Later that night, as Ethan and I put the finishing touches on the nursery, I thanked him again too.
He smiled and said, "You feel better now?"
"Yeah," I said. "I do."
He rested his arm on the edge of Baby A's crib. "See? It was nothing that a little shopping spree couldn't cure."
I laughed, and said that he was right. "Yeah. Nothing that a little blue toile couldn't fix."
But as I packed my bag for Geoffrey's, I had a strong suspicion that things weren't that simple.
* * *
twenty-eight
I had my epiphany on Valentine's Day.
It was my idea to go on another double date with Ethan and Sondrine. Although our first effort wasn't an overwhelming success, I wanted to give it another try. Geoffrey protested a bit, saying that he preferred to be alone with me. I told him that where I came from, Valentine's was a cheesy, amateur nonevent and therefore we had two options: blow it off altogether and order a pizza, or share the evening with another couple. I told him I wasn't 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. He reluctantly saw my point and made reservations for four at Daphne's, an Italian restaurant in South Kensington.
On the evening of the fourteenth, Geoffrey and I drove to the restaurant, arriving right on time. Sondrine and Ethan showed up nearly thirty minutes late with that telltale "I just had sex" look about them: messy hair, flushed cheeks, flustered expressions and all. Of course, I couldn't resist rubbing it in to the always-punctual Ethan, asking, "What were you two up to that you couldn't get here on time?"
Sondrine smirked, looking exceedingly pleased with herself, and Ethan mumbled guiltily, "Bad traffic. I'm really sorry, guys."
I raised my eyebrows and said, "Uh-huh. Sure it was the traffic," while Geoffrey found the maitre d' and told him our party was "finally present." On the way to our table we made small talk—which with two women always includes some obligatory compliments. I praised Sondrine's Chanel ballet flats, and she told me for the zillionth time how marvelous I looked. Then she touched my stomach without asking permission first (something I did not appreciate from anyone other than Ethan or Geoffrey) and said, in an exaggerated tone, "This is so exciting!" Her words did not sound sincere. Perhaps because I remembered issuing similar statements to Annalise during her pregnancy while thinking, Better you than me, sister.
"How much longer do you have?" Sondrine asked.
"Geoffrey says term for twins is about thirty-six or thirty-seven weeks, so I guess I have about six weeks to go."
Geoffrey looked up from the wine list and gazed adoringly at me. He found my hand under the table and laced his fingers with mine. "We can barely stand the suspense," he said.
I saw a tightening in Ethan's face—a look he gets when he's upset where his mouth sort of twitches. I wondered what he was thinking. Just in case he felt excluded by Geoffrey's we, I said to Sondrine, "Yeah. It's really starting to feel real now. Especially when Ethan and I set up the nursery last weekend. It's adorable. Have you seen it yet?"
"No," she said stiffly, glancing at Ethan. Now it was her turn to be annoyed. I guess I could empathize with her. If I were dating a guy, I wouldn't want his female friend and her twins aboard in the flat. So she did what I would have done—she elicited disapproval from Geoffrey, her ally apparent. "Have you seen the room yet?" she asked him.
The tactic worked, because Geoffrey's lips fell into a sharp line. Then he said, "No. I haven't seen it yet… I've been really busy at work… and looking at flats. I'm trying to find something with a bit more room for us."
Sondrine lit up. "You and Darcy are moving in together?"
Geoffrey moved our clasped hands to the top of the table and gave me a look, the English equivalent of "aw shucks," while I said, "Yeah. We're thinking about moving in together."
"More than thinking about it, darling… We're actively pursuing it, aren't we?"
"Right," I said. "That's the plan."
An awkward silence befell the table where we all just sort of smiled at each other and then looked down at our menus with seeming concentration. A moment later the waiter appeared to take our orders. As it turned out, we all wanted the filet mignon, medium rare. Sondrine and Geoffrey seemed to think that ordering four identical steaks was some sort of breach of etiquette so they changed their orders at the last second, Sondrine opting for the sea bass and Geoffrey going for the rack of lamb.