As I sat with Orla and Meg over tea at Orla's flat, I can't help the pit in my stomach that had returned in full force few days after my conversation with Quentin about my financial situation and how he has taken responsibility for my expenses and I haven't had peace since then. We sat at Orla's small kitchen table, watching Sophie ignore her vast array of toys in favor of pots pans that she scattered all over the kitchen.I confessed my misgivings to Orla and Meg. "I just don't know what's wrong with me. Something is just plaguing me."Orla nodded. "You're just feeling general anxiety over child-birth and motherhood. The whole scary journey ahead. And it can't help watching this!" She pointed at Sophie, rolled her eyes, and laughed."That has to be it," Meg agreed. She had recently announced the wonderful news that she, too, is pregnant. But she is in her very early weeks, with her own set of worries about miscarrying. "There's always something to fret about," she said. "Hmmm," Orl
I suggested another double date with Andrew and Capucine. Although our first effort wasn't an overwhelming success but I want to give it another try. Quentin protested a bit, saying that he prefers to be alone with me. I informed him that where I came from, Valentine's is a cheesy, amateur nonevent and therefore we have two options: blow it off altogether and order a pizza, or share the evening with another couple. I told him that I am not going to be one of those silly couples sitting alone at a table, all dressed up and eagerly ordering off a jacked-up, prix-fixe menu, and that going to dinner with another couple would temper the whole cheese factor. Quentin reluctantly saw my point and reluctantly made reservations for four at Daphne's, an Italian restaurant in South Kesington. ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***Quentin and I drove to the restaurant for our Valentine's double date. We arrived right on time and waited for Andrew and Capucine. They showed up thirty minutes lat
Quentin barged into the room in the middle of my transforming hug with Andrew. At least it seems as if he was barging, given my mind-set, but more likely it is his usual dignified entry. I feel guilty. I have not cheated and I'll not cheat. Although Quentin couldn't read my mind. Neither could Andrew for that matter. By all appearances, I was only hugging a friend. Yet inside I am reeling. Andrew stood and walked over to the window, as if to give Quentin and me privacy. I feel like yelling out, "No. You stay here. You belong next to me." But instead I looked at Quentin, standing at the foot of the hospital bed with his erect posture, in his starched white shirt and perfect suit and tie. Despite our ordeal, he remained composed, unruffled, and steadfast. It is now clear to me why I have been confused about loving him, why I had wanted so much to love him. On paper, he is perfect: handsome doctor, committed lover, seeming savior. "What happens now?" I asked Quentin as I fiddled nervo
I woke up to the *"grrring grrring"* ringing of Andrew's phone. Firstly, I hope it's not Quentin. And secondly, I still love Andrew. So my feelings aren't just an illusion rooted in near tragedy. I felt the mattress jostle as Andrew reached down to grab the phone. I can hear Capucine's French accent on the other line. "Right here," Andrew said into the phone. I think Capucine must have asked where I'm sleeping. The controlling, jealous, break-of-dawn maneuver is something I would have pulled in my former life, and I silently vowed that no matter what the circumstances of my future relationships, I will never behave that way again. It is selfish and unattractive. I opened my eyes to take a peek at Andrew's face and his face showed restrained annoyance—a reaction that I have seen not more than once. I shut my eyes back and pretended to be sleeping as he got out of bed and whispered fiercely in the hall that she is being ridiculous. "Were you not there witnessing the same ordeal last n
For some days now, I have been relishing my cozy existence with Andrew while tolerating the seemingly incessant interruptions from Quentin. He phoned every few hours and visited daily on his way home from work. Sometimes he'd bring dinner, and I would be forced to spend the evening with him instead of Andrew. And because of Quentin's presence, Andrew will have to depart for Capucine. Sometimes I will pretend to be asleep, and he would simply leave me a note on his personal stationery, which, incidentally, is adorned with his family's coat of arms. It is sort of the touch that would have been right up my alley in the Trevor-fantasizing days. But recently, I prefer Andrew's no-nonsense, ruled yellow notepads. Now, I prefer anything and everything Andrew . . .******* ******* ******* ******* ******I woke up from my afternoon nap to see Quentin perched oddly in a straight-backed dining chair pulled up next to the bed. I had fallen asleep reading the US Weekly that Dixie so thoughtfully
I have successfully stayed two weeks in bed, no cramps and no blood. My baby boys will be so healthy. Andrew surprised me with a homemade chocolate cake to celebrate the milestone. He brought it to the bedroom on his wooden tray. A cake decorated with about thirty-seven blue candles, one for each week of my pregnancy, which he lit while singing, off-key, "Happy, Baby A and B!"I laughed, made a wish, and blew out the candles in two tries. "Blowing your candles twice because of two babies!" Andrew squealed. I giggled. "Really?""Oh yeah, hot mama . . .It's like . . . baby A *whoosh!* and baby B *whoosh!*," Andrew said while making blowing sounds and making a funny face. He cut the cake and served us each a big slice. I went for seconds, it tasted really good and then had thirds. I praised his baking efforts, especially the icing. We finished eating and he cleared our plates and tray. Andrew returned with a big box wrapped in buttermilk and blue polka-dotted paper. "You shouldn't h
It's been three days since I got Sandra's card and gift and I haven't written her a thank-you note because I can't decide on the content or tone. Should I forgive her outrightly? Tell her that I miss her, too, and that although I will never fully accept her relationship with Max, I want to repair our friendship?I got out of bed and walked down the hall to the nursery room. In one of the closets, I retrieved an album, stuck down in a side pocket of one of my suitcases. I had put together the album several summers before and had packed it at the last moment.I carried the album back to Andrew's room. Making myself comfortable on his bed, I flipped through it, skipping past the photos of Vanessa and Max various other friends, and finding one of Sandra and me taken in the Hamptons right after she and Max had graduated from law school. I studied our carefree poses, our broad smiles, our arms draped casually around each other as we stood by water's edge in our bikinis. I can practically sm
"Cab is waiting outside! Cab is waiting outside!" Andrew yelled as he bursted through the door and streaked down the hall toward the bedroom, ten minutes after our call."I'm right here," I called out to him from the living room. My small duffel, which I had packed few weeks ago, rested at my feet. He ran into the living room, kissed my cheek. "How are you?" he asked breathlessly."I am fine," I said, feeling relieved to see him. "Would you mind tying my shoes? I can't reach.""Oh, God. I'm so sorry I wasn't here," he said as he stooped down to tie my Nikes. His hands kept shaking."Where's your jacket?" I asked, noticing that he came home wearing only his lucky Standford T-shirt. "It has to be freezing outside.""I left it at the bar.""Oh, Andrew, I'm sorry," I said. "And I'm really sorry about interrupting your game too.""Don't be silly, Tessy. I will get the jacket later, and the game is not that important," he said. Andrew bent down and picked up my bag and I saw a clear patch