Georgina

"It's Christmas," Lewis says, dejected. "What the fuck, Georgina? We live in the same city. Why don't you want to see me?"

I stroke my swelling belly, attacking the expanding stretch marks with meticulous scoops of shea butter. "It's the pandemic," I say. A weak excuse, but how else can I possibly hide the pregnancy from Lewis if I see him in person? It's been hard enough over the phone. I'm due in three months, and I'm showing much more than I thought I'd be.

Probably due to the fact that there isn't just one little life growing inside of me - but three.

"I just want to be as safe as possible."

Lewis grunts in irritation. I hear all the things he doesn't say. We've spent every Christmas together since we were kids.

After Mom's death, Lewis became the arbiter of all things family. He's really the only reason we have any traditions at all. But it's not a good enough reason to break my pact with myself - that I won't tell Lewis until I'm going into labor. My intense, extremely overprote