Page 31 of The Book Swap

“God, I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” I say, looking around me. “That woman over there’s eating it, and she’s smiling.”

“I’m not crying about the fucking pie.” Georgia rubs her fingers under her eyes and looks at me for confirmation she’s fixed her makeup. I shake my head and reach across with my fine linen napkin, clearing the black smudges away.

What could she possibly be crying about? Georgia has a job she loves and a fancy one-bed flat all to herself. She has more than enough money, and men on tap whenever she feels like it. There’s only one reason I can come up with.

“Are you dying? Because if you’ve waited until now to tell me, especially after what I just mentioned about abandonment issues, I will never forgive you.”

“Nice,” she says. “If I was dying, that would be just the right response.”

I look down at the table.

“I’m fucking well pregnant, aren’t I?” she says so loudly the woman with the fish pie flings her head up.

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “What? No, you’re not. How? With who?”

I think back to the last conversations I’ve had with her. Georgia mentioned she’d hooked up with someone a few months ago, but it hadn’t come up again. I just assumed it was over. That she couldn’t fit it in. She works with her clients, checks in on me and ensures she’s the favorite daughter to both parents. That’s all she has time for.

“How am I only just finding out about this? A baby? Whose baby? How pregnant are you?”

“God, it’s just so...embarrassing,” she says. “To get accidentally knocked up at my age.”

“Answer the questions before I scream them.”

“Seven weeks. And, Rishi,” she replies, as my jaw drops.

“Rishi? Therapist Rishi? Dishy Rishi who you insisted I go to for counseling, only for him to sit there in total silence. That Rishi?”

“Yes.”

“You’re having a baby with my therapist?”

“Your ex-therapist. My colleague.”

“Fucking hell. That is going to be one intense baby.” I look at her. It’s as though the whole restaurant has fallen silent for this conversation. “But a brilliant one. Obviously. It also explains why your hair looks so fabulous,” I add. “And it isn’t embarrassing. A lot of things are, including chasing a grown man down the street and stealing his book, but getting pregnant is not.” I reach across and take her hand. Georgia’s never needed me before. I don’t know what I’m doing. “Are you...okay?” I ask.

“Obviously not.” I haven’t seen her like this before. Tears spring to my own eyes.

“You know this is the kind of news most people cry happy tears about,” I say, smiling.

“Most people aren’t single in their thirties when they find out, and are therefore less likely to be accused of tricking the person they’re having casual sex with into impregnating them.”

“He didn’t?” My mouth flies open.

“No. I haven’t told him. But if I do, he will.”

I shrug. Maybe she’s right. Men do tend to think the moment we hit our late twenties we’re after one thing. Callum even made a joke about it the other night. He said I better not be trying to have his curly-haired babies. I laughed it off at the time, but thinking back, he definitely meant it.

“Are you...? Do you want it?”

She nods, then shakes her head, then nods again.

“I don’t know.”

She drinks some sparkling water, then reaches across and takes a gulp of my wine. “Wait...did you say you chased a grown man down the street?”

And so, to distract her, and because I can’t seem to fight the urge to talk about it, I tell her about Mystery Man. She listens, mouth open, smiling, and when I’m finished, she leans forward.

“Please God, write back and ask for his number, so you can stop fucking your awful housemate.”

---