Mae surfaces to consciousness feeling like she's been hit by a lorry. Even Matilda's legendary morning tea fails to breathe life into her bones. The housekeeper lingers by the kitchen island, watching Mae with an expression that speaks volumes while saying nothing at all.
"Mr. Parrish left for work at seven," Matilda offers.
Mae musters a weak thumbs up, debating between facing her easel or surrendering to the siren call of her duvet. Her body casts a unanimous vote for hibernation. She chalks it up to her approaching period. Her cycle's always thrown tantrums at the slightest provocation, and the recent chaos certainly qualifies.
But the universe has other plans. Joanna's text lights up her phone. Something about a girls' day out since William's abandoned ship for work and Lirael needs company.
The thought of social interaction makes her head pound, but after vanishing during yesterday's cheese apocalypse, dodging seems ungracious. So she drags herself through a shower and emerges in a dove-grey cashmere dress. Matilda's still hovering, and Mae catches her eye, raising an eyebrow in silent question, but her exhaustion wins over curiosity.
The car arrives bearing Joanna and Lirael, both sparkling with enough morning vigor to light up Westminster. Mae slides into the backseat, wondering if excessive morning cheer comes standard with the Parrish DNA, while mustering what she hopes passes for a sociable expression.
Her mask must slip because Joanna's hand finds her cheek, thumb ghosting beneath her eyes with concern. "What's troubling you, darling? You look peaky."
"Haven't managed breakfast. Not much appetite," Mae admits, steering toward safer waters. "What's the plan?"
"No appetite?" Lirael lights up. "Feeling worn out as well?"
"Something like that..."
"That settles it— we'll have you checked over as well," Joanna declares with the finality, "Can't risk you catching whatever laid Eli low."
And that's how Mae finds herself under Dr. Katara James's scrutiny, fielding questions about everything from her symptoms to her sex life. The realization dawns with exquisite clarity— she's been maneuvered into a pregnancy screening. She submits to blood draws and sample collection with resigned amusement, knowing the results will shatter her in-laws' grandbaby dreams. After all, she and Eli take more precautions than a bomb disposal unit.
Thought its not entirely a lie about Lirael needing company because Mae emerges from her examination to find her sister-in-law dissolved in tears over sonogram pictures, Joanna hovering nearby with misty eyes.
Mae maintains her ignorance about their matchless manipulation. Letting them nurse their hopes until science delivers its verdict. Any child spawned from her and Eli's gene pool would be cursed with their spectacular dysfunction— she'd sooner join a convent than subject an innocent to that legacy.
"Everything alright?" she asks, approaching the tearful tableau.
"Oh Mae," Lirael sniffs, clutching the grainy images. "They're perfect. Will's gutted he couldn't be here."
"Those twins couldn't ask for more loving parents," Mae offers, meaning every word.
This sets off fresh waterworks, Lirael declaring her the 'sweetest sister ever' between sobs. Mae awkwardly pats her back while noting Joanna's disappearance— no doubt attempting to wheedle information from Dr. Katara despite patient confidentiality laws.
"How did your check-up go?" Lirael asks once she's dabbed her eyes dry.
"Standard tests. Nothing exciting. My cycle's always been temperamental—that's likely the culprit."
"We'll see what the results say," Lirael responds, an odd look twinkling in her eyes.
They migrate to lunch, where Mae forces down steak that tastes like cardboard, only to empty it out minutes later. She emerges from the loo armed with powder and determination, sipping lime juice while her companions flit between boutiques, cooing over impossibly tiny clothes.
She wanders off when they're absorbed by baby onesies, finding sanctuary in an art supply shop. Her hands soon overflow with brushes and paints— actual necessities unlike infant shoes that'll never touch ground. She arranges delivery for the easels and canvases, then meanders through the mall, having lost track of her shopping companions.
Fate or cosmic irony leads her to her favorite beauty counter— and the pregnancy tests displayed beside it. She stares long enough for the shop assistant to check her vital signs, then dumps two tests into her basket alongside random skincare items as camouflage. It's not that she believes she's pregnant. But this would be faster than blood work, even if less reliable. And if by some astronomical chance... well, she'd know first, wouldn't she?
But she's not. She can't be.
She reunites with them at the food court where Lirael's inhaling donuts like they hold the secrets of life itself. Joanna observes the mall cuisine with horror but surrenders to sampling when Lirael's rapturous expressions prove too intriguing to resist.
Mae nurses her lemon tea, knowing anything more substantial would turn her stomach inside out. She blames the lingering steak incident, ignoring how even the tea's citrus notes turn her stomach.
"Still full from lunch," she offers when they cast concerned glances at her untouched plate.
The lie tastes bitter on her tongue, or perhaps that's just another wave of nausea.
She's starting to get seriously pissed by all the sidelong glances and unspoken questions hovering in the air. But whatever conspiracy theories they're cooking up in those heads of theirs, she's not about to feed them ammunition. The shopping bags feel heavier with each passing minute, pregnancy tests burning a hole through the designer paper like they're made of radioactive material. Mae catches herself absent-mindedly touching her stomach and yanks her hand away as if scalded. Goodness, they've got her paranoid now.
"Maybe we should head back," Joanna suggests, eyeing Mae's complexion. "You look ready to keel over, darling."
Mae doesn't argue— a first that probably sets off more alarm bells in their heads. The car ride home is a blur of Lirael's chatter about nursery colors and Joanna's not-so-subtle hints about how lovely it would be to shop for more than one baby.
The moment she's through her front door, Mae makes a beeline for her en-suite, pregnancy tests clutched to her chest. Three minutes. Three minutes to prove she's being ridiculous.
She paces the gleaming tiles, phone timer ticking down with sadistic slowness. This is mad. She's mad. Her cycle's just late because of stress. Because of Eli's fever drama. Because Mercury's in retrograde or whatever nonsense people blame these days.
The timer chimes.
Mae stares at the two tests lined up on her marble counter like soldiers bearing bad news.
Two lines. Clear as bloody day.
"Oh, bloody buggering fuck."
Her mind races through a calendar of events, searching for the exact moment her life had derailed into this mess. A hysterical laugh bubbles up her throat. Four years. She just had to make it four years, then she could vanish into obscurity with enough settlement money to live comfortably. Paint without judgment, exist without expectations. Such a simple plan, really. And now...
She grabs the tests, shoving them into her bag with shaking hands. Her escape route crumbling like wet cardboard. A baby. A tiny Parrish heir that would bind her to this gilded cage forever.
Jenkins shouts after her as she peels out of the driveway, but she's already halfway to the hospital, mind spinning with possibilities— each more terrifying than the last. What would Eli say? Would he even want...? God, they could barely manage civil conversation most days. How were they meant to raise a child?
Tears blur her vision— actual tears, for fuck sake. She hasn't cried since… since forever now. Crying never solved anything then, won't solve anything now. But here she is, mascara probably making her look like a deranged panda as she charges through the VVIP ward. The nurses stare at her like she's crazy, but Dr. Katara dismisses them with ease. Mae collapses into a chair, clutching her bag like a lifeline.
"Am I...?" She can't even say the word.
Dr. Katara's expression holds the weight of decades watching similar scenes unfold. "Yes. Your results just came in."
Mae's heart wants to squeeze out of her ribs, "Have you told Joanna?"
"Friendship doesn't override medical ethics." She offers tissues that Mae accepts with trembling fingers.
"There are options," Dr. Katara continues carefully. "Termination, if that's something you'd consider."
The word hits Mae's chest like ice.
"Perhaps discuss this with your husband first?" Dr. Katara suggests gently.
Mae barks out a laugh that sounds slightly unhinged. "Discuss it? With Eli? Yes, brilliant idea. 'Hello darling, remember that night we both lost our minds? Well, surprise!'" She catches herself, horror dawning. "I apologize. I'm not... this isn't..."
"No offense taken," Dr. Katara remains unruffled. "But whatever you decide, it needs to be before twelve weeks. And please," her voice carries a warning edge, "no desperate measures. No stairs, no dubious remedies. I understand this feels overwhelming, but harming yourself won't solve anything."
Dr. Katara leans forward, hands clasped on her desk. "Mrs. Parrish, you're not the first woman to sit in that chair looking shell-shocked. Nor will you be the last. Take some time to process this."
Mae stares at her hands, mind whirling. A baby. An actual tiny human that would be half her, half Eli. "How far along?"
"Based on your blood work, around four weeks." Dr. Katara's voice stays neutral, clinical. "Still very early days."
"I need..." Mae stands abruptly, the room spinning slightly. "I just need time."
"Of course. But Mrs. Parrish?" Dr. Katara's expression softens. "Don't shoulder this alone longer than necessary. These decisions affect both parents."
Mae almost laughs at that. Both parents. As if Eli would want this.
"Thank you," she manages, gathering her bag. "I'll... I'll be in touch."
A baby. Their baby. The words bounce around her skull like a demented ping-pong match.