I’m back on the toilet in a flash as Ro pulls the other stick from the bag. This time I don’t get up. My eyes are glued to the stick, and Ro peers over my shoulder. Within seconds those two dark pink lines fill the window.
And just like that, my whole life takes a one-eighty-degree turn. If Ro says something sympathetic now, I think I might break.
“Well, on the bright side, it will be the world’s most beautiful baby with you and Nick as its parents.” Ro sits on the side of the bath to face me, still sitting on the toilet with my knickers around my ankles.
It crosses my mind how lucky I am to have a friend who knows me so well and thinks nothing of watching me pee and holding my hand before I’ve even washed it. But I can’t even form words to answer her.
“Ginger tea for Mama?” she asks, and we both start to laugh until I’m crying and laughing at the same time.
Rosanna has me settled on the bed, propped up on pillows with a cup of ginger tea before either of us say another word.
“How could this have happened? I have an implant. What am I going to do?” My voice is barely a whisper. I remember my plan to check when my implant needed replacing. The plan I didn’t follow through. And the conversation with Nick where I assured him he didn’t need to worry he’d end up being my baby daddy. Shit.
“I don’t know, sweetie. No birth control is one hundred per cent foolproof. And you have been giving it a good workout. But you have enough to worry about today. For now, you’re going to finish your tea, get dressed and hightail it down to the gallery to make sure everything is perfect for tonight. Then you’re going to bask in the adoration of the crowd and sell a shit ton of paintings. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.” Ro perches beside me.
“Can it?” I don’t know how I’ll be able to think about anything else. At all.
“Well, you’re no more pregnant today than you were yesterday, are you? So yes, it can. And whatever happens, whatever you decide, you know I’m in your corner. Always. Unless you make someone else godmother. Then you’re dead to me.” Ro makes a face as she sips the ginger tea she made herself in solidarity. “Erk. Hope you don’t need nine months of this stuff.”
A hot shower, another cup of ginger tea and some dry toast and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. The Black Gallery is in the trendiest section of Oxford Street. Ro and I arrive to find Sebastian in a flurry of colour and movement, and half a dozen tradies up ladders hanging paintings and adjusting lighting.
“Ohh, here she is.” I’m air kissed to within an inch of my life before he turns to Rosanna. “And who have we here, darling? Oh my, you could be mistaken for a nineteen-fifties Italian film star, my love. I’m Sebastian. Delighted to meet you.” Ro gets the same air-kiss treatment before Seb sashays off ahead of us, waving his hand in his wake. “Come, come, come. What do you think? Are you happy with the placements? The lighting? Oh, and the catalogues arrived last night. Thank God. Cutting it way too close for my liking. Youmusthave a browse. They’restunning.”
Sebastian’s energy and enthusiasm are contagious, and I’m swept up in deciding last-minute details, leaving me no time to dwell on this morning’s revelation. By mid-afternoon, everything is as ready as it can be.
“Off you pop, darling. You know I love you, and I think you’re beautiful, but it won’t do to have those bags under your eyes tonight. I want you to pop some cucumber on them and have a nap and I’ll see you back here at seven pm sharp.” Sebastian sweeps the door open, as a courier arrives with the biggest flower arrangement I’ve ever seen.
“Delivery for Lulu MacLeod?”
“Ohh—aren’t they divine,” Sebastian coos, directing them to be placed on the entry table, signing for them, then looking at me expectantly.
I know they must be from Nick, but I’m surprised to see his own bold and angular handwriting on the card:
‘You deserve every success in the world. Can’t wait to hear the story of your triumph. N xx’
“Are these from the delicious man I keep seeing at your loft?”
“Yes.” I force the word through the lump in my throat, touched he must have taken the time to visit the florist himself.
“Well. He’s a keeper. Now off you go. We’ll leave these here in the foyer to greet the guests.” And with that, Sebastian floats away, leaving Ro to take me home.
Neither the nap nor the cucumber slices do much for the bags under my eyes. Largely because the nap is spent tossing and turning, wondering how to break the news to Nick. When Ro comes to wake me, I’m staring at the ceiling.
“I can’t see him tonight. I need time to …”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Why don’t you stay at mine tonight? Tell him we’re going out after the opening and you’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure tomorrow will be enough time.” I sigh.
“It doesn’t have to be. It only has to be enough to get through tonight. Tomorrow you can work out what to do next. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow, right?”
She’s right, so I text Nick:
Me: I’m going to stay at Rosanna’s tonight after the opening. We’re going out to celebrate.
Nick: OK. If you get a chance, give me a call and let me know how it went?
Me: If I can
