Lines in the Orange Light

The grey hair appeared on Tuesday—a single, defiant strand amidst the brown. Mara pulled it from her temple with trembling fingers and stared at it in the fluorescent bathroom light. Thirty-seven years old and suddenly running out of time.

She met Leo at their usual café, his orange hair bright against the grey November afternoon. They'd been friends since college, before the marriages and divorces, before the careers that ate their weekends. He was already peeling an orange when she arrived, the citrus scent cutting through the stale coffee air.

"You look like hell," he said, pushing a section of fruit toward her.

"Thanks." Mara ate the orange, bitter juice flooding her mouth. "I found a grey hair."

Leo laughed. "That's it? God, you had me worried." His smile faded as he really looked at her. "That's not it, is it?"

Mara opened her palm, revealing the hair she'd carried in her pocket all day. "I'm pregnant, Leo. Forty-five days along."

The café noise seemed to stop. Leo's fork clattered against his plate. "You said you couldn't—you and Tom tried for years."

"That was the problem. It worked when we stopped trying." Mara's voice cracked. "Tom doesn't know yet. I'm terrified."

Leo reached across the table, his palm covering hers. "You're going to be amazing."

"I'm running out of time to figure out how to tell him. What if he leaves? What if I'm not ready?"

"He won't leave." Leo squeezed her hand. "And you're never going to feel ready. That's not how this works."

Mara looked at her friend—really looked at him. The hair at his temples was greying too. They were both getting older, running toward something undefined together or apart. The orange section in her other hand had gone warm.

"Say it with me," Leo said gently. "I'm pregnant."

"I'm pregnant," she whispered.

"Louder."

"I'm pregnant." She said it again, and again, until she believed it could be true. The grey hair lay on the table between them, tiny and terrifying and beginning to feel like something like hope.