispers. Her eyes are fixated across the waiting room on the generic watercolor painting of a bouquet of flowers.

I reach up, coaxing her hand back down and into mine. My heart is lodged somewhere in my throat; it seems like we could both use an anchor.

To fall in love, to be loved. The reality that we are together now is enough by itself to make my breath grow tight and hot in my chest. And to be here, with an ultrasound photo clutched in my hand … The mind, it reels.

But this is Hazel. We’re so much bigger than this moment, no matter what happens behind the wide white door leading into the exam rooms. Is it weird to think I’ve known for years that we would somehow end up here? Or is hindsight just the most convenient explanation for coincidence?

I squeeze her hand and she looks up at me, expression tight.

“You know,” I say, giving her the most genuine smile I can muster, “no matter what happens back there, we’ll be okay.”

“I knew I wanted kids, but I don’t think I realized how much until this happened.”

“We may not have seventeen, but we’ll get there.”

She laughs. “I’m going to win you over.”

“You will never win me over to seventeen children.” She growls when I say this, so I add in a compromise: “But how about this: after the appointment, we’ll go get milkshakes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Cherry,” she says. “No. Wait. Cookies and cream.”

“One of each.”

Finally, I get a true Hazel smile. “You know what I keep repeating over and over in my head?”

“What?”

“ ‘I love Josh Im more than I’ve loved anything in my life.’ ” She bites her lip. “Don’t tell Winnie.”

I lean forward and rest my lips on hers. Against my mouth, she’s soft, shaking a little. The kiss angles, and my hand comes up to her neck, where my fingers find her pulse drilling against her skin. I could get lost in the way she leans into me, I could drown in the feel of her. But then the wide door opens, and her name is called.

EPILOGUE

JOSH

When Hazel comes bounding down the front steps, she’s wearing orange tights, a black miniskirt, and a purple tank top. Her bun is hidden beneath a giant, wobbly witch’s hat. In the light from the porch, she’s nearly glowing.

I glance down at my own outfit—black shirt, jeans, sneakers—and then back up again. “I feel like I missed an important text today.”

“Halloween stuff was out at Target.”

“It’s over a month away.”

Shrugging, she moves to where I stand leaning against the car and slides her arms around my neck. “Just getting into the spirit.”

I touch my lips to hers. “Because it would take you so long otherwise?”

“Are you by chance taking me somewhere Halloweeny?”

Every Friday night is date night, and tonight was my turn to plan. Last week, Hazel took me to a place where we painted self-portraits with our hands and feet, and then we had a picnic on the hood of my car. My date nights tend to be a bit more standard.

“Just dinner,” I say. “A new ramen place opened up near Emily and Dave’s. Thought we could give it a try.”

After a small rendition of the Running Man on the sidewalk, Hazel climbs into the passenger seat. Her fingers come over mine when I get behind the wheel and pull away from the curb, and with her free hand, she reaches to turn up the song playing on the radio, singing along badly, loudly, happily.

“Wait,” she says, looking at me and letting out a bursting laugh. “This is Metallica.”

I nod. “Takes me right back to the worst concert ever.”

She lets out a mock scream. “What was I thinking? Tyler!”

“No idea.”

“I wanted you to come to my apartment and say, ‘I love you, Hazel Bradford, please be mine forever and ever and ever.’ ”

“And I did.”

She nods with vigor. “You did.”

At the red light, she leans over, kissing me. One short peck turns into a longer kiss, with tongue and sound and the acceleration of her breath and mine. At the green light, she lets me focus on the road but her hand on my thigh soon transitions to her fingers unbuttoning my jeans, her teeth and growl on my earlobe.

Instead of ramen, we find our way back to my old house—empty, between renters—and return to our roots: making love on the floor.

..........

Our own home is dark when we pull in, avoiding the squeaky step and coming to a quiet stop in front of the door. Hazel—hair a mess, tank top slightly askew, underwear in her pocket—digs in her purse for her key, sliding it into the lock and gingerly letting us inside.

Umma meets us in the entryway, wearing her small, calm smile.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She nods, stretching to kiss both our cheeks before padding down the hall toward the separate wing of the house she shares with Appa.

Hazel turns and grins up at me in the darkness. “Even after that greasy burger, I’m starving.”

“Want me to make you something?”

She shakes her head, giving a little shimmy before disappearing down the hall.

I unload my wallet and keys near the door, slipping off my shoes. From one of the bedrooms I hear voices, and follow the sound, ducking into Miles’s dimly lit room, surprised to find him still awake. Hazel sits at the edge of his bed, food apparently forgotten as she pushes a strand of hair off his forehead.

“Halmeoni made me do a bath,” he whispers, full of three-year-old outrage.

“That’s good,” Hazel tells him. “You were stinky.”

“And Jia told her that I ate the last gummy worm.”

I sit down beside my wife as she asks, “Did you?”

“Yes,” he says, “but she had seven and I only had two!”

Hazel bends, kissing Miles’s forehead. “Big sisters are like that sometimes. Sleep, baby boy.”

He doesn’t fight, rolling over and immediately closing his eyes. I stare at him a little longer. Everyone says he looks just like me. Hazel stands with a smile, picking up the pile of costumes on the floor—Mulan, Tiana, and Ariel are his favorites.

We agree that inside, he is all Hazel.

..........

Saturday morning, Miles bounds down the hill, feet barely staying beneath him. Today, he is Elsa—except for his red cowboy boots—with a well-loved Disney wig unraveling behind him as he runs.

Beside me, his sister, Jia, watches him, eyes narrowed as she pulls long, careful licks across her ice cream cone. “He’s going to fall.”

I nod. “Maybe.”

“Appa.” She turns her doe eyes on me. “Tell him to slow down.”

“He’s on the grass,” I remind her. “He’ll be okay.”

Unconvinced, she stands, yelling down to her little brother. “Namdongsaeng!”

Only when she calls out to him does he tumble, tripping over a boot and rolling a few feet on the lawn. He comes up laughing. “Noona, did you see me?”

“I saw you.” Suppressing a smile, Jia sits back down. Looking up at me again, she gives a dramatic shake of her head. “He’s wild, Appa.” She looks like her mom.

We agree that inside, she is all me.

Hazel comes up the hill, holding a tray of coffees and hot chocolates in one hand and catching Miles’s hand in the other. She manages to start running with him, careening up the hill toward us without spilling anything. When she nears, I take the tray from her hand to keep her from pressing her luck.

“Mama, did you bring me hot chocolate?” Jia asks.

Bending, Hazel swoops her up from the bench, cradling her for a kiss before spinning in wild circles that make Jia giggle wildly and make my blood pressure spike.

“I did,” Hazel says, “and had them put extra whipped cream on top.”

“Haze,” I say gently. “Careful.” She’s nearly seven months pregnant, and it seems like ever since the first, she has more and more energy each time.

She gives me an indulgent smile, setting Jia down, and our daughter wraps her arms around her mom’s wide middle. She kisses Hazel’s belly. “Mama, tell me about the time when I was in your tummy.”

Hazel glances at me again, and plops down cross-legged on the grass. “Mama found out she was going to have a baby. She and Appa were so happy.” She cups Jia’s face, leaning forward to kiss her nose, and—not to be ignored—Miles climbs into Hazel’s ever-shrinking lap.

She sweeps his hair out of his face, speaking to Jia. “But I found out that I had to be very quiet and still for a little while.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Mama was not good at being quiet and still. Was she?”

Jia shakes her head, very serious now.

“But you were,” Hazel whispers, “weren’t you?”

My daughter nods, grinning proudly.

“You taught Mama how to be quiet, and calm, and still. And so I did it, because you showed me, and that is how everything turned out okay.”

“Now me!” Miles roars.

“You, my little wiggle monster,” Hazel says, “did not know how to be calm or quiet or still. And that was okay, because Jia also taught Mama’s body how to have a baby in there, and so we could be just as silly as we wanted to every single day!”

“Thank you, Noona!” Miles climbs off Hazel, tackling his sister.

The two of them wrestle on the grass, tangled up in Miles’s dress, hot chocolates forgotten.

A hand comes up to my knee, tapping, and I help Hazel up from the lawn, standing to wrap my arms around her. “You sure you’re ready for another one?”

“No turning back now. Almost three down,” she says, “fourteen to go.”

“Keep dreaming, Bradford.”

Stretching, she kisses me, eyes open, lips resting on mine.

I’m an optimist; I always anticipated having a good life. But to have d something like this would have felt enormously selfish.

“Sometimes I imagine going back in time,” she says, reading my mind, “and telling myself that I’d end up right here. With Josh Im.”

“Would you have believed it?”

She lets out a husky laugh. “No.”

I can’t pull her as close as I want, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, so instead I dig my fingers into her bun, pulling it apart so that her hair falls around her shoulders. Her breath catches—I think at the hungry, possessive expression on my face. She looks a little wild, too: her cheeks are pink from the wind, her eyes bright and amber.

“I thought this was your plan all along,” I say, kissing her again.

“In my dreams.”

I look over at Jia and Miles. She’s swiping grass from his skirt, helping straighten his wig. And as soon as she’s done, he tears off down the hill again under the watchful eye of his sister.

“Well,” I say, “I’m pretty sure that if someone went back in time and told me I’d end up with Hazel Bradford, it would sound just crazy enough to be true.”