Page 59 of Stella is Starting Over

‘I didn’t think it made any difference,’ she says, sitting down on the bed. She crosses her long, tanned legs. ‘We both knew what I was going to do if I was pregnant.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Yeah, I get that. But there would have been a discussion, and being pregnant and then having an abortion is a pretty big deal—’

‘No, it’s not.’

I try to process this. It’s her body, and it would have been her choice, and I don’t deny that for a second. But I think I’d have found it a big deal, to watch her go through that, to find out what actually happens, to know that we’d made a decision to not become parents. Not that I’d have objected, of course, and I wouldn’t have had any right to voice it even if I did object, but it’s okay to think that it’s significant, right? Like, as a plot point in my life, in her life, it’s meaningful, right? ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Well, look, I’m so glad you got the result you wanted, and I’m so glad we don’t have to think about this again. At least not for a long time.’

‘A long time?’ She cocks her head to one side.

‘Well. I mean, this is all very, very hypothetical, but I guess I’d like to have kids at some point, one day, so if we stayed together then maybe we’d talk about it—’

‘I’m not having kids.’

Oh. ‘Right. Okay. Well, that’s also totally fine. . .’

‘Kids ruin your life.’

I think about this for a moment. ‘I get that it might seem that way, but I think a lot of people would argue that they change your life rather than ruining it, so as long as you’re on board for those specific changes, then it’s more—’

‘It would ruin my life,’ she says, getting up.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Totally your call. I’m not pitching to have a load of babies right now, just open to the idea. In the future.’

She gives me a look that could reasonably be described as withering. ‘You’re in your thirties.’

I mean, yeah, I’m in my thirties. That’s a normal time to think about kids. I mean normal for a man. And yeah, that’s not fair, I get that. My sister, Georgie, was shipping her blood to companies she’d seen advertised on Instagram to get her ‘levels’ checked from the day she turned twenty-nine. Sure, it’s a luxury that I’ve got bollocks and my sperm don’t start getting problematically old for longer, but we all know my entire life is easier because I’m a man, and I’m aware of that and I try not to do anything evil with whatever good fortune I’ve got. This doesn’t feel like the most opportune moment to start talking about unearned privilege.

Florrie swallows, and stands up. ‘Honestly,’ she says. ‘If you want babies then you should probably go do that with someone who has already given up on having an exciting life.’

‘Right,’ I say, getting up. ‘Okay. Well, I’m glad we talked about this and I’m going to head home; it’s been a headfuck of a day.’

‘For you? You weren’t the one who thought they were pregnant.’

My calm is running out now. ‘I mean, I thought that I’d got you pregnant for about nine hours longer than you thought that you were pregnant, because you couldn’t bring yourself to write me a three-word message.’

‘You’re centering yourself in my pregnancy scare now?’ she snaps.

‘I’m not “centering” myself. Anyway, I’m just saying, typing “I’m not pregnant” wouldn’t have been that much to ask.’

‘You’re being so demographically clichéd,’ she fires back.

I open the bedroom door and start down the many flights of stairs until I hear her footsteps behind me, presumably because she’s decided to apologise.

‘Dom,’ she calls.

‘Yes?’ I reply, stopping on the stairs.

‘How did you know about the false positive thing?’ she asks. I look upwards and she’s standing above me, pale and furious, not sounding at all like she’s about to say she’s sorry.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘The evaporation line. Who told you about that?’

I sigh. I know exactly how this is going to go down. ‘Stella told me,’ I say quietly.

She flushes pink. ‘So you told her that I was pregnant before I’d even had a chance to process it? You thought she should know that extremely personal news about my life before anyone I’d actually told?’

‘I needed someone to talk to,’ I argue, my voice harder than I’d intended it to be. ‘I was worried. I didn’t know if you wanted to keep the baby. She’s had a kid, she knows about this stuff.’