She smiled, a hand subconsciously going to her flat stomach as she walked into the kitchen. "Good morning," she chimed, grabbing the teapot.
"… Mom," Becca intoned quietly, not meeting her eyes.
She stopped, her eyes narrowing in confusion as turned to look at her daughter. "Honey, is something wrong?"
She shot a glance at her brother before staring back at her plate, shaking her head, "No."
She let out a slow stream of air, putting the kettle down before sitting down opposite her daughter. "Becca? Sweetie?" She reached out, taking her daughter's hand. "What is it?"
Becca ripped her hand away, dropping it to her lap and shaking her head. "Were you even gonna tell us, Mom?"
"Tell you? Tell you what?" Libby laughed.
"You're pregnant," she accused, her eyes dark.
"Wh-what?" she stuttered, confused. She reeled back in her seat, blinking in confusion.
How did she know?
She shouldn't even know, by all medical standards. How did Becca know?
"Aren't you!?" Becca repeated, throwing her fork down.
"Rebecca!" Libby gasped. "I will not be spoken to like that!"
She sucked on the inside of her cheek, looking away and pushing away from the table. She shook her head, starting away, "Whatever."
"Rebecca," she repeated sternly, standing up as well. "You do not speak to me that way. And you will not walk away from me. Do you understand me?"
She shrugged noncommittally, starting away again.
Libby grabbed her arm, spinning her roughly to face her. "Rebecca Thatcher, do you understand me?"
She shook her head, biting her own tongue before sighing, "Just… Go to school," she waved her off, sitting at the table again.
"… How long have you been keeping it from us?" Becca demanded, stepping closer. "How long have you been lying to us, Mom?"
"Rebecca, stop it this instant. I have not been lying to you!"
"You've been keeping secrets," she shot back. "And that's just as bad."
"Keeping secrets?" Libby repeated, almost laughing.
"Don't laugh! You and dad decide to change the whole family and you don't even ask us!" she yelled, standing behind her. "Like we don't even matter. And then you laugh about the secrets you kept from us! It affects us, too, mom!"
She shook her head in disbelief, running her fingers through her hair. "Your father and I haven't been keeping secrets. And we're not changing the whole family," she sighed, turning to look at her. "…I'm three weeks along. I haven't even taken a test yet. I might not even really be pregnant."
"Oh, of course you are! You know you are. You told dad last night. I heard you. I heard you tell him how certain you are! … And just where are we gonna get the money? What about college, mom?" she shook her head, stifling a growl. "I can't believe you did this… We were fine the way we were."
Libby forced herself to swallow, nodding as she stared at her hands. "… Corky, do you feel the same way?"
He shot a look at his sister before shrugging and looking back at his own plate. "I don't really mind about the baby."
She wiped the tears from her eyes before they could escape her. Managing a small smile, she reached across the table to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
"… Traitor," Becca whispered before turning away. "Come on, Cork. We have to go to school. Maybe if we're lucky, mom and dad won't decide to move while we're at school."
"Rebecca," she sang, her voice carrying a note of warning.
"Yeah, yeah. We're going."
Libby let out a sigh as she heard the front door open and close, dropping her head to the table and letting out the tears she'd stifled.
"Lib! Libby!? Look what I made for the baby!" Drew carried in a brightly painted high-chair, a wide smile on his face. "Do you l- Lib? What's wrong?"
She shook her head, hugging the pillow tighter against her stomach and crying loudly.
He put the chair down, perching on the corner of the bed and running a hand lightly up her back, "Libby, honey? What's wrong?"
She dropped the pillow in favor of throwing her arms around him, crying harder. "D-Drew! I-I don't- And she- We're not-!"
Wide-eyed, he ran his fingers through her hair, hugging her close, "Shhh, it's okay... Calm down and tell me what's wrong, honey."
She shook her head again, her body trembling as she tried to stop crying.
He ran one hand down her side, covering her stomach, "Is it the baby? Did something happen?"
"Wh-what? Why-why would you ask that?" Libby stuttered, pulling away from him and wiping her eyes.
"Well, it's just that you're upset and-"
"You want something to happen to the baby, don't you!?" she accused, pushing him away. "You don't want him! You wish I'd never gotten pregnant!" She wrapped her arms around her middle, throwing herself at the pillows and crying loudly.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You don't want our baby! I can't believe you don't want him!"
"Honey, I never said that! Of course I w-"
"Don't lie to me!" she interrupted, screeching. "Don't you dare lie to me, Andrew! And don't think for one second that I'm not gonna have this baby. He is a part of us! How can you be so heartless!?"
Drew sighed and pulled her against his chest, wrapping both arms around her and holding her tightly, "Shhh, honey... It's okay... Let it out, Lib."
Her hands balled up into fists, pounding against his arms and chest as she tried to pull away. "N-No! Don't touch me! Don't-" Her voice broke off in a sob and she collapsed against him.
"Shhh," he repeated, rocking her gently and running his fingers through her hair again. "It's okay, baby... You wanna tell me what's wrong?"
Her fingers fisted in his shirt and she shook her head against him, her voice catching in her throat.
"It's okay, Lib," he soothed.
"B-Becca," she managed, burying her face against him. "She- Oh, Drew, honey, are we doing the right thing?"
"Of course we are, honey," he whispered, running his hands up and down her back. "What did she say? Do you want me to talk to her?"
"No," she whined, gripping his shirt tighter. "No, stay with me. Just-just hold me, Drew."
He nodded, squeezing her tightly to reassure her.
"... Is it selfish of us to want another baby?" Libby breathed, pulling her face away enough so that she could look into his eyes. "Is it-Drew, is it wrong?"
"No," he answered, his voice stern and serious. "Libby, look at me—look at me: We are doing the right thing. Okay? There is nothing wrong with us wanting another baby. There is nothing wrong with us having another baby. How can it be wrong to want to give something life? To want to love something?" He squeezed her again, "It's not wrong, Lib. It isn't selfish."
"Oh, Drew," she managed, burying her face against him.
"... Are you okay?" he whispered, waiting until her crying had quieted some. She nodded and scooted closer. "Are you sure you don't want me to talk to Becca?"
She shook her head, blinking up at him with her rich, chocolate, do eyes. "No... No, I will. Tomorrow. … Or maybe Friday. Or-"
"Honey," he laughed, gently cupping her cheek and wiping a tear away with his thumb. "You don't have to. I can do it if you want."
"No... No, I should do it. She-she's mad at me, Drew. I'll talk to her."
"Mad at you?" he echoed, confused. "Wh-why?"
"Cause we didn't talk to her. She feels like we're changing everything without even consulting her. … She blames me," she whispered.
"Didn't talk to her? We didn't even plan this! We didn't talk at all!"
"What are you saying, Drew? Do you blame me too?" she pulled out of his grip, her eyes darkening. "Are you saying that I planned this? Like I did this on my own!?"
"No," he answered immediately, reaching for her.
"No, don't touch me, Drew. You think I did this on my own!? I couldn't do that even if I wanted to!"
"Honey, you're hysterical," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Please calm down."
"Don't you dare tell me to calm down, Andrew Thatcher!" she snarled, standing up so she could glare down at him. "I am not hysterical! I am perfectly rational!"
"Honey, baby, Lib... I'm sorry," he changed his tactics. "That's not what I meant. At all. I'm not saying you planned this at all. And I want this baby, too."
"... Did you plan this?" she demanded, her eyes momentarily going wide. "Did you plan to get me pregnant without even consulting me? Andrew, this is my body! You can't just... Do that!"
"No! Libby, that's not what I meant!"
"... Get out."
"What?" he blinked, completely taken aback.
"I said get. Out," she pointed at their bedroom door.
"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" she screamed, tears welling in her eyes. She pointed at the door again.
"Libby, I'm not leaving. Talk to me, honey," Drew pleaded, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to the bed.
"DON'T TOUCH ME! I SAID GET OUT!" she yelled. She grabbed her pillow, hitting him with it to enunciate each word. "GET OUT!"
"Mom?" Corky asked, pushing their door open a crack to peer in.
Arnold quickly pushed the door open, leaping onto their bed and growling playfully at Drew as he climbed on top of him.
"CORKY!" Libby threw herself into her son's arms, breaking down in tears.
"What's wrong with mom?" he asked, hugging her back in confusion.
"She's—ow! Arnold! No! She's pregnant," Drew sighed.
"SHUT UP!" she sobbed, turning to yell at her husband. "That-That is not why I'm—Ugh! I can't even talk to you Andrew!" She hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind herself and crying loudly.
Drew nodded, letting out a slow sigh. "Well, Cork, there comes a time in every father-to-be's life when he realizes that the eighteen years raising the child is easy when compared to nine months before she's born. … You wouldn't remember cause you were too young when Becca was born. But this, Cork..." He clapped a hand on Corky's thigh. "This is good for your mother. She was worse last time."
Corky nodded as though he understood, patting his father's thigh in imitation.
"I CAN HEAR YOU!" Libby roared from the bathroom.
"Well, dad... You're on your own. Come on, Arnold," Corky got up, scurrying past the bathroom door and into his own room again, the family dog hot on his heels.