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‘Dinner,’ Matt says cautiously.
‘Yes, dinner. Just dinner.’
He sighs again and then nods. ‘All right, fine.’
* * *
Two weeks later, I am bustling around the house, plumping throw pillows and lighting scented candles. A Moroccan chicken stew bubbles in a casserole dish in the oven, sending out tantalising smells of cumin and ginger. The lighting is low, and Matt has started a cosy blaze in the wood burner in the sitting room. Everything feels happy and warm. Promising.
Two days ago, on my initiative, Matt met with Jack and asked him to be a donor. Even Matt saw that he had to have a conversation with him, before this dinner. It was a big step, and it was both a huge relief and a little frightening when Jack agreed quite readily. Matt came home a little shell-shocked, a bit incredulous. This really could be happening. Now Anna and Jack are coming over so we can discuss the future, our future. Our family.
The doorbell rings, and I hurry to get it. Jack stands there, smiling and looking relaxed. When I first met Jack, back when Matt and I were dating in uni, I thought this was someone I could be good friends with. He’s easy-going, kind, a good listener, with a dry sense of humour. In short, a great guy, but fifteen years on, I haven’t gone much deeper with Jack than at that first meeting. He keeps things at a chitchat level, affable and easy but no more than that, and that seems intentional. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never had a serious relationship, although I know there have been women. Just none he’s brought home for Christmas or a family get-together.
‘Jack.’ I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s a few inches taller than Matt. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘And you, Milly. Wow, this place is amazing.’ He glances around in appreciation. ‘I haven’t been to Bristol since you moved from your flat.’ He nods towards the open-plan kitchen. ‘They must have knocked that wall through at some point… do you know when?’ Jack always views houses this way.
‘A long time ago, I think, way before we looked at it. Come through.’
He comes into the kitchen, and he and Matt do that manly half-hug thing, more of a clap on the shoulder than anything else.
I open the fridge. ‘Beer?’
‘Sure.’
We stand around, smiling a bit inanely. Jack is Matt’s brother, but we hardly ever see him, and we’ve just asked him to do this major thing for us. It makes me feel awkward, which I suppose I should have expected.
Then the doorbell rings again, and I hurry to answer it.
‘Anna!’ I hug her tightly. ‘Come meet Jack.’ Despite our years of friendship, they’ve never met; Jack has always been in France, or we’ve seen him at Matt’s parents’ in Reading.
She comes into the kitchen, and I notice how Jack’s eyes widen as he catches sight of her. So often Anna hides her beauty in shapeless trouser suits or baggy jumpers and jeans, but tonight she’s made more of an effort, perhaps for the occasion. She’s wearing a corduroy miniskirt in vivid green that makes the most of her long legs, with woolly purple tights and a fitted button-down shirt in mustard yellow. You’d think it would all clash, but somehow it doesn’t. She looks vibrant, the skirt bringing out the sea-green of her eyes, and her hair, instead of pulled back into a standard clip, falling in loose, honey-coloured waves around her face.
Jack springs forward, one hand outstretched. ‘Hi, I’m Jack.’
‘Anna.’ She ducks her head, smiling shyly, as she takes his hand and he holds it a second longer than necessary. I watch, uncertain how to feel about this interchange. Of course, I want them to get along, but Jack is a bit of an affable ladies’ man, and Anna has had so few relationships. My inner alarm pings quietly. The last thing I want is for Anna to be hurt by all of this.
‘I guess we know why we’re all here,’ Jack jokes, and Anna gives a little laugh. Matt and I both smile self-consciously. Then I busy myself taking the stew out of the oven while Matt gets Anna a drink.
In the end, the evening goes well, despite my nerves. I feel as if I’ve climbed a mountain to get to this moment – the four of us around a table, the possibility of a family, my family, in the air.
We don’t talk about anything serious as we eat and Matt pours more wine. Jack tells us about his latest house project, and Anna regales us, rather cautiously, with the latest horror story of her boss Lara, whom I’ve never met but I’ve heard about. I tell a few stories about some of the six-year-olds in my Year One class; how Toby, a gap-toothed ginger boy, asked if he could marry me.
‘I hope you told him you were already taken,’ Matt teases, and I smile.
‘I let him down gently.’
I love my class, but lately it has been hard to go in every day and see all their smiling faces, fearing that I’ll never have a child of my own. I watch the mums at the school gate; one has a lovely, huge bump that she rubs with unthinking possessiveness, and another had a baby a few weeks ago. She brought her for the first time on Friday, all bundled in pink, with a tiny face peeking out so all I could see were her navy eyes and little rosebud mouth. I made all the right noises, exclaiming and cooing, but inside I felt as if I could break into pieces. I want that so much for myself that it is a physical pain.
‘So, do you have a prospective timeline for this?’ Jack asks, gesturing to the four of us, as we finish the white chocolate mousse for dessert. I glance at Matt, uncertain. We haven’t discussed it, not officially.
He glances back at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘I suppose as soon as possible,’ he says, and my mouth drops open. ‘In fact…’ He goes to the fridge and produces a bottle of champagne he must have bought on the sly. ‘I thought we could celebrate. Toast the future, because Milly and I really appreciate you guys doing this, and you know, you’re both family.’ He glances at Anna. ‘Really.’
I have to blink back tears as Matt pops the cork on the champagne and then pours four glasses of bubbly. I’d expected a more difficult, awkward conversation, not a simple celebration. And yet it is simple, in this moment. It is wonderfully, miraculously simple.
‘To all of us,’ Matt says grandly, raising his glass. ‘And to our baby.’
And as we all clink glasses in the cosy warmth of the kitchen, everyone smiling and happy, I
