The Secrets of Midwives Read Online Free PDF Page B

strange.
    â€œI’d have thought that as a well-respected, well-paid doctor, you could afford a hotel, or at least have a girlfriend in the area. I mean … what?”
    Patrick’s face was pale. He stared at my stomach, and after a silent curse, I followed his stare. My hospital shirt was dry now, but it had become stiff, making my belly look, if anything, larger than it actually was. I assessed my options and found only one. I had to tell him. I was going to tell him sometime and there was no hiding it now. I may as well have screamed, Hello! There’s a life growing inside me! Come and take a look!
    â€œYou’re pregnant.”
    â€œYes.”
    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?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œOne 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.”
    â€œOh, 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.”
    â€œAnd who else’s?”
    â€œJust mine.” I downed my milk and turned to wash out my mug.
    â€œHave 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.
    â€œDoes anyone else know?” he asked.
    â€œGran. You. Susan. That’s it. Although there’s no hiding it now, is there?”
    â€œNot Eloise?”
    â€œNo.”
    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