For once, smooth-talking Patrick couldn’t seem to find any words. “Who’s … who’s the father?”
I sighed. “This is awkward. I don’t know how to say this, but … it’s yours.”
Apart from his lips, Patrick’s face didn’t move an inch. “It’s mine?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
He wandered over to the chair in the corner and sank into it. I watched, unspeaking, as he picked up a matchbook from the table and turned it over between two fingers. “That’s weird. Since we’ve never had sex.”
“Oh, right!” I forced a laugh. “So it’s not yours. Whew! That must be a relief.”
Patrick didn’t laugh. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this. Whose is it, Nev?”
I couldn’t believe I was joking either. What was wrong with me? I should just tell him the truth. He wasn’t Grace. He wouldn’t fire questions at me or demand answers. And the idea of sharing the burden—well, it was like a hot shower after a brisk swim at the beach. But something held me back. “It’s … mine.”
“And who else’s?”
“Just mine.” I downed my milk and turned to wash out my mug.
“Have you told your mom?” he asked.
With my back to him, I nodded. Patrick hadn’t met my mother, but he knew enough to know the minefield I’d be facing when I told her. My hand cupped my belly. It won’t be that way for us, little one. Not a chance.
“Does anyone else know?” he asked.
“Gran. You. Susan. That’s it. Although there’s no hiding it now, is there?”
“Not Eloise?”
“No.”
Eloise, my roommate, was perhaps the obvious person to tell. She was sweet, considerate, reliable. But she’d met Ted, her very nice, very time-consuming, boyfriend shortly after moving in and we’d never quite made the journey from roommate to friends. It was fine by me. I’d more or less given up on female friends in the seventh grade when I realized that female friendship was practically a religion. Thou shalt not sit next to another friend at lunchtime. Thou shalt insist you wear my favorite jacket and then get mad when you spill soda on it. Thou shalt not talk to anyone currently being shunned by the group. In contrast, hanging out with male friends felt like sliding into a pair of old jeans: comfy, predictable, unpretentious. I especially felt this way with Patrick.
I upended my mug on the draining rack and with nothing else to do, spun around. Patrick was right in front of me—so close, my belly skimmed his. “You mean you’ve gone through this alone?”
I tilted my head up, but for some reason, couldn’t look at him. He pulled me against his warm chest. “Oh, Nev.”
I didn’t bother protesting. Patrick was too strong to push away and besides, I didn’t want him to see the rogue tear that streaked down my face. Our friendship had always been more about laughter than tears. Laughter was what had brought us together, five years ago, at The Hip. It was quiz night. Susan and I had just completed a successful vaginal twin-delivery at the birthing center and it seemed like a good excuse for a drink and some mindless trivia. We had just ordered a jug of beer when Patrick and Sean, an ob-gyn whom I’d met in surgery, sidled up to our table.
“So?” Sean pulled out a free chair and sat down. “Team of four?”
Sean was so assuming, so confident. I had an overwhelming urge to tell him Sorry, our table is full. But my eye had already slid over to Patrick. I knew him—I knew them both from the hospital—but Patrick, I liked. He was a good guy. The kind of doctor who stayed late to help his patients and never hurried them even if his shift had long finished.
“Sure,” I said after Susan nodded. “Why not?”
“Nether, isn’t it?” Sean asked.
Patrick elbowed him. “It’s Neva, you goose.”
“Nev-a?” He helped himself to a glass of our beer. “Unusual name.”
“More unusual than Nether?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Sean continued, unperturbed. “You could have been conceived in the Netherlands.… Hey, I work in obstetrics, I’ve heard it all.”
I started to laugh, but stopped when I noticed something playful in Patrick’s expression. “Not a fan of unusual names, Sean? Weird, given your middle name.”
Susan and I swiveled to Sean. He paled. “Now just a sec—”
“Tiffany,” Patrick announced proudly.
Susan’s hand shot to her mouth. A snort bubbled from me.
“It was my mother’s maiden name,” Sean muttered.