He shakes his head and stands.

“I need you to take a test,” I blurt. “To determine if you’re the father or not.”

Pete’s laugh is bitter and fake.

“Can’t you ask the other guy to do it?”

“Pete, please.”

He lifts his eyes to the ceiling then glares at me.

“I’ll think about it,” he snaps before striding away.

I put a hand on my stomach and feel the baby nudge me.

“That went well,” I mutter.

The baby stops moving and though I sit there for another five minutes without shifting my hand, it doesn’t communicate with me again.

12

A full week passes before I can pluck up the courage to talk to Elliot. He hasn’t been visiting me at my desk so often lately. I think the fact I keep turning down his invitations out – a movie, dinner, walk in the park at lunchtime – is starting to have its desired effect. With luck, he’ll be figuring out our sexual encounter wasn’t the start of some loving life-long relationship.

On Tuesday when he walks past my desk, I call his name. He looks startled, as do several others in the open-plan office space.

“Hey, Trish,” he says, coming over. “How are you?”

Oh no. He’s wearing his violet shirt with the white collar and cuffs I can’t stand. Combined with his preppy short back and sides and long on top blond hairstyle, he looks like he should be living in the Nineties. To think this man-child could be my baby’s father. I suppress a shudder.

“Not bad. I was wondering if you… if you might be free to grab a quick lunch with me today?”

He frowns for a moment, then his face clears and he grins.

“That would be great.”

“I can meet you outside at 1 p.m.?”

“Perfect,” he says, still grinning.

I try to smile back. “Thanks.”

He carries on his merry way and I close my eyes. I thought telling Elliot couldn’t be any worse than telling Pete but I have grave concerns I might be wrong.

*

“This is a nice surprise,” Elliot says, taking another big bite of his wrap.

I stare at my untouched cheese and salad roll, my appetite non-existent.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t interested in me,” he adds.

Oh wow. If he’s only beginning to think I have no interest, I’ve been subtler than I thought.

“Elliot, I’m pregnant.”

There. Might as well jump straight in.

He chokes, chews and swallows.

“Sorry, what?”

“I thought you might have noticed.” I pat my stomach briefly. “It’s getting harder to keep the fact hidden from the boss. And everyone else at work, for that matter.”

Elliot blinks at me rapidly, over and over.

“Is it… I-I mean, am I the father?” he stammers.

“Possibly,” I say, wincing at my bluntness.