Something Blue - Emily Giffin [117]
I awoke the next morning to the ringing phone. My first thought was, I hope it's not Geoffrey. My next thought was, I still love Ethan. So, my feelings weren't just an illusion rooted in near tragedy. I felt the mattress jostle as Ethan reached down to grab the phone. I could hear Sondrine's French accent on the other line. I think she must have asked where I was sleeping because Ethan answered, "Right here."
The controlling, jealous, break-of-dawn maneuver was something I would have pulled in my former life, and I silently vowed that no matter what the circumstances of my future relationships, I would never behave that way again. It was selfish and unattractive. Ethan reacted as I knew he would—with restrained annoyance. I pretended to be asleep as he got out of bed and whispered fiercely in the hall that she was being ridiculous.
"Were you not there witnessing the same ordeal last night?" he asked. "What do you think? Something is going on?… No. No! She's my friend, Sondrine… She doesn't want to stay over there… I don't know—would you like to ask her?"
The conversation went on like that for some time, until he said he had to go. When he hung up, I opened one eye and saw him in the doorway, his hair messy, sticking up all over the place like a Native American headdress. I asked if everything was okay.
"Yeah," Ethan said, but he looked agitated as he crossed the room to his closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a navy roll-neck sweater.
"Is Sondrine mad that I'm staying here?" I asked.
"No. She's cool with it," he lied. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, but I have to go pee."
Ethan nodded, looking nervous. We both knew what I really had to do: check for blood. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for me. A moment later I returned and gave him the good report.
"All clear," I said, giving him the thumbs-up signal.
He smiled and told me to get back in bed. I did.
"Now," Ethan said. "What can I get you for breakfast?"
I didn't want to be any more trouble than I already was, so I said instant oatmeal would be great, even though I was really craving eggs.
"Okay," he said. "I'll be right back."
After he left I flipped through my When You're Expecting Twins book, which I had conveniently left next to his bed several weeks earlier. I studied a graphic on weeks of gestation and head circumference, determining that my babies' heads were currently the size of lemons. If I reached my goal of thirty-six weeks, they would grow to the size of grapefruits. I told myself I could do it.
Moments later Ethan returned carrying a wooden tray. On it was a plate of scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes, and wheat toast, all beautifully presented with a sprig of parsley. "I overrode your cereal order. You need protein." I sat up and straightened my knees as he placed the tray as close to me as my stomach would allow—which wasn't very close. He sat down next to me on the bed.
"Thank you," I said. "Where's your breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry," he said. "But I'll just keep you company."
I smiled and took a bite of my eggs.
"Do they need more salt or pepper?" he asked.
"No. They're perfect," I said. "Thank you."
As I took my first bite, I felt both babies move simultaneously. Baby A jabbing hard under my rib cage, Baby B swimming calmly below, creating his standard rippling sensation. Of course, it could have been one baby, waving an arm as he kicked. But I didn't think so. It felt like both of them in tandem. I was starting to believe I could actually distinguish their movements, and from this, I read things into their personalities. Baby A seemed more assertive. Fittingly, a Type A. He'd be my athlete, my go-getter. Baby B seemed mellow and easygo-
ing. The tenderhearted artist. I imagined them together, spilling off the school bus, identical figures from a distance. One bouncing his basketball, the other swinging his trumpet case.
No matter what their interests, I just hoped that my sons would be good, happy boys who would always have the wisdom and