Chapter 17 - Nathan Found OutNathan discovered my pregnancy from Emma.
Accidentally.
Emma encountered him at a coffee shop when she was seven months pregnant and apparently pregnancy had removed whatever remained of her conversational filter.
“Clara's vomiting more than I did.”
Nathan stared.
Emma realized.
“Oh.”
He called me that afternoon from a number I did not recognize.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
“Congratulations.”
I knew immediately.
“Emma?”
“She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her.”
I smiled.
“She'll recover.”
Nathan was quiet.
Then:
“Are you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“Luke?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Also good.”
There was something in Nathan's voice.
Not jealousy exactly.
Grief for an alternate life.
I understood because I felt it too sometimes.
Not wanting the past back.
Just recognizing the roads never taken.
“We talked about children once,” Nathan said.
“More than once.”
“I kept postponing it.”
“Yes.”
“I thought there would always be time.”
There it was again.
Time.
The lesson Nathan seemed destined to learn repeatedly.
“Rachel and I are trying,” he said.
I smiled.
“That's wonderful.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
He laughed softly.
“You're disturbingly well-adjusted.”
“Luke has been a terrible influence.”
Nathan became serious.
“Clara?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for answering.”
“Goodbye, Nathan.”
“Goodbye.”
When Luke came home, I told him.
He was chopping onions.
“Was it weird?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything inappropriate?”
“No.”
“Annoying. I was prepared to hate him recreationally.”
I laughed.
Then he looked at me.
“You okay?”
“I am.”
And I was.
Pregnancy changed my relationship with my body.
I hated parts of it.
Loved others.
At sixteen weeks, we heard the heartbeat.
Luke cried.
At twenty weeks, the ultrasound technician asked whether we wanted to know the sex.
Luke looked at me.
I nodded.
“A girl,” she said.
Luke covered his face.
I laughed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He wiped his eyes.
“I have to learn hair.”
“You have several months.”
“I've seen Emma's daughter's hypothetical future hair in my nightmares.”
“We don't know she'll have hair.”
“Excellent. Bald buys me time.”
We named her Nora.
Not after anyone.
Just Nora.
A name with no debt attached.
At thirty-two weeks, I photographed myself in the studio mirror.
Bare feet.
Round belly.
Camera in hand.
I titled it:
Staying.
Rebecca wanted it for an exhibition.
I said no.
Some photographs belonged only to us.
Then, two weeks later, Luke received a call from Atlanta.
May you like
His mother had collapsed.
And suddenly the safe little world we had built became frighteningly fragile.
