‘Paige?’
‘I’m pregnant.’
Imogen blinks in surprise. ‘Pregnant,’ she echoes, as if trying the word on for size.
‘Mmmhmm.’
‘A surprise?’
‘Mmmhmm,’ I repeat. ‘Seven weeks.’
‘Still processing?’
‘Mmmhmm.’
She scribbles a note onto her pad before setting it down. ‘Okay, so tell me about it,’ she says in the casual tone she always uses.
I sip my water, thinking about what I want to say, but all I can think of are the blooms. ‘Nick rarely buys me flowers. He used to, when we were dating, and then for a while after we first got married. But now he usually buys them for special occasions. I always keep the cards. I store them in a shoebox in my wardrobe.’ I smile to myself. ‘I’ve kept every single card, letter and memo. Sometimes when he leaves for work he leaves a Post-it note on his side of the bed for me because he knows how hard it is to have to wake up without him beside me when he’s on call. Sometimes I can barely make out his handwriting. Those notes – those tiny reminders of how much he loves me – they mean so much.’ I feel the tears prick my eyes. ‘I don’t think he knows this, but I keep them. I keep them all. I’m on my fifth shoebox.’
‘Why do you keep them?’ she asks.
‘I’ve never really given much thought to why I keep them. It’s kind of like how my mum kept all the cards my sister and I gave her when we were growing up. But I think that… I think I hold onto Nick’s notes so that one day we’ll have a reminder – and our children will have a reminder of us and… how much we loved each other.’
Imogen waits for me to continue.
‘I don’t remember the flowers once I toss them out. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. But somehow I need to find a way to still be there, even if I’m not there…’
Imogen blinks at me, registering my words. ‘I’m hearing you, Paige, and I know where you’re going with this, but why don’t we unpack this first.’
Imogen asks me what the doctors have told me and I explain the risks to her.
‘Tell me, how did Nick react to the news? How’s he feeling about things?’
‘Nick, the doctors… well, actually, pretty much everyone I know except Mum and Hope are telling me to end the pregnancy.’
‘And how are you feeling about things?’
I give a deep sigh. ‘I understand why they’re saying what they’re saying. The thing is, if I terminate this pregnancy, I don’t know how I’d go back to living life in the same way as before, knowing I did that.’ I frown at her and shrug.
‘Let me tell you something. The emotional distress you’re experiencing right now is normal. Motherhood goes hand in hand with an innate and very strong sense to protect. These things don’t always need to be logical. So your feelings are your feelings, and you can give yourself permission to own them.’
‘I think I love this baby.’
Imogen nods. ‘And I believe that you do. Women experience love for their babies at vastly different points: early pregnancy, late pregnancy, at birth or even much later once they’ve had a chance to get to know the infant. What you’re feeling is real, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to feel it.’
‘It would be easier if I didn’t. I told Nick I’d at least consider the alternative. I had an appointment with a counsellor at an abortion clinic.’
‘So you’re considering the alternative? You’ve weighed up the risks to your own life?’
‘I don’t want to die, but when I think about how we lost Max the way we did, I don’t think I can do it. I’d never judge a woman for terminating a pregnancy, but for me personally, I can’t seem to separate the emotion here.’
I stare at the abstract painting on the wall for a long time.
‘Is there a chance that continuing this pregnancy could risk both your lives?’ she asks.
‘Yes. The doctors are aware of the issue though, and I’ll be given proper monitoring. I know what to look out for in terms of heart failure symptoms this time.’
‘What if the worst happened to you? Where would that leave Nick? Have you thought about what that might look like?’
It is the unthinkable, and even briefly allowing myself to imagine what it would be like for Nick to care for our baby without me sends a crack through my heart. It would be unfair. For everyone.
I wring my hands together and twirl my wedding band around. ‘It’s not only my decision, is it?’
‘If your baby makes it and you don’t, your husband is going to be left to pick up the pieces.’
‘He would be a great dad,’ I offer.
Imogen presses her lips together and then pauses, as if she’s thinking about what to say and how to say it. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. The thing is, does he want to be a single dad – without you?’
I swallow uncomfortably, feeling the hopelessness of this situation tighten around me like an impending storm.
‘It’s not about what we want. None of us wanted this.’
‘No, I know, of course not,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘It’s something to consider. The fact is there are going to be implications beyond this one decision, and those implications might not involve you.’ Imogen pours herself a glass of water. ‘I know this conversation is uncomfortable so I think we should wrap things up for today. I want you to keep my number handy and call me – call me any time, day or night, if you need to. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ I reply. But a phone call with Imogen isn’t what I need. What I need is a way to make a final decision. Because once I make it, that would be that, and there’ll be no turning back.
‘What are you doing?’ asks Nick the next evening as he joins me in the living room following a fourteen-hour shift. I’m sitting on the floor, legs crossed, watching back-to-back episodes of Gilmore Girls. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched this series, always slightly in awe of the kind of relationship Lorelai and Rory had together as mother and daughter.
It’s an unusually cold day and it’s been raining outside. Nick let a draft in when he opened the front door and I can still feel the cold air radiating from his body as he bends down to kiss me before plonking himself down on the sofa.
‘I got these photos developed this afternoon. They’ve been on the memory cards since forever.’ I sit down next to him and show him a photo of us together. It was taken on one of our very first dates to Max Brenner. We sat in that chocolate bar booth together sipping on hot chocolate until the owner turned off the lights and we had no choice but to leave. Nick walked me home in the rain – slowly, the whole trip taking us a little over an hour. And when our lips met when we said goodbye, our bodies shivering in the cold, I invited Nick in. We’ve been inseparable since.
Nick stares at the photo before his eyes travel to the ones spread out on the floor.
‘Uh, so why now?’ he asks. He pops the cap off a bottle of beer and takes a sip.
‘I, uh, I just felt like it.’ I flick to the next photo. ‘Do you remember this night? When we drove all the way to Ocean Grove and then realised we’d made the accommodation booking for the wrong weekend? We ended up sleeping on the beach and then we drove back home the next day.’ I laugh, recalling the memories.