Page 101 of All These Beautiful Strangers
Tears stung the back of my eyes. This was not how I wanted to tell him, standing on a cold New York sidewalk, at odds with one another.
“What are you talking about?” Alistair asked.
“I’m—” My voice fell away. I rested my hand on my stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
Alistair was silent. He looked like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
I didn’t know how he would respond. Our first pregnancy had resulted in a miscarriage near the end of the first trimester. I’d been devastated by the loss, and I suspected Alistair was too, but he’d never been one to openly talk about his emotions, even with me.
Now Alistair bridged the gap between us and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t know what to do with this unanticipated display of affection, so I slid my hands underneath his suit jacket and around his waist. He held me close, like he hadn’t held me in a long time.
“You’re happy?” I asked.
“Of course I’m happy,” Alistair said, kissing my hair. “Aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t separate how I felt about my pregnancy from how I felt about Alistair and me. I’d never felt so much distance between us as I did now.
“I don’t feel well,” I said instead, which was true.
Alistair took off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. “Let’s get you home,” he said, and he moved toward the street to hail a cab.
As he held open the door for me, I tried to give him back his jacket.
“Keep it, it’s cold,” Alistair said.
“But your speech,” I said. He couldn’t give his speech in only his shirtsleeves. Eugenia would throw a fit.
“It’s fine,” he said. He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll be home in a bit,” he said.
At home, I took a warm bath and sat on the living room sofa in my pajamas eating saltines and nursing a ginger ale. I watched the evening network dramas transition into late-night talk shows. I woke up at midnight, infomercials glowing on the screen. I turned the television off and went to bed alone.
The next morning when I woke up, Alistair was there. He was already dressed casually in jeans and a sweater and he came into the room carrying a steaming bowl of oatmeal. He set it down next to me on my nightstand.
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he said. “I made you some oatmeal with brown sugar—thought it might be easier on your stomach than an omelet. You should eat.”
I blinked up at him and rubbed the crust from my eyes. “How late did you get in last night?” I asked.
“Eat quickly and get dressed,” he said, smiling. “I want to show you something.”
I could only get down a few bites, and then I felt queasy. I hurried to the bathroom to dress.
As I dressed, Alistair called down to have the valet pull around the car. It was waiting for us at the front door. I ducked in to the front passenger seat and leaned my head against the cold glass window.
“Where are we going?” I asked Alistair as the car pulled away from the curb.
“It’s a surprise,” he said, taking my hand and holding it. He gave me a reassuring smile. “A good surprise,” he said.
We drove for over an hour, until the high-rises faded away and then the suburbs and we entered flat, open land. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When the car jostled to a stop, I woke up. I glanced out the window, but all I could see was trees.
“Come on,” Alistair said, opening the door. “We’re almost there.”
I took his hand and let him lead me. I had the uncanny feeling that I had been there before, but I couldn’t place it at first, and then, I saw the lake. Langely Lake.
We walked for several minutes without saying anything until we came to the tree house that Jake and I had built together when we were children. The place where Alistair and I had first made love.
