Chapter 1: Sawdust and Second Lines
The circular saw screamed through a plank of pine, sending a hot plume of sawdust into the shaft of sunlight cutting across the garage. Ryan loved that smell—the dry, sweet scent of cut wood, the oil of the tools, the quiet chaos of a project coming together. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, leaving a smudge of grit, and reached for his water bottle.
That’s when he saw her.
Erin was perched on the stool by his drafting table, usually a nest of coffee cups and schematics. She wasn’t moving. She was just sitting there, staring at her hands in her lap like they’d done something unbelievable.
“Hey, mischief.” He killed the saw’s motor. The sudden silence was heavy, filled only by the distant hum of the neighborhood. “You plotting the downfall of civilization or just admiring my organizational skills?”
She didn’t look up. Her warm brown hair was tied in a messy knot, a few strands stuck to her neck. That was the first clue. Erin was always in motion—a nudge, a wink, a stolen tool she’d hide just to hear him grumble.
He set the bottle down. “Erin?”
She finally lifted her head. Her eyes were wide, the playful glint entirely gone, replaced by a glassy sheen. In her hands was a small white plastic stick. Her knuckles were white around it.
Ryan crossed the space in three strides, the sawdust soft under his boots. He didn’t ask. He just gently pried her fingers open. The test was warm from her grip. He looked at the little digital window.
Two words. Clear as day.
PREGNANT. 3+.
The world didn’t stop. The sunlight kept streaming in, motes of dust still danced in the beam. But the air in the workshop changed, thickened, became something you had to push through.
“Oh,” he said. The sound was soft, almost lost.
He looked from the test to her face. She was searching his eyes, her mouth a little open, breathing shallow. No jokes. No clever deflection. Just raw, quiet terror.
Ryan’s usual smirk was nowhere. He took the test from her trembling hand and placed it on the table, next to a half-finished birdhouse. Then he pulled her into him. She came stiffly at first, then melted, her face pressing into the worn cotton of his t-shirt. He held her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. He smelled of pine resin and sweat and home.
“Okay,” he murmured into her hair. “Okay, hey. It’s okay.”
“Is it?” Her voice was muffled against his chest.
“I don’t know.” He was honest. He was always honest with them. “But it is what it is. We’re in it. All of us.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Shane’s at that conference. Valerie’s got that huge deadline. And I… I just sat in the bathroom for twenty minutes and then walked out here like a zombie.”
“You came here,” he corrected, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek she hadn’t even seemed to notice. “That’s the part that matters.”
A shaky breath escaped her. “I’m scared, Ryan.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “Me too. That seems pretty fucking reasonable.”
A weak, wet laugh hiccupped out of her. “You’re supposed to say ‘don’t be scared,’ you giant cliché.”
“I’m a carpenter, not a liar.” He kissed her forehead, the gesture simple and solid. “We’ll be scared together. Then we’ll call Val. Then we’ll figure out how to tell Shane without him spontaneously combusting. One step at a time.”
She nodded, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on. The initial shock was receding, leaving a wild, tangled mess of questions in its wake. He could see them swirling in her eyes.
The side door to the house creaked open.
“Ryan, did you eat the last of the chili? I swear to god, if you…” Valerie’s voice trailed off as she stepped into the garage, taking in the scene: the embrace, the palpable shift in the atmosphere, the rare solemnity on Ryan’s face. Her sharp eyes flicked to the drafting table, landing on the small white object beside the birdhouse.
Her own clipboard, clutched in her hand, drifted down to her side.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice dropping all its earlier chaos, going quiet and clear.
Ryan kept an arm around Erin, but turned them both slightly to face Valerie. He didn’t speak. He just tilted his head toward the test on the table.
Valerie’s gaze locked onto it. Her expression did that thing where it went utterly, preternaturally still, processing at a million miles an hour. The garage held its breath for three long seconds.
Then Valerie dropped the clipboard. It clattered on the concrete.
“No way,” she whispered. Then, louder, “No way.”
She was across the room in a flash, not going for the test, but for Erin, pulling her from Ryan’s arms into a crushing hug of her own. “You’re kidding. You’re not kidding. Holy shit.”
Erin started crying then, for real, great shuddering sobs of relief and fear, buried in Valerie’s shoulder. Valerie met Ryan’s eyes over Erin’s head. Her own were blazing with a fierce, terrifying joy. She mouthed a single, silent word at him.
Wow.
Ryan let out a long, slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The first step was over. The news was out in their world, no longer contained in one plastic stick. The next steps—the conversations, the plans, the sheer unknown of it all—loomed like a mountain.
But for now, in this sunlit room full of dust and wood and the two people he loved most, holding onto each other, it was just this. A beginning.
Valerie pulled back, keeping her hands on Erin’s shoulders. “Okay. Right. First, we need more tests. Like, three different brands. Then we need to find a clinic for confirmation. Then we need to plan how we tell Shane. We should probably record it. For posterity. Or blackmail.”
Erin laughed, a real one this time, even as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. “He might just pass out.”
“We’ll have pillows ready,” Ryan said, bending to pick up Valerie’s discarded clipboard. He handed it back to her. “One crisis at a time, Val. First, the chili. I didn’t eat it. It’s behind the milk.”
Valerie took the clipboard, her focus already spinning into a new, practical orbit. “Right. Food. Pregnant people need food. And prenatal vitamins. And…” She stopped, looking at Erin again, her face softening. “And you. How are you?”
Erin looked from Valerie’s fierce concern to Ryan’s steady calm. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach. But it wasn’t alone anymore. It was surrounded by other things.
“I’m… here,” Erin said, and it felt like the most true thing she could say.
The garage door rattled, then began to grind its way upward on its tracks, letting in a flood of afternoon light and the sound of a familiar engine pulling into the driveway.
All three of them froze.
Shane wasn’t due back until tomorrow.
The car engine cut off. A door slammed.
Ryan’s hand found Erin’s again. Valerie shifted, almost imperceptibly, placing herself slightly in front of Erin. A united front.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel drive, coming closer.