She's Having Her Baby

by Lauren Sams

  I sat down and Jase joined me. We were both silent for a while. I wondered what this conversation would be like if we were still together. Would it be a happier one? Or would it be even more loaded with tension because I still wouldn’t know if I wanted to keep it, despite Jase and I being together?

  ‘George … what are you going to do?’ Jase asked gently.

  ‘I don’t really know.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ve really fucked everything up, haven’t I?’

  Jase smiled at me. A real, warm, Jase smile. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and laughed. I joined in. I hadn’t really laughed in a week. It felt good. It felt like opening the lid on a bottle of soft drink – all the pressure subsided for a second.

  ‘I don’t really get how this happened, though. I thought you were on the pill.’

  I shrugged. ‘I was. Then I stopped taking it, because of Nina. One must have slipped past the net, I guess.’

  Jase let out a long breath. ‘Right. But … when did you find out?’

  ‘Last week. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you until now, I just … needed some time.’

  I told Jase the whole story, the shock of sitting in Dr Fisher’s office and hearing words I had never, ever wanted to hear.

  When I finished, Jase put his hand on mine. ‘That is a deeply messed-up situation.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘What does Nina think?’

  ‘I don’t know. She hasn’t spoken to me since.’

  I missed Nina so much. I had messaged her a few times, asking if we could meet and talk, but I’d heard nothing. It was worse than any break-up I’d ever been through. I kept thinking of things I wanted to say to her but couldn’t. And not even apologies or explanations – though, of course, I did think of these things close to constantly. It was more like a few days ago, when I’d seen a man on the bus cough without covering his mouth. Normally I’d message Nina to tell her about it and we’d start a rant about the importance of public hygiene. Instead, I had to keep my disgust to myself. And then later I saw a rerun of Seinfeld, the one where they get stuck in the parking lot. The first time I’d seen that episode, I was with Nina, in her old lounge room, pretending to do my homework. I’d only realised I shouldn’t text Nina about it when I was just about to hit ‘send’. Even opening the fridge at Ellie’s was rife with memories of Nina. I spied a block of fetta and remembered that Nina had once told me she didn’t trust food that has to be watered.

  I wondered if we would ever be friends again. If we couldn’t be, I wasn’t sure I could ever have another best friend. It would be so strange to even try to begin a new friendship. We wouldn’t have the years of shared memories and jokes, the shorthand language Nina and I had formed. And what if I did think I was best friends with this new girl, and I went to say the words, but she didn’t feel the same way? It would be far, far worse than that time my ex-boyfriend Dave had said ‘Okey dokey’ when I told him I loved him.

  He nodded. ‘She’ll be OK.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘She didn’t even say anything to me when it happened. She just sat there and stared. It was like she hadn’t even heard it, you know? Then she got up and walked out. I haven’t heard from her since.’

  ‘Have you called her? Or Matty?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve messaged, but she hasn’t messaged back. I think I’ll wait til she’s ready.’

  ‘You should call her. She needs you now. And you need her.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Jase was being incredibly reasonable about all of this. It was nice, but I sensed that he wasn’t telling me exactly what he really thought.

  ‘How do you feel about all this?’ I asked.

  Jase raised his eyebrows. ‘Um, it’s not what I expected to hear, that’s for sure. I don’t really know what to think, to be honest. I’m shocked.’

  I could relate. ‘Yeah,’ was all I managed to say.

  ‘I’ve never been with someone this has happened to before.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Have you …?’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve always been very vigilant about protection … you know, until now.’

  More nodding, more silence.

  ‘It’s up to you, George. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.’

  ‘That’s exactly what you’re meant to say.’

  ‘That’s not the only reason I said it.’

  ‘So are you living here now?’ Jase changed the topic abruptly, relieving both of us, I sensed. We both looked around at the debris of Cyclone Lucas.

  ‘Oh, god no,’ I said. ‘I mean, yes, technically, until I find somewhere else. But no, not living here. Not for good. I might go to Mum’s. Until I find something.’

  We were both silent for a minute. I wondered who Jase was dating. Probably someone from his cycling club, I guessed. She probably had a glamorous name like Saskia or Samara and long, toned legs and a perma-tan from all that cycling. Possibly she ran a hedge fund and read to illiterate children in her spare time. Obviously she was a demon in the sack.

  ‘I don’t really know what we’re meant to do now.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’d really love to talk it over with a drink,’ I said.

  ‘George …’

  ‘I’m kidding. Obviously.’

  ‘Can’t you take anything seriously?’ He shot me a withering look, full of shade.

  ‘Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’m not taking this seriously? This is all I think about. I am single. Pregnant. My best friend hates me because, essentially, I betrayed her without even knowing it. I am room-mates with a toddler. Oh, and apparently I don’t know how to do my job anymore. Life is great. I am taking this seriously, Jase, very seriously – but I need to lighten the mood every now and then, OK?’

  His mouth drew a thin line, but he nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t tell you this so you’d swoop in and rescue me, OK, Jase? I can take care of myself. I just … I figured you should know.’ I also figured I could leave out the part where it had been Ellie’s idea to let him know.

  ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry – I don’t want to be that dickhead guy, George.’

  I sighed. ‘You’re not a dickhead.’

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling, feeling tears beginning to pool. I knocked my head back, willing the tears away.

  Jase put his arm around me and pulled me close. It felt nice. The only person who’d touched me lately was Lucas, and he usually just wiped snot on my arm. Jase kissed the nape of my neck and I didn’t pull away.

  Eventually, I sat up and wiped my face.

  ‘Look, George … I don’t really know what happens in these situations, but I meant what I said – whatever you decide, it’s OK with me. It’s your decision. And, uh,’ he paused, looking uncomfortable, ‘I don’t know if this is vulgar or weird but, if it’s expensive, we’ll go halves or … um, whatever you like. Sorry. I don’t want it to seem like I’m throwing money at the problem, but …’

  ‘No, I know what you mean.’ I smiled at him, contemplating – yet again – the irony that was having an ex-boyfriend so charming he’d offered to pay for my abortion. Modern love, huh? ‘Thanks, Jase.’

  He nodded. ‘Sure. You still mean a lot to me, George. I’ll be there for you. We’ll figure this out together.’

  *

  Later that night, after Hurricane Lucas was tucked up in bed (after twenty-two minutes of patting and shushing by Simon, followed by another sixteen minutes of ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ on repeat from Ellie), and all the house lights, save the one over my head, had been extinguished, I lay in bed reading US Jolie but not entirely concentrating. Telling Jase today had had the effect I’d known it would have: things felt real now. I didn’t feel pregnant, and to the naked eye I didn’t look pregnant. It was easy enough to pretend that I wasn’t. But now it was out there. Jase knew. He would tell his cyclist girlfriend, probably over a cold glass of delicious, expensive white wine, which they could both drink because the
y were not pregnant. They were probably talking about it right now, while some terribly pretentious hipster band played in the background. They probably felt sorry for me. Good. I felt sorry for me, too.

  I would have to tell Meg, of course. I wondered how she would react. She had never had children; she and her husband, she told me, had made a decision early on that they didn’t want kids. It was one of the reasons I felt so close to Meg; she really understood that I just didn’t want kids. That there was no hidden or deeper meaning to it; I just didn’t want a child.

  And I’d have to tell Mum. God knows what she’d say. Probably something passive with just the right amount of aggressive. How many times had she told me how rewarding it was to be a mother? How it was the only thing she’d ever wanted to do? I had given up trying to tell her that it was something I just never wanted to do. I had stopped answering when she told me it was just a phase I was going through.

  My phone beeped.

  Are you awake? N x

  I felt my heart start beating faster. Finally!

  Yes. G x

  Can I call?

  I started to type ‘yes’ but had a better idea.

  Meet me at the pub down

  the road from Ellie’s. The

  one near the station. G x

  It took a few minutes, which, for me, stretched by too slowly, but I finally got a reply.

  See you in 15.

  15

  Week 17,

  DAY 5

  ’Tis a truth universally acknowledged that when you’re sober, drunk people seem almost immeasurably more obnoxious. You can’t imagine, in your current state of sobriety, exactly how anyone could become so inebriated, much less why they’d want to. It was in such a state that I studied the inhabitants of the old-man pub near Ellie’s place. There were, of course, the old men, most of whom seemed to be behaving themselves and enjoying a quiet middy before bedtime. But then there were also a few small groups of people my own age, enjoying the irony of this dank beerhole, improbably rowdy with drink at 10.30 pm on a Tuesday. Weeks of enforced sobriety had apparently given me amnesia: it suddenly seemed preposterous that I would ever have been as badly behaved as these louts, who were singing off-key Cold Chisel covers like they were extras on a bogan version of Glee. I had neatly elided the memory of Nina and I banging out ‘99 Luftballons’ only a few months ago.

  I sat down with my mineral water and tried not to swallow the whole thing in one go. An unexpected side effect of pregnancy was my extreme preoccupation with thirst. Nothing could quench it. I secretly thought a beer might, but – jokes with Jase aside – I felt too guilty to let a bottle touch my lips. I was exhausted, too. That afternoon I’d glanced at the clock on my screen at work, shocked to find it was so early. How could it be only 2 pm if I needed to lie down so badly?

  The door creaked open and a table full of young guys turned their heads collectively to see who was entering. It was Nina, looking tired and worn, like a grey t-shirt that used to be white. The guys turned away. I felt a stab of anger on Nina’s behalf.

  She saw me and smiled wanly. ‘Hey,’ she said, waving limply.

  I did my best impression of a happy smile and stood up to greet her. Her eyes immediately scanned my stomach. So this is how it’s going to be from now on, I thought. There would always be a divide.

  ‘Hey, Neen.’

  ‘Hey.’

  We both said nothing for what seemed like minutes. It was probably less than ten seconds, but it felt interminable.

  ‘How are you?’ I ventured.

  She shrugged. ‘OK. How are … things?’

  ‘Good.’ I sighed and rolled my eyes, laughing. ‘Actually, things are really shit. Things are not good.’

  ‘Yeah, I know the feeling.’

  ‘I am so sorry, Neen. I had no idea. I was just as shocked as you were. Maybe more.’ I reached across the table and was happily surprised when Nina let me hold her hands. Maybe things will be OK.

  ‘I know. And I’m sorry for just walking out that day – I just didn’t know what to do. I ended up sitting in my car for about three hours before Matt came to get me. I think he was worried I’d drive into a tree or something.’

  The thought of Nina trying to hurt herself made my stomach do a somersault.

  ‘You’re not going to do that, are you?’

  ‘No.’ She squeezed my hand and smiled – a little ruefully, but I took it anyway. ‘This isn’t your fault, George. You shouldn’t feel bad. You were going to do something incredible for us, which we are still so thankful for.’

  I shrugged, embarrassed.

  ‘I was so devastated at the clinic that day. This is hard for me to say, but … I’m so jealous. It feels awful to be so jealous of you, George, because I love you, but … there’s also this part of me that is so angry at you. I mean, not at you, not really, but at the situation. And I know it’s not your fault and I know that you don’t even want to be pregnant – well, I assume so, anyway – but I can’t help it. You didn’t even try and you got pregnant. You didn’t even try.’

  She took a deep breath, staring down at her lap. She looked utterly exhausted, the way – irony of ironies – new parents did.

  I didn’t speak; I didn’t know how to put my guilt into words. I was overwhelmed by it.

  I felt guilty for having been so flippant about my own birth control as to not even notice that it wasn’t working. I felt guilty for not knowing how I felt about this baby.

  I thought of the many charts and apps Nina used to keep track of every change her body made. I thought of the guilt she felt for all the things she assumed she’d done wrong: she thought she’d started too late and drank too much and had taken too many party pills and not enough folate. I’d barely even looked at pregnancy vitamins and yet, here I was, pregnant.

  Worse, I felt like a fraud, because, even after all of this, I still had no idea exactly what it was like to be Nina. I had never felt that pull of motherhood that Nina felt. And that, in turn, made me feel even guiltier.

  Nina took a deep breath, sniffing back some tears. ‘Look, like I said, none of this is your fault. And I am sorry for being a terrible friend and making this all about me.’

  I shook my head. ‘Are you kidding? Oh god, Neen, I don’t think that at all. You have every right to be upset.’

  ‘Yeah … and no. I mean, I should be happy for you, right? That’s what friends do. I mean, if that’s what you want.’ She paused. ‘And that’s the other thing. I just keep thinking that if you don’t want the baby then you’re not going to keep it, and … I’m not sure I could deal with that, either.’

  I nodded, gulping down the last of my mineral water. God, I needed a drink. A proper drink.

  ‘But then, if you do have a baby, I don’t know if I could deal with that. If you had a baby and I didn’t. This sounds so awful, George, I know, but … it’s not fair.’

  It wasn’t fair, she was right. But in a lot of ways, this wasn’t a fair situation for me, either. I sensed this wasn’t the time to bring it up.

  ‘I guess what I’m saying is that … well, I’m a bit of a mess right now. I really thought the surrogacy might actually work, and I haven’t let myself get my hopes up like that in such a long time. And it took such a long time to get to a point where I was happy to even have a surrogate. I don’t just want a baby, I want to be pregnant. I want to know that there’s a little someone growing in there. But eventually I realised it was the best option. Or the only option, really. And now …’ she bowed her head and trailed off. Suddenly I was desperate for self-deprecating Nina to come back. This was too intense, there was too much being said. In a flash I saw why Nina had always tried to make light of even the most serious situations, like her mum dying. It was just so much easier to laugh than to cry.

  I said nothing, waiting for Nina to continue. I concentrated on the melting ice cubes in the bottom of my glass, waiting for them to become water so I could have a drink. It was official: this baby was sucking the fluid righ
t out of me.

  Nina took a deep breath and continued. ‘I guess what I’m saying is that I didn’t make that decision lightly. And I know you didn’t either. So I was in. I was all in. I let myself think that it was going to happen.’ She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have let myself build it up so much.’

  ‘It’s understandable. I thought it was going to work too. I’m so sorry, Neen.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, even though it really wasn’t.

  ‘You have every right to hate me. I hate myself a bit for what I’ve put you through.’ She pulled her lips to the corner of her mouth, smirking. It was an almost smile.

  ‘What does Jase think?’

  ‘He was, ah, quite surprised. To say the least.’

  ‘I bet.’

  I knew that Nina wanted to ask me if I was keeping the baby. I suspected she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Thank god, because I still didn’t have an answer.

  The fact that I hadn’t made up my mind was, frankly, worrying. What did it mean? If anyone had asked me a year ago – god, even a few months ago – what I’d do if those two telltale blue lines showed up, I’d have told them, without any doubt, what my next move would be. I would have been un-pregnant quicker than Usain Bolt could dash to the finish line.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t have beem. Because I’d never faced the question before now.

  I wasn’t even leaning particularly towards one decision or another. My mind was mud and the question was firmly stuck in it.

  I had been grateful for all the unemotional words the clinic had used. I wouldn’t be ‘pregnant’; I’d be ‘a carrier’. It wasn’t a ‘baby’; it was an ‘embryo’ or a ‘zygote’ or a ‘foetus’. It had helped me think of it in purely transactional terms – I had something Nina wanted, and I was willing to share. End of. But now that I was pregnant – really, actually pregnant – it was suddenly a ‘baby’. I was a ‘mother’, whether I liked it or not. It was getting harder to draw the lines.

  In a way, I’d almost believed that telling Jase would help me decide. His impressively feminist reaction was obviously the right way to handle things, but the silliest part of my brain couldn’t help but imagine that if this were a Nancy Meyers film, we’d be picking out nursery colours together by now, and I’d have a mandate to send Jase out for Blue Ribbon at 1 am.