One, Two, Three

As much as he hated to admit it, he was jealous. She'd wait for him by the office, eyes bright and full of stories like always, only to grow silent in the car, looking out the window at the pedestrians with their slick raincoats and flimsy umbrellas. "Huh," she'd exclaim later, not bothering to explain what just occured to her, smiling to herself. It's that small smile he can't stand. The refusal to share. The quiet minutes when she seems to be listening to a ticking inside her. A ticking he can't hear.

"You cannot feel it yet," she said. "It's too soon, too small."

So he waited. And watched as she padded around the house, sometimes happy, sometimes quiet, humming to herself, talking and talking about everything else but what's going on inside her body. He knew she wanted to keep that to herself. He knew that for a while, this is something that belongs to her alone, that he cannot be a part of. A secret between her and the person growing inside. Still, he can't help hating it for making him an outsider.

On mornings he had to leave early, he'd pull back the covers to kiss her belly goodbye and find her hands there, cradling her midsection. And if he came home late, he'd find her by the window, her fingers tapping her stomach, a secret smile on her face. He felt if he made a sound, he'd be intruding on a private conversation. So he waited by the doorway untill she looked up at him. He'd say hello and ask her how she is, silently hoping today would be the day he'd be allowed in.