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I’m surprised at his admission of responsibility. He used a condom without being asked. It’s hardly his fault. “It wasn’t all you, Saxon,” I say wryly, thinking of how I told him,I would love to have enthusiastic sex with you.
“I know. But, even though it may be sexist and old-fashioned, I’ve been brought up to believe that the guy should admit responsibility when a girl gets pregnant.”
“And that doesn’t make you angry?”
“No, I’m not angry. Well, only at myself for being a randy idiot who couldn’t stop himself when faced with a gorgeous redhead.” His lips quirk up.
It’s a nice thing to say, and I’m so glad he doesn’t blame me, but it’s my fault that I wasn’t more aware of my own body. I don’t have to tell him that I’m terrified. I have no idea what will happen during the pregnancy, how to give birth, or what to do with two babies when I’ve had them. I haven’t been around babies—I’ve never even held one, so the notion of having two of my own is alarming.
My eyes sting with tears, and I dash them away impatiently. “I’m sorry. I’ve cried more in the past few days than I have in my whole life. I’m not weak. It’s just the hormones.”
He frowns. “Christ, I know you’re not weak. You’ve lost both your parents, and it’s obvious you’ve undergone hardship. But it’s clear to me that you’ve grown used to doing things by yourself. And that’s great, but like I said before, you’re not alone now. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had to worry about someone else before—about what they’re thinking or feeling. I’ve lived a selfish life, I suppose. I don’t know how to deal with this.” My face flushes. “I feel ignorant and foolish. I don’t know anything about pregnancy. Mum died when I was twelve, and I hadn’t even started my periods then.”
“So it was just you and your dad?”
“No. Dad was married to a woman called Greta. She’d been married before and had two daughters by her previous husband. Then he went to Christchurch on business, and he met my mum. They had a brief affair, and I was the result.”
His eyes widen. “What happened when she died?”
“I went to live with Dad and Greta.”
“And she… wasn’t good to you?”
I give a humorless smile at the understatement. “No. She never talked to me about periods, or babies, other than to tell me that if I got pregnant, she’d throw me out on the street. My health teacher at school was useless—I don’t remember learning anything. I didn’t even realize you counted the pregnancy from the first day of your last period until today. I didn’t know the difference between identical twins and… I can’t remember the term.”
“Fraternal?”
“Yes, fraternal twins. I didn’t know there were two kinds, or how they were formed.” My face burns as I think of how smart he is, and how much he seems to know about the process. “I’m so embarrassed. You know more about what my body’s doing at the moment than I do. I feel like such an idiot.”
“I’m not an expert,” he says quietly. “Or a medical doctor. I’ve been working on the IVF project for over a year, that’s all. I’ve spoken to hundreds of women, and I’ve done a lot of reading. And you’re not unusual by any means. A study was carried out in the US last year that asked women to point to body parts on a diagram. A quarter didn’t know where their vagina was, and almost half couldn’t point to the cervix.”
“Oh. I thought it was just me.”
“Not at all. Many guys have no idea what periods are for, or how babies are made. Nobody’s born knowing this stuff. We rely on parents and caregivers and teachers to educate us, but unfortunately they often let us down.”
“Did you know everything before you did the IVF project?”
“Well,” he says with humor, “Mathew, Kip, and Damon would laugh out loud if they heard you say I know everything, but I know what you’re asking. I was lucky to have one or two good teachers at school. And my parents are cool and were always willing to answer any questions we had and not make us feel stupid for not knowing.”
“If I’d known more about getting pregnant,” I admit, “maybe I could have done something.” I’ve heard of the morning-after pill, although I’ve never taken one.
He hesitates, and he looks away, out of the window for a moment. Then he says, “I have to say something, because I feel it’s only fair, as you might not be aware, and Mathew didn’t mention it.”
“Okay…”
“Abortion is free and legal in New Zealand up to twenty weeks. You don’t have to have my permission, or even tell me, or anyone else for that matter. You can get free counseling if it’s something you would like to talk about.” His gaze comes back to me.
We stare at each other for a long time. Outside, a car beeps its horn, and two young men passing the car nudge each other, obviously impressed to see an Aston Martin. Lilac petals from the jacaranda float down onto the car’s bonnet. Inside, though, we sit quietly as the seconds tick away. I know he’s giving me time to think.
Eventually, I say, in a somewhat shaky voice, “Do you want me to have one?”
His dark-brown eyes are normally passionate and expressive, but right now I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “I believe it’s the woman’s right to choose,” he says. “I don’t want to influence you either way. It’s your body, and you’re the one who’s having to go through all these changes. You’re the one who’ll have to give birth. So I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”
I’m sure he’d be shocked if I told him that it hadn’t even entered my head to terminate the pregnancy. I don’t know why. Louise has had a couple of abortions since I’ve known her, so I know about the process. It made sense for her, and I’m not against it. I’ve just been so determined to not think about being pregnant that I haven’t considered it.
Does he think it would be better if I had one?
