Small Talk

Small Talk

I could tell that she knew as soon as I approached her. Was it written
all over my face? Humouring me, she chatted. How old? I asked, stroking
the soft fabric that encased her baby's arm. Six weeks. Sleeping, the
baby had sunk down in the carry case that held it to her chest. How do
you know Pete? We talked about the diving club. We talked about her,
too - her work, her house renovations. I laughed as I remembered Claire
- how desperate she was to have us talk about anything but the baby in
those early weeks.

Is (s)he keeping you up all night? Boy or girl? Awkwardly I avoided the
gender specific pronoun, afraid to get it wrong. And then she asked me.
Yes, I wanted to say, yes. Oh, perhaps, I said, wouldn't rule anything
out. Tell me it'll be all right, I wanted to say. Invite me over for
coffee and teach me all the things I need to know. Self-conscious, I
knew that I shouldn't talk to her for long. She knew, and she chatted
away, answering my unspoken questions softly and knowingly.

I wanted to tell her, yes! We talked about it, we decided, we're going
to start trying in the spring. At home we speak about it all the time.
I have baby books stashed away under my bed, and today we planned where
the baby's room will be. But when people ask us what's new? we say,
nothing much, just the usual. When people ask us do you think you'll
have kids? We say we're not sure, maybe sometime.

Someone else came over and I drifted unwillingly away.