by Lindsey Kelk
‘That’s funny,’ I said, even though it wasn’t. She was a fool to herself; there was no sales tax on clothing in New Jersey.
‘Angela, I think it’s time to check the tests,’ Cici said. ‘Do you want me to look or do you want to do it?’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, my voice strange and soft and unfamiliar.
With a deep, determined breath, I picked up the first test. And then the second. And then the third.
‘So?’
She looked at me impatiently as I rounded the partition, three white plastic sticks wrapped in toilet paper in my hand.
‘It’s probably against the odds that all three of them could be wrong, isn’t it?’ I asked, looking at myself in the mirror behind her. My face was pale, my eyes were wide, and my tights were still around my ankles.
‘Oh,’ Cici replied. ‘Wow.’
‘Yep,’ I replied, laying all three tests out on the sink. Each and every one was positive. ‘You were right – I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘See, the thing is, I can’t be,’ I said as Cici closed the door to my office. ‘There’s no actual way, so there must be something wrong with the test.’
‘All three tests?’ Cici asked.
I began to pull out the wadded tissue I’d shoved up my shirt. Three pregnancy tests up my sleeve and one baby in my uterus.
‘All three,’ I agreed. ‘I can’t be pregnant.’
‘Why not?’
I thought about it for a moment.
‘Because?’
It wasn’t a great argument but it was all I had. I was pregnant. Up the duff. With child. Knocked up. Expecting. In the family way. Preggers.
‘If you’re looking for a silver lining, at least no one will be able to tell for a while,’ Cici said, rubbing her hand theatrically over her stomach. I looked up and then looked down at my belly. ‘Because, if it was me, everyone would be able to see it right away but with you, it’s not like you’re—’ She sucked in her cheeks and clapped her arms tightly to her side. ‘You know?’
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘That really makes me feel better.’
‘You can’t pretend this isn’t happening,’ she declared. ‘I’ll tell everyone you had an emergency and you should go home.’
‘No need, I’m right as a bobbin,’ I insisted as the room span around me. ‘Fit as a fiddle.’
I was determined to remain calm. I flicked my mouse until my computer sprang into life and hoped for something that might prove I hadn’t woken up in a parallel dimension.
‘I don’t know what a bobbin is,’ Cici replied. ‘But I do know a girl in high school who pretended she wasn’t pregnant when she knew she was and she ended up having the baby in the middle of gym class.’
‘No, you don’t.’
I rolled my eyes at the thought of Blair Waldorf popping out a baby on the floor of the sports centre at Cici’s Gossip Girl-alike Upper East Side prep, but Cici stood firm. Making sure the door was securely closed, she trotted over to my desk in her skyscraper heels.
‘You should see a doctor,’ she ordered. ‘You eat too much sugar and you drink too much tea. Pregnant women aren’t supposed to buy English candy in bulk and then binge-eat it when they think no one is watching. I’m going to call your OB and make an appointment.’
I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling around for some sort of proof that there was anything to go away in the first place. How could I be pregnant? I didn’t feel pregnant. Slightly nauseous, slightly tired, slightly gassy, but that wasn’t too far removed from your average Tuesday morning for me. Especially when I’d fallen asleep with my hand in a bag of Cheetos.
‘So, you’re freaking me out.’ Cici took off her ridiculous black spectacles and pushed them onto the top of her head. ‘It would be awesome if you could start talking any time soon.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ I whispered.
‘OK, that’s it, I really think you should go home.’ She stood glaring down at me with her hands planted on her hips. ‘Do you want me to call Alex? Or that hateful friend of yours with all the hair? I’m sure she’ll be desperate to know. Or I could call your mom. Wait, do you have a mom?’
That got my attention.
‘If you call my mother, I’ll have to kill you,’ I said, refusing to even entertain that conversation. ‘I’m really fine; all I want is to get on with the day. What time is it?’
She looked down at her watch.
‘Almost nine thirty.’
‘Let’s get on with the morning meeting then,’ I replied, scraping my damp hair away from my forehead. Was it hot in here or was it just me? Well, me and the baby. Oh god, the baby. It would never be just me, ever, ever again. ‘Oh, and can you get me a coffee?’
I was fairly certain she wouldn’t bring me a tequila shot, even though that was very much what I wanted.
‘You can’t have coffee. Caffeine is bad for the baby.’
Definite no on the tequila then.
‘You should go home,’ Cici insisted, more gently this time. Almost as though she was genuinely concerned. First with the eating, and now with the empathy. Who was this woman and what had she done with the real Cici? ‘You puked in your trash can, you look like a hot mess, and literally no one wants you here right now. You’re of zero use to anyone in this building.’
I wondered whether Cici and Joe had gone to the same charm school.
‘Maybe I should go home,’ I muttered, more to myself than to my assistant. The idea of sitting in my office for the next eight hours and acting as though everything was normal seemed impossible. ‘I can call Alex, have a lie-down, come back tomorrow, all refreshed.’
‘Still pregnant, though,’ Cici pointed out.
‘One would assume,’ I replied, pulling my bag out from underneath my desk. ‘Can you send a team email to let everyone know I’ve gone home sick? You can say it’s food poisoning.’
She shook her head immediately.
‘Food poisoning means pregnant,’ she explained. ‘Or hungover. Which they would probably buy. I’ll say personal issue then everyone will think someone died or Alex left you. That way they won’t ask questions.’
‘Thanks,’ I said slowly. ‘Good to know. Thank you.’
She skittered backwards as I went give her a hug on my way out, wrapping her arms around herself.
‘Don’t.’ She shook her head. ‘People will know something’s wrong.’
‘Right, gotcha.’ I nodded, a little sad at the idea of someone being so unhuggable it would raise an alarm. ‘Seriously, though, thank you for the tests. And the bagel before the tests. And, you know, everything.’
She rubbed her hand up and down her tiny upper arm and cast her eyes across the room. Genuine moments between the two of us had been few and far between over the years and, clearly, she was not comfortable. Thinking about it, genuine moments between Cici and anyone seemed a bit thin on the ground. Other than her sister and a small assortment of Upper East Side clichés she was photographed with on Page Six, it didn’t seem as though she spent that much time with that many people.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I said, grabbing my Marc Jacobs parka from the coat rack and juggling my satchel between my hands as I slipped my arms inside. ‘Call me if anyone needs anything.’
‘Don’t worry, I doubt anyone will,’ she replied. ‘And I’ll get someone to replace your disgusting trash can before the entire office voms.’
Nice moment, officially over.
It took exactly thirty-seven minutes to get from the office to the 7th Avenue F train station in Park Slope. As soon as I set foot on the platform, I began to sprint towards daylight, up the steps and out into the bright, winter sunshine, phone in hand. There had to be a chance Alex would answer, just a tiny, slim sliver of a chance. I imagined him zonked out on the perfect beach, lying on glorious white sand in front of azure blue seas, while I all but ran through the streets of Brooklyn, fighting with my front door while praying for his phone to get a signal
.
‘Please be there,’ I repeated over and over, clamping the phone between my shoulder and my clammy cheek. ‘Please, please be there.’
The first three times, the call went directly to voicemail, Alex’s sleepy tones telling me not to leave a message because he never listened to them anyway. On the fourth try, the call connected.
‘Come on!’ I threw my bag down on the settee and punched the air. ‘Now bloody well answer the phone, Reid.’
‘Hello?’ A scratchy voice clicked across thousands of miles. ‘Angela?’
‘Alex!’ I had never been so happy to hear someone say my name in my entire life. ‘Are you there?’
‘We – we’re driving,’ he stuttered. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ I replied, welling up. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m – wow, I don’t know how to say it.’
‘You’re breaking up,’ Alex said. ‘I got the nothing’s wrong part. You’re OK?’
‘I need to talk to you,’ I said urgently. I walked up and down the room, trying to find a better signal but I was fairly certain the problem wasn’t at my end. ‘Can you hear me now?’
‘Babe, are you there?’ he asked. ‘I can’t hear you at all. I’m going to hang up.’
‘No!’ I wailed, hurriedly pressing the speakerphone button. ‘Don’t hang up, I need to talk to you.’
‘Let me call you back,’ he sighed. ‘I’m not getting anything on my end at all.’
I jumped onto the sofa, balancing on the back, one hand gripping the wall, and holding my phone as high into the air as possible in the other.
‘Are you still there?’ The static on the line echoed through the empty house. ‘I can hear you, can you hear me at all?’
‘I’m hanging up now,’ Alex said. ‘If you can hear me, I’ll call you right back but we’re almost at the coast. If the call doesn’t go through, I’ll try again as soon as I can. I love you.’
‘I’m pregnant!’ I shouted. ‘I’m pregnant, Alex. We’re having a baby.’
My phone beeped three times and then his name disappeared from the screen.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I said to myself, climbing down and collapsing softly onto the sofa. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’
Silence. There wasn’t a single sound in the entire apartment but for the first time I realized I wasn’t alone. Eeep.
‘You’re not calling back, are you, you arsehole?’ I said softly. ‘What a bloody brilliant time for you to go off the grid.’
Resting my hands on my stomach, I stared at my not-quite-flat stomach. I was having a baby. I was having our baby. I was going to be a mum and Alex was going to be a dad. A huge, face-achingly wide smile found its way onto my face.
Bloody hell.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After a fitful afternoon spent napping, considering calling my mum then thinking better of it, worrying about what might be happening at the office in my absence, standing side on at the mirror in the bedroom to see if there was any evidence of a bump, and reading every available article on the internet, I was relieved when Jenny called to see what I was doing. There was only so long you could sit around being excited on your own and I’d given up on getting through to Alex after about four hours. He wouldn’t mind my telling Jenny, I rationalized. I couldn’t keep something this huge all to myself until he decided to return to civilization, I had to tell one other human or I’d go completely insane and, clearly, Cici Spencer didn’t count as a human.
‘I’m so glad you didn’t have plans tonight,’ Jenny said, greeting me on the corner of 8th Avenue and 14th Street. She waved the back of her left hand directly in my face with an enormous grin on her face. ‘Mason had to go out of town for a work thing and I was like, um, I just got engaged, I can’t sit in my apartment staring at the walls, can I?’
‘Not really,’ I said, bracing myself to deliver the news. ‘Jenny, I—’
‘I texted Erin last night and she was like, when can I see the ring? And I was like, how about tomorrow? And she was like, let’s order in, open a bottle of champs, start wedding planning?’ She was talking at a mile a minute, her hands flying around in front of her. ‘I picked up some magazines from Barnes & Noble at lunch. Do you have any idea how much wedding magazines cost? Actually, yeah, I guess you do.’
‘I got some news today,’ I started again. ‘I really want to talk to you about it.’
‘About the job?’ Jenny asked, not waiting for a reply. ‘Cool. We were up all night talking about the wedding. And boning, obviously, but we already agreed on a bunch of stuff.’
‘Such as?’ My news could wait.
‘We’re thinking destination,’ she said, the smile never leaving her face. ‘We both love Maui, so that’s the most likely option. We want to keep it small, just us, immediate family, close friends. I want it to be so special.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I replied. ‘Any idea when it’ll be?’
Don’t say next summer, I added silently. Don’t say next summer.
‘Probably next summer,’ she replied.
Bollocks.
‘It’ll depend on the place, I guess.’ Jenny pushed her masses of curls behind her ears where they stayed for a second before immediately springing back around her face. ‘Mason is going to look at some resorts. He wants to pick the place.’
I couldn’t quite believe my ears. I’d assumed total wedding-related breakdown was imminent, but here she was, rationally including her fiancé in the plans for her small, special wedding. I was naturally very concerned.
‘Hey, before we get to Erin’s place I wanted to ask you something,’ she said. ‘While it’s just me and you.’
With a concerned smile, I bundled up my announcement and nodded.
‘Angela Clark.’ She stopped in the street and took hold of both of my hands. ‘Will you be my maid of honour?’
‘Yes!’ I shouted as loud as my English-girl-in-public lungs would allow. ‘Yes, I will! Wait, do I have to buy my own dress?’
‘Traditionally, in America, yes,’ Jenny began jumping up and down on the corner of 8th Avenue and Horatio, ‘but we both know I’m way too much of a control freak to let that happen.’
Starting as she meant to go on.
‘This is so amazing, thank you,’ I said, tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, and they had nothing to do with the bitter wind that whipped around the Manhattan high-rises. ‘You’re not going to make me wear anything stupid, are you?’
‘I’m going to buy two dresses,’ she replied, dragging me into a tight, warm hug. ‘A really cute one and a really heinous one. Which one you get depends on how good of a maid of honour you are between now and then.’
I thought back to Jenny’s behaviour before my wedding. By her reckoning, I should have made her walk down the aisle in a bin bag.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, throwing up my best three-fingered salute. ‘Brownie Guide promise.’
‘I’m going to ask Erin to be a bridesmaid, but I wanted to ask you first,’ she said as we looked left and then sprinted across the street. Who had time to walk to a crossing when it was freezing out? No New Yorkers I knew. ‘That way I could always draft her in if you said no.’
‘Why would I say no?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘Because it’s me,’ she replied, smiling sweetly. ‘Planning my wedding. In New York.’
The reality of what I’d just agreed to hit me like a ton of pastel-pink sugared almonds. In the next nine months, I was having a baby and a bridezilla and all bets were off when it came to which one would be the most stressful. I’d spent all afternoon looking at photos of episiotomies, and in that moment I wasn’t entirely certain I wouldn’t choose one of those over an afternoon of wedding dress shopping with the world’s most demanding woman.
What did an enormously pregnant woman wear to a wedding? Did they make maternity bridesmaids’ dresses? Maybe one with those little flaps that let you pop your boobs out for a feed. If they didn’t make them, they were missing a trick. I wondered if Jen
ny would be mad if I gave birth the week before the wedding. Or the week of the wedding. Or, please god no, at the wedding. I refused to let my baby come into the world surrounded by doves: everyone knows they’re nothing but albino pigeons with good PR.
‘Now,’ Jenny said. ‘What did you want to tell me?’
I looked at her shining face and sparkling ring and shook my head. I couldn’t do it. I was going to be pregnant for nine months, Jenny could only be newly engaged for a matter of days. Even though I wanted to tell her more than anything, my news could wait at least twenty-four more hours.
‘Um, there’s a new Beyoncé song coming out,’ I replied, crossing my fingers inside the pocket of my parka. ‘Yeah, it’s supposed to be amazing.’
‘All hail Queen Bey,’ Jenny said, touching her fingertips to her lips and then blowing a kiss to New York City. ‘Maybe she heard about my engagement and wanted to celebrate.’
‘Maybe she did,’ I agreed, snuggling into my insufficiently padded jacket. If I died of pneumonia before she made it down the aisle, I wouldn’t be maid of anything. ‘Maybe you could have her play at the wedding?’
Her eyes lit up with worrying inspiration and I sent Mason a silent prayer as we made our way through the winding streets of Manhattan’s West Village.
‘That’s weird.’
I pulled out my phone to check the time as we arrived at Erin’s. She hated early guests, it was a pet peeve she claimed stemmed from all her years working in PR where no one likes Johnny Right On Time. Personally, I deeply appreciated the first person to arrive at the party – it meant I wasn’t going to be sat there on my tod, re-enacting my surprise nineteenth birthday party when Louisa told everyone the wrong time and the surprise was that no one showed up.
‘What’s weird?’ Jenny asked, fluffing out her curls on Erin’s doorstep.
‘I’ve got fourteen missed calls from Erin but no voicemails.’ I looked up in panic. ‘Is this an SVU thing? What if she’s being burgled right now and she’s trying to tell us?’