Evelyn tosses him his keys from the fruit bowl. ‘Bunnings closes at nine, and the last time I checked, you prefer to eat risotto warm, not cold.’
‘I won’t be home for dinner.’
‘Honestly, after all these years of marriage, you’d think you’d learn how to argue like an adult.’
David doesn’t hear any of this, of course, because he’s already halfway down the hallway.
Evelyn returns outside, closing the sliding door behind her.
‘I think I might need a chamomile tea. Or is it lemon balm that’s better for this?’ She holds her hands out and inspects her hands, which are trembling. ‘Never mind,’ she whispers. ‘I’m sorry about that, Nick. Lucky you’re family.’
But it’s not Evelyn’s words that weigh on me. It’s David’s. I can’t let them down.
A few hours later I’m at Mark and Caitlin’s country house. Mark greets me in the driveway with a wave. He’s wearing work boots, a tool belt around his waist and a T-shirt with holes in it – a contrast from his usual suit and tie for his job at a bank.
‘This look suits you,’ I say, pulling my own pair of work boots out of the back seat of the car. I’ve had them for years and they’ve never been worn.
He laughs. ‘If I could do this kind of work all day, every day, I’d be a happy man.’
I wonder if he realises this statement implies he’s currently not a happy man, but I brush it aside. Mark and Caitlin have their lives together – he’s got a great job, they have a beautiful house, two amazing kids with another on the way, and a supportive family if we don’t count the current Paige–Caitlin drama that’s been unfolding. They have everything going for them. This country house – and all the hiccups that have come with it – is seemingly the biggest problem in their life.
‘Maybe it’s time for a career change?’ I offer as he leads me inside.
The house is nowhere near complete but I can tell already it’s going to be an absolute stunner by the time it’s finished. It was originally a miner’s cottage, and Mark has retained much of the original character of the home: the floorboards, the marble fireplace, the crown moulding.
‘Actually, I’ve been thinking maybe it is.’
‘Yeah?’ I’m impressed. Mark’s always been focused on his corporate job, and it takes guts to pivot into another career.
‘Yeah, I feel like I’m missing out on the kids. By the time I get home they’re usually already in bed.’
‘Everything looks great so far,’ I say, changing the subject.
‘I’d love to move out here. Caitlin won’t have a bar of it though. She prefers the suburbs.’
He opens an esky and pulls out two cold beers. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about Paige. Caitlin thinks it’s too risky… for her to keep the baby. Is that true?’
I pop the cap off my beer and nod. ‘It’s definitely risky.’ Of course, I was hoping we could avoid this conversation, but this is my brother-in-law and it’s only natural he’s asking the question.
Mark lifts his eyebrows. ‘You don’t deserve this, Nick. Neither does she.’
‘It’s not a question of deserving anything. We just need to figure out what to do from here. I don’t think she should go ahead with things but she has other ideas.’
He nods, understanding. ‘Wow, so where does that leave you?’
This is a question I am not ready to answer. I have no idea where this leaves me, but I know it means that maybe Mark won’t be the only one making a career change. Only mine might be out of necessity. I never pictured myself as a single dad, though I’m sure nobody ever actually does, unless it’s by choice.
That would never – could never – be my choice.
Thirty
Paige
The cotton from the hospital gown feels cool against my skin. I lie on my back, a sheet over my legs, as the ultrasound technician, Jack, tries to explain how a transvaginal ultrasound works. As he rolls the protective sheath over the probe and tells me where he’s going to put it, I decide that he isn’t doing a very good job. All I can think of is that I would give anything right now to duck out of the room and empty my already supposedly empty bladder. But seconds later, a fuzzy image appears on the monitor and I forget about the discomfort.
I turn my head sideways to get a better glimpse at the screen. Jack is silent, deep in concentration, his fingers typing and clicking and zooming.
When I can’t bear the suspense any longer, I ask, ‘Is that it? The baby? Does it have a heartbeat?’
Jack keeps his eyes focused on the image. He points to a grey mass. ‘This is the gestation sac here,’ he says finally. ‘And this here is…’
‘A heartbeat?’
‘One hundred and sixteen beats per minute,’ he says as the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sound reverberates through my ears. My insides come alive as I crane my neck, unable to tear my eyes away from the tiny little flicker. Max’s little brother or sister.
‘Want a photo?’ he asks as a roll of pictures spits out of the machine.
‘Yes, please.’
Jack hands me a series of images – hazy pictures of my future son or daughter.
He exits the room and leaves me to dress. I take my time, legs dangling from the bed, one hand on my belly, holding the pictures close to my chest, keeping the moment all to myself before this becomes something I have to share. I don’t want to think about anyone else’s reactions to this. These images are proof that I have a baby growing inside of me and I cannot bear the thought of anyone spoiling my moment.
Six weeks, four days. EDD 14 July.
I text Nick and wait for his reply. It comes two hours and thirty-four minutes later, while I’m grocery shopping.
Sorry I couldn’t be there today. I should be home around seven tonight if all goes well. Should we grab a bite to eat? Meet you at Provincial’s?
My stomach drops. I don’t know what reaction I was expecting, but this isn’t it. I text back:
Yes to Provincial’s. We have a heartbeat!
See you then. Gotta go.
I stand in the middle of the supermarket, feeling my cheeks burn as I slip my phone into my pocket. Years from now, how will I describe this moment to my son or daughter? When we found out we were expecting you it went like this…
I enter the fruit section and start loading my trolley. Week Eight: Your baby is the size of a raspberry. Week Nine: Your baby is the size of a grape. Week Thirteen: Your baby is the size of a kiwi.
The unbearable weight of doubt anchors itself in the pit of my stomach like an undigested meal. What if I won’t be around to tell my son or daughter anything at all? Dad’s face enters my mind. Ryan’s voicemails. Caitlin’s text messages. Mum’s secret phone calls to Nick. They’re all scared.
And then, right there in the grocery store, in front of the forty-week melons, I start sobbing.
I arrive at Provincial’s early. I’m starving, not having been able to stomach breakfast or lunch. I help myself to a grissini and wait for Nick to turn up. While the minutes tick by I text Caitlin back. She messaged earlier asking how I was doing.