I was out with colleagues from Hong Kong in Fort Worth, Texas.
The waiter served champagne and sushi.
I couldn’t get it past my lips.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
I couldn’t stop spinning.
A year after our wedding,
and after losing our first pregnancy,
I was on my way to meet him in Hawaii for our honeymoon.
I called him from Shutters in Santa Monica.
I called to say I might be pregnant again.
I walked by myself on Venice Beach.
I walked by myself on Rodeo Drive.
But I did not feel alone.
He flew in from Hong Kong.
We met in Honolulu.
We rented a car.
On the way to the North Shore, he stopped and bought two pregnancy tests from different brands.
The plus appearing confirmed what my body had already said.
We didn’t know what to say or do.
The last time I was pregnant, we told everyone the moment we knew,
and then we lost her.
We started telling everyone again.
Not as outreach.
Not as announcement.
But in conversation, not hiding her.
I knew I was having a girl long before any ultrasound could confirm.
We spent days on the North Shore unrushed.
We rode Harleys on Oahu, posing in front of waterfalls and clouds of mist.
He jumped from a plane.
I swam with dolphins on the Big Island.
We went speechless at Pearl Harbour, aboard the Arizona and the Missouri.
We made love with her growing inside of me.
In Hawaii, my body made room to hold her and him.
Hawaii is on our list of travel plans.