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Amanda’s mood brightened a bit. Yet, as they finished their food, Matt felt that something still was not quite right. He mentally debated telling her about his grand idea of looking for a condominium more appropriate for a young growing family, at least a two-bedroom, maybe in Center City.
He studied her across the table as she very carefully finished her glass of water.
“Are you doing okay, babe?” he said, reaching over and touching her hand.
“I don’t know. For the last few days, I’ve just felt strange.”
He chuckled.
“Strange? You’ve never been pregnant. The whole thing has got to feel really strange. You have a seven-week-old alien creature growing in you.”
She did not respond to that.
“Just feels odd,” she went on. “That, and I’ve been experiencing some lower-back pain. I’m thinking I need to get back to my exercise routine.”
“You said earlier that there’s no longer any nausea or tender breasts. That’s progress, right?” He chuckled again. “I mean, especially for me. It’s not like I can get you any more pregnant. And it does qualify as intense cardiovascular exercise . . .”
She did not respond. She turned to look out the window for a long moment.
She then pushed her chair back and stood.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
She went down the hallway and disappeared into the bedroom. Matt heard the bathroom door close with a click.
When Amanda had not returned to the table after ten minutes, he carefully pulled himself out of his chair to go check on her.
He was almost to the bedroom door when she came out.
Matt thought that she now looked very pale. All the color was gone from her face. Her shoulders were slumped.
“Amanda?”
He saw that she was starting to cry. She buried her face in her hands. H
er body trembled.
He quickly went to her and wrapped his arms around her.
—
The elevator made a delicate Ding! stopping at the top floor, its doors opening. As Matt stepped into the hallway, his mind flooded with all he had learned over the previous two weeks about miscarriages. And how sadly common they could be—and, arguably worse, how emotionally devastating.
At Unit 2180, he fed the key to the dead bolt of the heavy, dark-oak door. He could hear Luna whining on the other side, the two-year-old water dog’s long tail thumping the wall. He gently pushed open the door.
Wish some of that happiness would rub off on your master, he thought, patting Luna’s curly black head. Then he heard in his head his sister Amy’s voice snapping: You’re such an asshole, Matt! Have some empathy, for chrissakes!
Matt found Amanda in the kitchen. She was emptying a bottle of cabernet sauvignon into a large wine stem that was on the black marble island. Another stem next to it was three-quarters full.
And that’s not her first glass. There’s a trace of lipstick on the rim.
Maybe she’s making up for lost time—now that she’s not pregnant, she can drink again.
“Hey, babe,” he said, moving around the island to reach her. “You look beautiful . . . I got you something.”
She smiled as he put his arm around her. He kissed her on the lips.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, gently placing the roses next to the kitchen sink.
