Page 14 of How We Loved

And that was the end of our Ikea plans.

10th October

This evening at Tristan and Meredith’s was a comedy of culinary errors. As we sat around their dining table, Meredith’s attempt at French Onion Soup (which she fell in love with at her wedding) was a sight to behold. She had warned us that she was struggling with the recipe—the warning came via text and contained about fifty crying emojis, but even her best intentions couldn’t save the mess that was floating in our bowls.

“So, how’s married life?” I asked them, trying to avert attention from the disaster meal. I didn’t really want onion soup anyway, not after the fart attack at their wedding reception. I was even more pregnant now, who knew how bad it would be.

“It’s good, it’s good,” Meredith replied, tentatively peering into her soup. The cheese on toast bits were swimming on the surface like tiny lifeboats in a toxic swamp.

Tristan, ever the loyal husband, joined her inspection. “Are you sure this is right, Mer?”

“I did what it said, I promise.” She looked a little wobbly, and I could spot the signs because I was an expert in wobbling these days. I motioned toward the small kitchen and encouraged her to follow me.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just want to feel like I’m a grown-up. I thought I would after the wedding, but look at me. I can’t even make a soup.”

Her statement would have carried more weight if she weren’t dressed for her “grown-up” dinner party in an oversized Care Bear T-shirt.

“You are a grown-up; you’re married for Christ’s sake. How much more grown-up do you want to be?” I asked.

She eyed my belly.

“No!” I shook my head, incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous. Look at me; I’m a hot mess of a woman doing a good impression of a hot mess of a whale. You’re not even twenty; what’s the rush?”

“People might take me seriously, though, if I were a mum,” Meredith mused, getting that far away look in her eye that normally means she’s plotting how to get her own way.

“Or they might think you’re totally out of your mind. I could let you get away with marrying my arse of a brother; marriage is just paper, it can be changed. But this.” I pointed at the bump, which seemed to be doing the conga at that moment. “This is forever. Whatever happens, this doesn’t go anywhere. Ever.”

Just then, Ben walked into the kitchen doorway. His gaze was as fiery as Hades, and I wisely chose to keep my mouth shut before I said something I’d regret.

“Just a bit of paper, Lil?” He scrutinized my ring finger and then returned his gaze to my face. “Nice to find out what you think before we do something so changeable between us.”

“Be—” I started, but he stormed out of the front door, stomping up the stairs to our flat, and slamming that door shut too.

“Shit,” I muttered, as Meredith watched with a look of deep concern.

“Do you want to go after him? Sorry, Lil,” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“No,” I waved my hand dismissively. “I’ll let him calm down.” I glanced back at the dining table where Tristan was still peering into the soup, now giving me a sarcastic thumbs-up and a slow clap of applause. He really is an arsehole.

“Meredith?” I turned back to the kitchen. “I don’t want to be rude, but can we order in? I’m worried that’s going to give me gas.”

“Sure,” she shrugged, and Tristan nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Yeah, we don’t want Lilah to get gas, it might not be good for the baby.” I shot him a stink-eye. How rude to use my baby as excuse not to eat his wife’s food.

11th October

Ben hasn’t said a word to me since the dinner party disaster at Meredith’s. I’ve tried everything to get him to talk. Absolutely everything, including suggesting we pack the hospital bag together. I mean, I guess it’s got to be done at some point; the last thing I needed was Juanita arriving for the home birth and shooting me down with one of her disappointed stares just because the emergency bag wasn’t packed. So I figured it could be an icebreaker with Ben, and stop me from getting told off by the midwife.

He said no.

Nothing has worked.

This all seems to be a big mess, and I was kind of hoping that we were leaving big messes behind us as we headed into parenthood together.

It’s not that I’m not interested in marriage. Of course, I am, well, to him, maybe no one else, but I just can’t fathom marriage the way he does.