Page 79 of So Thrilled For You

‘Get out of my way.’

Charlotte’s ducking around Phoebe to try and find my face, her own tear-splashed and snotty. I never see Charlotte sob. She just makes squeak noises when she watchesThe Notebook(which is every six months) that we’ve always taken the piss out of. ‘If a guinea pig could cry, they would cry like Charlotte,’ Lauren once said.

Yes, she’s a character, but she’s one of my best friends and, with dread, I replay what I’ve just said about her in a stupid attempt to impress Phoebe.

‘Charlotte, I’m so sorry. Obviously, you weren’t supposed to hear any of that.’

‘Oh, you think so, you two-faced bitch?’

‘Come on,’ Phoebe puts her hands up again while I jerk back in shock. ‘That’s no way to speak to a pregnant person.’

‘Oh, you and your subversive haircut can piss off, too. Thinking you’re above all of this.’ She turns her tiny wrath to Phoebe. ‘You’re not above it. You’re here. You’re drinking the punch I made, eating the food I paid for. Fuck you. You’re elated I’ve thrown a baby shower so . . .basic, was it? You get just as excited about them as I do. Only you find them exciting because you can take the piss on social media to show how above it all you are. Making snide little jokes about them.’ Charlotte’s hardly breathing she’s talking so fast. ‘That’s still using social media and baby showers to . . . what the hell . . . I don’t know . . . to further your fuckingpersonal brand identity,or whatever? You’re doing exactly the same thing, you hypocrite. Just as some judgmental twat with a stupid haircut.’

Phoebe leans back and raises one impressed eyebrow while I scramble to mend things. ‘Charlotte. Please. Sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She spins back to me, eyes wide and wet with hurt. ‘Do you honestly think . . . Have you really been cringing all day?’ She asks. ‘I . . . I wanted it to be perfect, I . . .’

She starts crying again, proper body-shaking sobbing. I go to her but she slaps me off. ‘You’ve ruined everything,’ she half-whispers to me. ‘You did this.YOU DID THIS.’

‘Did what, Charlotte?’

She laughs, almost manically, then starts crying harder. ‘I have to go to the bathroom. I . . .’

‘Charlotte, please. Let’s talk this through.’

‘I have to go to the bathroom. I’m not very well, I . . .’

I stand to the side as she swooshes past me, shooting us both a look I didn’t realise she was capable of. The cooler air from the air-con hits me as she opens the front door, then I’m left with Phoebe, in this heat and guilt.

‘Shit,’ I say.

‘She’ll be OK. Let her calm down.’

‘She heard everything. Shit!’

‘Don’t get too upset. You’re pregnant. The baby.’

My mind’s whirring up now, processing it all, figuring out how bad things are. The guilt is huge. Awful. The baby protests at it, the fabric of my overalls twitching as they complain in my body. What did I say about her? About today? That she wasusing me. I wince and the baby complains again. I used the word ‘basic’ – multiple times. About my friend. My friend struggling with infertility, who probably spent months organising this. For a moment, there’s only acute horror at this, an open-mouthed gasp that I’ve hurt someone so much. But another emotion is pushing its way through . . .Relief. Charlotte hadn’t overheard Phoebe and I talk about our affair, which was so obviously why we’d come out here. I’d pretended I needed a bit of air and Phoebe, catching my eye, said she’d come sit with me. On these steps, we have delicious alone time. A chance to talk after a whole year. To explain. To rewrite our story a little. And, though I’m desperate to run after Charlotte and make everything OK, Phoebe’s looking at me with such . . . hunger in her face. I want to speak stupid and dangerous truths to her. I want to burn down my life, just so maybe I can hear Phoebe tell me she loved me, and still does.

I start crying. With the guilt and confusion and shock of everything. Not just today, but my life. My choices. Lauren got pregnant and I just fell down this indescribable hole where the only clear thing was that I wanted a baby. And I threw everything away that would come between that happening. It was this biological, powerful, almost hot urge that top-trumped every other urge, and, it’s here, in my stomach, almost ready to meet me and hopefully make it worth it. ‘Everything’s such a mess,’ I stutter out. Seeing Phoebe today has forced me to confront the sacrifice I made to have this life, to have this baby shower. I’ve been blocking it out because I knew it would be too huge and confusing to confront, but she’s here, and she looks so beautiful, and she’s made parts of me dance that didn’t know the steps without her. ‘I’m . . . I don’t know what I’m doing. Today is so surreal. I didn’t expect you to come, and now you’re here, and I feel so terrible for how I treated you but I wanted this . . . this . . .’ I clutch at my stomach and cry harder. ‘I couldn’t have both. It’s all been such a rush. And now you’re here and I still . . . your eyes . . . and I’ve made Charlotte cry . . .

I don’t . . . can’t . . .’ I can’t talk anymore, I’m crying too hard. Phoebe tries to hug me but I shrug her off as I don’t deserve it.

‘Shh, it’s alright,’ she whispers. ‘It’s going to be OK.’

‘Look, if you’re here for revenge, fine. Do it. Tell everyone. I deserve it. I’m a terrible person. And I’m going to be a terrible mother because I’m a terrible selfish person.’

I sob and sob as I voice my darkest thoughts. I am selfish. I’ve always quietly known this about myself. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child or something but I’ve always prioritised myself and my own happiness. On my better days, I believe it’s a healthysense of esteem, but now, seeing Charlotte’s hurt face, Phoebe’s hurt face . . . the things I do and say . . . I’m going to be such a bad mother, the thought closes my throat and I can’t stop crying.

Phoebe hugs me close and I surrender to her warmth, wrap my arms around her neck, try to get as close as I can with my giant stomach in the way. ‘Shh. Oh my God, I’m not here forrevenge.I just wanted to see you. Shh. You’re going to be a great mother,’ she tells me. ‘You’re already learning the most important thing you can learn for that role . . . that motherhood requires huge personal sacrifice. There are so many things you’re going to have to give up.’

‘I didn’t want to give you up. You must believe . . .’

‘I get it. I get it. Hey, hey, it’s going to be alright. Nicki? Nicki. Listen to me. You’ve made the right choice.’

I go still in her arms. ‘I did?’

‘Yes, you did. Because I don’t want children. I’ve never wanted children. Which is very useful as it’s obviously much harder for a lesbian to have a child.’

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