“I’m pregnant,” I say to Tristan, my alien husband who came to earth for me through the Intergalactic Dating Agency. I let out a sigh and plop down on the couch in the living room of our high-rise apartment where it seems like he’s been camped out since we returned from our honeymoon five months ago. He’s writing the great Eroscian-American novel.

Tristan sets his laptop down and shuts the cover with a click to give me his attention. He blinks for a moment before he grins. “Really? This is fantastic news!” But he frowns when he notices my scowl. “What’s wrong, Cassie?”

“The timing sucks.”

He nods. “Your big case.”

Not long after we got married, I landed a big client coveted by every associate who is aspiring to be partner, and Tristan knows how important it is to me. I thought the stress of my job was what was making me tired for the last twelve weeks, but now I know I’m in for months of this exhaustion as I form another body inside mine. I let out a sigh. “I’m about to have my brain cells sucked out by a baby, and it’s going to seriously impact my effectiveness.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

I shake my head because I forget my alien husband doesn’t always understand my words. “It’s a figure of speech meaning pregnant women tend to be forgetful. Most likely it comes from being tired all the time since our bodies are working overtime.”

“Oh. Well whatever you need me to do so you can get enough rest, I’m on it. Unless...”

I let out a small noise of disgust at myself. Tristan and I talked about having a family and decided while we wouldn’t actively try just yet, we also wouldn’t keep it from happening. Especially since I’m approaching thirty. I say, “I’m sorry. I’m not expressing myself very well. I do want our baby.”

I smile when he grins at me. Falling in love with Tristan was easy. Not only is our physical chemistry through the roof, as my pregnancy only weeks into our marriage proves, but he’s happy taking care of household duties like cooking and cleaning. For the first time in my life that I can remember, it’s not my responsibility to scrub the toilet or make sure there is milk in the refrigerator. He’s going to make a great stay-at-home dad. I snuggle up to him and soak up the warmth of his warm body. When he puts his arm around me, I push my pessimism aside. “I hope he has your eyes.”

Tristan chuckles. Eroscian eyes have irises that actually swirl with their color, and he knows how much I envy his. “You want a boy?”

I place my hand on my stomach as I think about why I assume my baby’s male. It’s likely because men in my life have always made things harder, because I don’t really have a preference what sex my child is. “I don’t care as long as our baby is healthy.”

“Want me to see if I can tell?” asks Tristan. Eroscians can get inside humans with their mind. They can see things as well as make us feel stuff like warmth or subtle pressure, but it’s not something most will do without permission.

“I’m not sure you can,” I say. “Our baby isn’t much bigger than a lime right now.”

“I have my ways.” Tristan winks at me before he places his hands on my belly and leans down to whisper, “How do you feel about football?”

I chuckle and push him away. “Very scientific.”

He shrugs. “Apparently our child is too small to talk too.” He pops up from the couch and reaches for me with his hands. “We need to go shopping.”

“What?” I let him pull me up. “We have plenty of time to get things, Tristan. Like six more months.”

“No we don’t. We need to get the book that tells you everything you’re supposed to know.”

I recall the book he’s talking about. We watched a clip about it on TV the other night. A new version with chapters for Eroscian men has just been released. Since he’s going to have a million questions about how we deal with childbirth on Earth, I decide that’s a good idea. “Okay, but I’m starving. I need to eat first.”

Tristan’s face falls as he sighs. One of the things I love about my husband is how he finds adventure in simple activities, so I say, “Tell you what. Instead of cooking tonight we can go to the diner after the bookstore instead. We can even invite Jake and Hannah if you want.” Jake is the Eroscian husband of one of my best friends, Hannah. He and Tristan hit it off right away, and they spend more time on the phone chatting than most of my women friends do.

He grabs my shoulders and says, “Deal,” before he kisses me. He breaks away quickly. “We’re having a baby!”

I let out a yelp when my husband lifts me off my feet and twirls us around. He sets me back down as I chuckle. It’s hard not to be excited with his enthusiasm, and I smile. “We sure are. Are you ready for this?”

“You’re the one doing all the work. Before our baby arrives, I’ll have had plenty of time to prepare.”

I don’t have to ask if Tristan’s rethinking being the one who stays home with our children. It was one of our first discussions, and he made it clear he has no issues with me being the breadwinner. My stomach clenches thinking about my work. “I suppose you’re right. I’m going to go change,” I say.

While I make a comfortable living, I’m just starting to get used to the extra expenses of adding Tristan to my household. How much more is a baby going to cost? My husband is a writer with dreams of being a novelist. I told him I didn’t care if he worked at a job that brought in money, and to go ahead and work on his craft without fear of paying the bills. Things are certainly not tight, but with another mouth to feed and all the things a baby needs? And if he’s staying at home taking care of our child, how is his writing career going to have a chance?

My closet door scrapes open as I slide it, and I slither out of my suit jacket. Once I landed the client who will make my career, I thought I was setting myself up to handle the costs of a family easily. But now? I’m afraid maybe we got pregnant too soon. What if it means I can’t handle the pressure and time requirements of a high-profile case and have to bow out?

I shake my head at myself as I wiggle into a pair of jeans that will soon be too snug to wear. More than anyone, I know the best-laid plans can go awry. I suppose it’s fitting that one more thing in my life is a struggle. I walk over to my dresser and take off the pearl earrings I wear to work every day. They’re a treasured keepsake of my mother, who died when I was a little girl. She, too, was a lawyer and the reason I became one.

A brush rasps through my locks as I pull it through hairspray residue and make a ponytail. Once my mother was gone my life changed. My father fell into a bottle of whiskey and never resurfaced. After a few years he ran out of money, but by then he was too far gone to do anything about it, and I took over as the head of our household.

I could have been bitter and crept into a dark hole like my dad, but it’s not in my DNA to settle for what comes my way. Before the men on Earth were nearly wiped out, I was called a bitch by my male colleagues. But I like to think I’m a fighter, driven to rise to the top.

I glance at the picture of my mom holding me in her arms. It occurs to me that she managed to make partner at her firm after having me. At that time my father was a stay-at-home dad, even though it wasn’t as common as it is today. I think before my mother died he was probably good at it too. I have no doubt Tristan will be great considering the way he already nurtures me. I kiss my finger, and the glass of the picture frame is cool under my finger tip as I place it on my mom’s image. I can do this. And I will.