Brenda Hill
Author & Editor
For tonight’s special dinner, I wanted everything perfect. I set the table with our wedding China and placed a white pillar candle on each side of the spring floral arrangement I’d splurged on at the last minute. An outrageously expensive crown roast simmered in the oven and I even had wine sauce for the ice cream.
Standing back to admire the table, I hugged myself, almost giddy from the news I’d received that afternoon. After five years of marriage, three spent engaging in endless checkups and medical procedures, Don and I were finally going to be parents. I couldn’t wait to tell him.
Just as I placed the Caesar’s salad on the table, the phone rang.
Oh, no! Who could it be? Since I hadn’t wanted to chance unexpected company this
evening, I told all my friends that I’d be out for the evening. It couldn’t be my mother; this afternoon I’d made sure she had plenty of her medicine to last for a couple of days and I’d even taken her a casserole for dinner. I’d told her some story about wanting a ‘Date Night’ with my husband, something I’d heard on a talk show that couples should do to keep the romance alive. I hadn’t told her about the baby. I’d wanted to tell Don first.
Desperately wanting to ignore the persistent ringing, my conscience nagged me. What if Mom was having an emergency? For the past few years her health had deteriorated, and she relied on me more and more.
While debating whether or not to answer, the machine picked up the call and I heard her voice.
