“I’m not, I promise you, I’m not doing that. It’s just that, I dunno, you’re making me feel bad about this and I don’t think that’s right … you’re pregnant. We have a situation here and you wanna tie it all up in these arguments that are getting us nowhere.”

“All I said was you should’ve brought a condom …”

“But I don’t like them.”

“Yeah, but you don’t like a baby either, now, do ya?”

“No. No, I’m … I mean, not at this time.”

“So …”

“Why would I do that, though, carry them … if I hate the way they feel?”

“To avoid crap like this. To keep from sitting in a restaurant and talking about our whole lives in front of a bunch of strangers. Maybe for a reason like that.”

“Oh, please, don’t be so … nobody’s listening to us.”

“No?”

“God, no. People have their own shit to worry about.”

“I feel like everyone’s staring …”

“Not at all. A girl getting herself knocked up doesn’t have the same allure it did a decade or so ago. Believe me. You’re not Tess of the D’Urbervilles.”

“Who?”

“Just this girl … in a book. Nothing.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“What?”

“Get myself knocked up, all right? Don’t talk like that, because it makes me feel …”

“I was just …”

“… it makes me sick.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that, it’s just an expression. I meant us. We did.”

“All right then. Anyway, all I’m saying is …”