Sorry, running late. I can be there in 20.
A second later, her reply comes:
Okay! I’ll make sure your coffee’s ready.
I spot Miranda at a table at the back of the The Split Bean café. Unlike me, she’s put together and ready for a day’s work.
‘Jesus, Nick, you look like you pulled an all-nighter,’ she says as I slide into the seat opposite her.
She’s not wrong about that. I haven’t slept a wink. My phone pings then with a message from Paige, wanting to know if I can meet her at The Butter Dish. She wants to discuss something important. Hope, I think to myself. What did I expect? Loyalty from Paige’s best friend? An uneasy feeling swirls in the pit of my stomach.
‘Nick?’
‘Uh, I’ll have a flat white, no sugar.’
Miranda smiles. ‘I know. And it’s right there in front of you, actually.’
She’s right. There it is. A steaming-hot flat white with my name scribbled on the paper cup. ‘Sorry.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
Of course I want to talk about it. I am the world’s worst husband. I’m a shitty person doing something unforgivable. If my wife doesn’t die, I’m going to lose her anyway. Me, the guy who has lived his life trying not to screw up, has done just that.
My phone beeps with another message from Paige.
So? Is that a yes?
I type back:
Yes. See you there.
I am literally breaking out in a post-run sweat as my thumb hovers over the send button.
Miranda, sensing something is off, leans forward. ‘Nick, can I ask you something? Does Paige know we’ve been seeing each other?’
I put my phone away. ‘Ah, no, I haven’t told her yet.’ Another compelling argument for the shitty husband category, I think to myself.
‘It might be a good time to tell her,’ she suggests. ‘Nobody likes being lied to, and Paige is feeling extremely fragile at the moment.’
This isn’t so much a lie as it is an omission of information, I reason. But I know exactly what she means. ‘I will. I plan to. I’ve needed some space… to wrap my head around it all.’
‘Don’t leave it too long, that’s my advice,’ she says, sipping on her coffee. ‘So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’
‘I’m thinking of meeting with a barrister.’
Miranda runs a finger along the rim of her cappuccino mug, and I get the impression she already knows what I’m going to say. ‘Isn’t that a little… I don’t know? Extreme?’
‘It’s…’ I need to land on the right word here. ‘Necessary.’
‘But is it?’
‘I can’t sit back and let her die, can I?’
‘But you’re not letting anyone die, Nick. This is a huge decision. And I can’t begin to imagine how torn you both must be. But ultimately this rests with Paige. You can’t be responsible for her like this – she’s her own person and has every right to make a decision according to what feels true and right for her, no matter the consequences.’
‘Her sister, my father-in-law… they expect me to resolve this, to make sure she changes her mind. Maybe this will help her see that the risks are real.’
‘The way I see it, your job here is to support her. She knows the risks. I think she also knows there’s a chance she may lose this baby too.’
‘It’ll be my fault.’
‘It won’t be,’ she counters.
But that’s the problem. It’s on me. It always is. Ever since Zac, it always has been.
Thirty-Six
Paige
Half an hour passes, then an hour, and Nick still hasn’t shown up. I keep my eyes trained on the family of three on the other side of the park: a mother, father and an infant, who keeps insisting they continue pushing him on the swing. And then I imagine Nick playing the role of a single father – of him bringing Piper and our child to the park without me. Will he remember to pack snacks for car rides? Will he enrol our baby in swimming classes at three months of age like I plan to? Will he spend time making sandcastles and say no to ice cream before dinner? And will he be able to give our son or daughter the kind of life that I dreamed of, one that will ensure that he or she grows up knowing that the life I had was one that I was willing to give up? And will that make a difference to making the pain of growing up without a mother less apparent?
I wait for Nick for over an hour. Finally, when I haven’t heard from him, I send him another message.
How far off are you? It’s getting a little cold. Should we meet somewhere else?
Ten minutes later my phone buzzes.
I’m sorry. Walking out the door now. Give me half an hour.
I find a spot for us in the back corner of The Butter Dish, the local eatery that Nick and I have been coming to since his university days. We always order the same thing here: two milkshakes – one chocolate, one vanilla – and a bowl of nachos to share. I place the order while I wait. When our food shows up, Nick still hasn’t, and I dial his number. It rings out. I try again, and this time he denies the call. It goes straight to voicemail. I don’t bother leaving a message. Instead, I wait five minutes, hide my number and then try again. He answers on the second ring.
‘Hi, this is Nick.’
‘Hey. It’s me.’
‘Who? Uh, Paige?’
‘Ah, yep. Your wife.’
‘I’m on my way.’
I can hear the clatter of plates and the buzz of voices in the background.
‘Where are you?’
‘I stopped by a café and I’m literally leaving now.’
‘A café? For what? Why would you—’
‘Coffee.’
‘It couldn’t wait until you came here?’
‘I needed to talk to someone about something.’ The background noise gets louder and then recedes. ‘Give me twenty minutes. I’m sorry. Time slipped away.’
‘I’ve been waiting for you for hours. Our order’s on the table.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ he says, cutting me off. ‘Promise.’
‘Hey, sorry,’ he says, twenty minutes later, giving me a quick peck on the lips before he pulls out a chair.
‘You already apologised,’ I say tersely. I bite down on my straw to stop myself making another smart comment. ‘So, uh… how was your morning?’ I say, neutrally. ‘You went for a jog, obviously. And detoured past a café and now you’re here.’
‘Yes, I know.’ He rubs his cheeks. ‘Should we cut to the chase?’ His brow is creased, and even as he sips on his milkshake, it doesn’t smooth out.
I reach for a nacho. ‘Okay, fine. Well, I’ve thought about it. About both sides. And I know you’re concerned about the worst-case scenario, and I agree that if it comes to that, your world is going to change. Our world is going to change if I can’t carry this pregnancy as long as I hope I’ll be able to. I don’t want you to be hurt. But I don’t know how to get us out of this.’