Having Nathan's Baby by Fran Louise

the same stability, the same sense of family. Do you think Michael and I didn’t wonder if there wasn’t something else, someone else, out there for us? Of course we did. But we chose to become a family together anyway. Because we loved each other. You can’t wait around forever for everything to be perfect. There’s no such thing.”
    Slightly overwhelmed by Lauren’s rant, I had to rally. “But you and Michael at least lived in the same city. You both wanted a family from the get-go. Nathan and I ... we both have careers, and nothing fits! It’s going to be hard enough just trying to bring the baby up, but if we were to get married, how on earth would we-?”
    “You make sacrifices!” Lauren said.
    “I do? What about him?”
    “He does what he’s willing to do, Chloe. You can’t control what he does!” Lauren shook her head; she was looking at me like I was a scrawny kid again who had just messed up my uniform on the way to school. “You have to decide what you want and what you’re willing to sacrifice in order to have it,” she said. “That’s it. And then tell him, and hope to God he’s honest with you, too. Nate can either go along with it, make his own sacrifices, or not.”
    The idea was terrifying. Feeling exactly like that little kid again, I searched my sister’s familiar features for an answer that was eluding me. “What if I don’t want to sacrifice anything?” I asked.
    Lauren laughed. “Then be prepared not to get what you want.”
    Not surprisingly, Nathan didn’t call me that weekend to go furniture shopping. Although I’d expected the snub after leaving him in the park on Friday, I was nonetheless wounded by it. I wallowed in cycles of self-pity and self-loathing until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and, finally, went to work on Sunday afternoon. Hilary Jones, my managing partner, was in my office. Otherwise the luxurious space was unusually empty. It seemed fortuitous. Before I could analyze what I was doing, I found myself standing at Hilary’s door, my hand poised to knock.
    Hilary looked up before I could make a sound. The older woman’s expression creased into a curious smile, and she nodded me through. “I was wondering if I would have the place to myself all day,” Hilary told me, coming to her feet, “for the first time in twenty years, no less. Can I get you a coffee?”
    I screwed my nose up, the distaste instinctive. “Just water, thanks.”
    Hilary was a shrewd woman, a former prize-fighting litigator, who rarely missed a beat. Her eyes passed over me, leaving just a shadow of suspicion in their wake. “Water,” she said.
    I ’d been outmaneuvered before the game had even begun, I realized with a start. It was my own fault, coming in here like this unannounced after an emotional and solitary weekend of introspection. It was probably written all over my face, and Hilary, as a mother of two grown children, probably knew the signs, too.
    “Since when have you been sticking to water?” she asked.
    I took the crystal glass full of room temperature liquid. “Around three months, now. Give or take.”
    Hilary’s brows shot up. “You’d never tell.”
    “Some people in my life would beg to differ,” I said, and I allowed a rueful smile to surface.
    She smoothed down her silk jersey dress, the only concession to a non-work day, and crossed her heeled legs carefully. “Are you keeping it?”
    I nodded.
    Hilary inhaled and then exhaled slowly. There was silence as she sipped her coffee and considered this. “By my calculations, you didn’t have to tell us until after the first partnership meeting,” she said finally.
    I turned away. I needed an uncomplicated, unobstructed view to work out what twisted logic had made me come in here today. Strategy be damned, seemed to be my recent motto. “I’m not doing this to get brownie points,” I said. I turned back. “Or because I expect you to understand, being a woman.” I kept my tone even, refusing to be