I’ve missed the smell of the propane grill heating up on the patio outside.  In our efforts to conserve the propane supply we have left, we only use grill on special occasions, and today easily qualifies as such an event.  It’s Joseph’s birthday, and given how down he has been in the couple of weeks since we had sex, the rest of us are committed to making every minute of this day great for him.

The L-shaped stone counter with the built-in stainless steel grill is already covered with sets of plates and utensils and the main course for our meal tonight: venison from Silas’ recent hunting trip.  After months of relying mostly on our depleting supply of non-perishable food—without a garden and without easy mobility to hunt over the winter—my mouth is salivating at the sight of the thick-cut steaks waiting to be grilled.

I turn from my position sitting at the wrought-iron table on the patio when I hear footsteps approach from the house.  Joseph is walking toward me with a whiskey glass half full of amber liquid, no doubt shoved into his hand by my brother who I know has been trying everything he can to get Joseph to relax and enjoy himself today.

When Joseph sees me sitting at the table, he hesitates and moves to turn back toward the house, but I stand up and quickly call after him, “Hey!  Please stay.”

He somewhat reluctantly turns around to face me, but immediately looks away.  I can’t deny the ache in my chest at seeing how much our sexual encounter has affected him, even weeks after it occurred.

Even on his goddamned birthday.

Tightness spreads throughout my chest all the way up to my throat, and I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.  I want Joseph to be happy, especially on this day.  The last thing I want to do is cause him any more heartache than I already have.

“I can go,” I say quietly before stepping across the stone patio toward the house, but Joseph catches me by the arm to stop me.

“Don’t go,” he insists without looking at me, but he maintains his hold on my arm.  For a long moment, we remain like this until his hand slides down my skin until his palm is connected with mine.  Only then do his eyes rise up to meet my gaze.  “Are you—”

“I’m late,” I answer before he can even finish the question, “but I haven’t taken a test yet.”

He nods and looks down at my belly as if it should somehow look different already.  “Can you take the test today?”

Confusion consumes my expression, and Joseph’s grip on my hand immediately tightens.  “You really want to find out on your birthday?”

“I need to know,” he breathes out shakily.  “Do this one thing for me.  It’s all I ask.”  He swallows hard and closes his eyes briefly before opening them again to plead with me.  “I need to know if I’m going to be a father.”

It’s incredibly strange to be having this conversation with a man who is not my partner, someone I’ve come to know well in the time we’ve spent together living under the same roof, someone I love as family.

Someone who planted his seed inside me to be the biological father of my potential progeny.

I owe this to him.  I owe him so much more than fulfilling this simple request, and I hope I can pay him back in full someday.

“I’ll take the test,” I promise, placing my free hand over our connected hands.  Some amount of relief floods Joseph’s face before it scurries away at the sound of the back door to the kitchen opening and shutting.

We quickly release our hands and return them to our sides when we see Silas approaching from the house with the case full of grilling utensils tucked beneath his arm.  His expression is a mix of curiosity and worry as looks over each of us, attempting to make sense of what he just saw.

“What’s going on?” he asks sternly, directing the question at me.

I give my best attempt at a natural smile.  “We were just talking about how things are progressing.”

Now Silas is the one who looks like he wants to walk away from this conversation, but I can’t let him be consumed by concern and doubt, too.  It has been awkward among the three of us ever since the day that Joseph slept with me, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand for it to be that way.

“I’m going to take the test,” I state in decision.  “Right now.”  Silas parts his lips to say something, but I step forward and reach out a hand to stop him.  “We need to know, Silas.  We’re a family, and all we have is each other.  We need to move past this unease among us if we’re ever going to be ready to expand our family.”

Silas’ expression remains serious, but with his slight nod, I have his agreement to move forward with the plan.  He only glances at Joseph before directing his full attention toward the patio counter where he will grill the meat he has prepared for us.

Joseph looks even more uncomfortable and anxious now, prompting me to nudge him by the shoulder toward one of the wrought-iron chairs at the patio table.

“Take a seat,” I insist, pushing him down by the shoulders to ensure that he does what I’m asking. “Relax and have your drink.  I’ll get the answer you need, but I want you to enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

He nods and seems to relax a bit, and when I’m convinced he’s pulled himself together enough, I give him one last smile and walk back toward the house.

I step through the back door into the kitchen to find Jake digging in the tall black freestanding cabinet against the wall in front of me.  He’s no doubt looking for creative ways to make something to go with our venison, resigned to digging into what’s left of our non-perishable food while we wait for the seeds and seedlings in the garden to grow and replenish our food supply.

Jake glances over at me just as I’m closing the door behind me.  “Is Joseph relaxing yet?” he asks with worry.

“I think he will be soon,” I reply truthfully, even though Jake has no context to understand the reason for my prediction.  “That drink you gave him should help.”

With a quick nod, Jake returns his attention to the cabinet in front of him, looking just as perplexed as he did when I first walked into the kitchen.

“That damned garden can’t grow fast enough,” he grumbles before stepping back and sighing heavily.

“You’ve done a great job cooking with what we’ve had,” I argue.  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

He doesn’t seem to share my optimism, but he doesn’t fight me on my point, either.  Particularly in the last year, Jake has taken it upon himself to be the primary chef in the house, honing the culinary skills he picked up from our parents over the years.  I never had the time to learn those skills back when I lived at home. I was too busy practicing the violin and performing all the time.

As I walk the long way around the kitchen island toward the doorway to the dining room, Jake looks at me again and asks, “Where are you off to?”

I try to keep an even face.  It’s hard to hold back my excitement over the test I’m about to take.  “I need to do something,” I respond casually.  “It will only take a few minutes.”

My heart suddenly begins to race at the thought that within the next few minutes, I will know definitively whether Joseph’s seed has taken hold inside of me.  Joseph will get the answer he needs, and Silas and I will know whether we’ll finally get to have the child we’ve been trying to conceive for so long.

Jake smiles, but I can tell he’s mostly trying to hide his concern.  With the anticipation pulsing through me, though, I don’t want to spend any more time standing here explaining myself, so I quickly walk into the dining room and down the front hallway to the bathroom.

When I’m inside with the door closed and locked behind me, I quickly dig to the bottom of the small covered basket I keep in the corner that is mostly filled with extra toiletries and feminine products.  By the time I find the pregnancy test box and remove it from the basket, my hands are shaking slightly, and I begin to feel lightheaded.

I move to the toilet and quickly pull down my jeans and underwear to take a seat before I get too close to passing out.  Closing my eyes, I take the time needed to ease away the anxiety and nausea that threatened to overtake me just seconds before.  The feeling subsides more with each deep breath I take, and once I’m calmed and collected enough, I open my eyes and begin opening the pregnancy test.

I’m about to rip the packaging when I see something strange: some light spotting on my underwear.  At first I’m overwhelmed with concern about why it’s there, but then I remember Silas telling me that spotting is a potential sign of pregnancy.

This could be it.  As difficult as this plan has been for us to deal with, it might have actually worked.  There might be new life growing within me to expand our little family.

Holding back my tears at these thoughts, I finish unwrapping the plastic stick and hold it underneath me to pee on the open end.  I feel every thump of the rapid pulsing of my heart within my chest as I set the stick aside on the white ceramic sink and finish using the toilet.

When I stand up and flush it, I see evidence of more blood on the toilet paper as it swirls down the pipe and disappears.  My eyes immediately dart to the pregnancy test that still doesn’t show a result.  My gaze remains fixed there while I pull up my underwear and jeans, and when I have nothing left with which to distract myself, I lean forward with my hands on the sink next to the test, anxiously awaiting its result.

A line suddenly begins to form in the small white oval where the results should appear.  For a moment I forget to breathe while I wait for the result to finalize.

I wait and wait.  Thirty seconds go by, but only the one line remains.

I look at the simple legend stamped on the plastic stick that reveals the truth of the results.  There are only three words and two small pictures there.  Two of those words are my truth.

Two of those words are my devastation.

Not pregnant.

I pick up the stick and shake it as if the thing is broken and as though my jostling it might fix it, but the single line remains.  It lies there openly in that damned white oval—taunting me, stealing all of my dreams away, leaving me feeling alone and empty inside.

Leaving me with nothing.

After dropping the useless stick into the trash, I go through the motions of putting a thin pad in my underwear and washing my hands.  I step out of the bathroom feeling completely dazed and confused.

I don’t really know where I’m going as I wander slowly across the entryway down toward the hall to the living room.  When I arrive there, I take a seat on the off-white couch across from the coffee table and the matching armchairs behind it, feeling completely different than I did when I walked into this house just minutes ago.

A few minutes.  A few minutes were all it took for me to find out that I might have had it wrong this whole time.

Maybe the problem preventing us from conceiving a child has nothing to do with Silas.

Maybe it’s all because of me.