Blaise went to change her clothes and unpack the things she’d brought home for Salima, and she had brought a sweater home from Paris for Becky, in a pale blue the color of her eyes. And by the time Salima finished her lesson with Lucianna, Becky was pulling the soufflé out of the oven with a terrified look, and then a groan of dismay. Blaise had just walked back into the kitchen and smiled. Half the soufflé had risen perfectly, and the other half had fallen, so she was improving, but not there yet. Salima told her what she’d done wrong, when Becky explained the situation to her. She had gotten strict advice from Simon on it. And Blaise said it didn’t matter, it would taste good anyway, and it did.
The three women chatted at the kitchen table, and for the first time in nearly two months since Simon had left, the atmosphere was lighter. All three of them laughed, and Blaise told them about her trip, and then gave them their presents. It felt like home again, and not because of Simon this time, but because of the three people who were there.
Becky loved her sweater and thanked Blaise profusely. She had never had anything from Paris. And Salima loved the Moroccan vest with the little bells.
It was the first night that Blaise hadn’t gone to bed early, feeling crushed. The trip to Morocco and Paris had done her good. And Mark could see it the next day. She looked fresh and alive on the air, and when she strode into her office, Mark told her how great she looked.
“Those vitamins must have really helped,” he said, looking relieved.
“No, I think Paris did. I had fun. I went shopping all by myself.” And then she giggled evilly. “And when Andrew called, I blew him off.”
“Hallelujah,” Mark said, celebrating the victory, and then Blaise got to work. She wanted to see the interview she’d done in Morocco and check how they edited it.
Blaise spent a nice weekend with Salima and Becky. She took them out to dinner, and they had fun, and in quiet moments alone, she wrestled with her decision. She knew she still had time, but not too much. She had already made up her mind to have the abortion, but she was dragging her feet and hadn’t called her gynecologist to schedule it yet. She was planning to, but now and then she’d wonder for a minute what it would be like to have a baby there, with her and Salima, if they could manage it, or if it would be more than she could cope with. She had always thought it would be, but the subject had never come up for her again since Salima, nor did it have any appeal. Now, for only brief seconds, she let herself fantasize about it, and then shut down again. She wondered if she was sentimental because of her feelings for Simon. But she knew that if she had this baby, it would be hers, not theirs. He had the life he had begun with Megan, and would have the children he had with her.
If she had it, which wasn’t even a possibility in her mind, she planned to notify him when it was born, and make some kind of visitation arrangement. She wouldn’t share the pregnancy with him, and she had no desire to be a burden to him, or use it to create a bond he didn’t want, if he was involved with someone else, which was the case. His silence for the last two months made that clear. She had told him not to call her when he left, assuming he’d be with Megan. She didn’t want to be the other woman in his life, or older ex-girlfriend he felt sorry for. She had wanted him all to herself. But she realized now what a loss it was not to hear from him at all.
And at this point, he had inadvertently become a sperm donor and nothing more. Her feelings for him were irrelevant. She still loved him, but in a distant benevolent way, knowing he had moved on. The agonizing pain of the first few weeks after he left had begun to dull. It was more of a chronic ache now, one that she could live with, a void she’d have to learn to fill with other things. And if by some insanity, she had the baby, he could see it and spend time with it, but she no longer expected to have a relationship with him or even hoped for one.
All she had to do now was make the decision about whether to have the baby. She called her doctor on Monday, a week after she got back to work. All weekend, it had been gnawing at her that maybe at her age it was a miracle she had no right to reject. She just wasn’t sure. And there surely wouldn’t be another opportunity.
“What are you going to do, Blaise?” her gynecologist asked her when Blaise left work early to see her on Tuesday afternoon. She had been awake the night before until the sun came up, wondering what to do.
“I don’t know. I feel a little crazy and conflicted about having it. I’ve never wanted another baby.” She didn’t tell her that she hadn’t wanted the first one either. Both pregnancies had been accidents, and she felt like at her age she should have known better, but they had been careful every time but once. “My daughter is type 1 diabetic, and all the genetic counselors we saw told us that it would probably never happen again. I really wouldn’t want to go through it. And she lives at home now, and is blind. So I have a lot on my plate already, and a big career. And I’m not involved with this baby’s father. We broke up two months ago.” The gynecologist looked sorry to hear it.
“Is he a nice guy?”