“Yeah. No. I meant, how are you feeling about Nick? Have you made any decisions yet?”
“I have, actually. I need to come back to Sydney and face the music. It’s just so complicated. I don’t know where to start.”
“At the risk of sounding trite—you could start by asking him for an honest explanation.”
“I guess so. But it’s not just him who has some explaining to do.”
“Based on the size of your belly, maybe you won’t have to explain much of anything.”
I ignore her jab. “I don’t want him to think I’ve only come back because I’m pregnant. I want him to know I’m there because of him. How I feel about him.”
“Right. Well, unlike some people we could name, cough, cough, he might be prepared to take you at your word.”
“Yes. Okay. I realise I didn’t handle this particularly well. I was emotional. Irrational. Hormonal.” I grouse, even though I realise these are nothing more than sad excuses for giving in to my fear.
“Particularly well? It’s been a monumental, and totally unnecessary, clusterfuck. He turned up at work, you know.”
“What? When?” I can’t believe she didn’t tell me this.
“About a week ago. He’d left a few messages, and when I didn’t return his calls, he turned up unannounced, demanding to see me. I had to see him to get him to go away. I lied and told him I had no idea where you are. Which he didn’t believe, by the way, despite my Oscar-worthy performance. So put your big girl panties on and work this shit out. It’s not all about you anymore. And time’s a wasting.”
“I checked my phone. He stopped messaging two days ago. What if he’s decided it’s all too hard?”
“He’s been messaging all this time? Can you hear yourself? If I was the one knocked up by a gorgeous, smart, successful man, what would you be saying to me?” She throws the fabric she’s been fiddling with up in the air.
“I’d be telling you to … I don’t know.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’d be telling me to get on a plane and tell him. What did all his messages say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read them or listened to the voicemails.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can’t even stand it anymore. Get your head out of your arse and listen to them.”
“What if he’s angry with me?”
“Angry? Based on the way he looked when he came to the office, I’d say he’s furious. And heartbroken. With a side order of guilt and remorse. And maybe that’s not unreasonable. Whatisunreasonable is you continuing to stick your head in the sand and pretend this isn’t happening. Because it is—one giant belly being exhibit A.”
“It’s not giant.”
“Don’t change the subject. The longer you leave it, the angrier he’s going to get. And with good reason. Maybe he’ll want you, maybe he won’t. But either way, it’s his decision to make. Not yours. And whichever way it goes, it’s better than this limbo.”
I sigh. “I know. You’re right. But if this all goes to shit, I’m blaming you.”
I laugh, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks.
“Sure. You can blame me. But something tells me going to shit is not what this will do. Except maybe when you’re in labour. I watched a doco on childbirth, and when you push–”
“Lalalalala.” I interrupt, putting my fingers in my ears. “I don’t want to hear it.” And now we’re both laughing. When we eventually stop, I wrap my hands across my not-giant belly. “Okay, Ro. I’ll let you know the details once I’ve booked the ticket.”
“Love you. Say hi to Duncan for me.” She signs off with a kiss.
Over dinner, I fill Dad in on my plans.
“Well,mo chridhe,I’m glad you’ve made a decision at last. As much as I’ll miss you, I think you’re right in doing this face to face.”
“Dad. You’re supposed to tell me a short email—or a text message even—would be enough.” We both laugh. “I’ll book a ticket tonight. Open-ended, I guess. And then we’ll see.”
“You do what you have to do. For you and the bairn. But never forget, whatever happens, darling, you always have a home here with me.” Somehow, Dad manages to look sad and happy at the same time. I guess for both of us, this is a bittersweet moment.
