desk, his eyes so kind. And then I was crying again. What was it about this room, and this poor man, that every time I sat across from him I wound up in tears?
He handed me the Kleenex. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ll be okay I’m sorry”
And then I was crying so hard that I couldn’t speak. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I think this is one of the first-trimester things, where everything makes you cry.” I patted my purse. “I’ve got a list in here somewhere… things you’re supposed to take, things you’re supposed to feel…”
He was reaching over me, pulling a white lab coat off the coat rack.
“Stand up,” he said. I stood up, and he draped the coat over my shoulders. “I want to show you something,” he said. “Come with me.”
He led me into an elevator, then down a hall, through a door marked “Staff Only” and “Keep Out,” through another door marked “Emergency Only! Alarm Will Sound!” But the alarm didn’t sound as he pushed open the door. And suddenly we were outside, on the roof, with the city spilled out beneath our feet.
I could see City Hall. I was practically at eye level with the statue of Billy Penn on top. There was the PECO building, studded with glistening lights… the twin towers of Liberty Place, shining silver… tiny cars, inching down infinitesimal streets. The rows of Christmas lights and neon wreaths marching down Market Street to the waterfront. The Blue Cross RiverRink, with tiny skaters moving in slow circles. And then the Delaware River, and Camden. New Jersey. Bruce. It all looked very far away.
“What do you think?” Dr. K. asked. I think I must have jumped when he finally started talking. For a moment, I’d forgotten him… forgotten everything. I was so wrapped up in the view.
“I’ve never seen the city like this,” I told him. “It’s amazing.”
He leaned against the door and smiled. “I think you’d have to pay a pretty hefty rent in one of the Rittenhouse Square high-rises to get a view like this,” he said.
I turned toward the river again, feeling the wind blow cool on my face. The air tasted delicious. All day long – or at least since Dr. Patel had given me the pamphlet listing Common Complaints of the First Trimester – I’d noticed that I could smell everything, and that most of what I could smell made me feel sick. Car exhaust… a whiff of dog crap from a trash can… gasoline… even things I normally enjoyed, like the scent of coffee wafting out of the Starbucks on South Street came to me at ten times their normal intensity. But up here the air smelled like nothing, as if it had been specially filtered for me. Well, me and whatever rich balcony-lined-penthouse-?dwellers were lucky enough to have regular access.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Dr. K. sat down, cross-legged, and motioned for me to join him. Being careful not to sit on his lab coat, I did.
“Do you feel like talking about it?”
I shot him a quick sideways glance. “Do you want to listen?”
He looked embarrassed. “I don’t mean to pry I know it’s not any of my business”
“Oh, no, no, it’s not that. I just don’t want to bore you.” I sighed. “It’s the oldest story in the world, I guess. Girl meets boy, girl loves boy, girl dumps boy for reasons she still doesn’t really understand, boy’s father dies, girl goes to try to comfort him, girl winds up pregnant and alone.”
“Ah,” he said carefully.
I rolled my eyes at him. “What, you thought it was someone else?”
He didn’t say anything, but in reflected light from the streets below, I thought he looked abashed. I hunkered around until I was sitting facing him.
“No, c’mon, really. You thought I found another guy that fast? Please,” I snorted. “Give me a little less credit.”
“I guess I thought… well, I guess I really hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, believe me, it takes a lot longer than a few months before I meet someone who likes me, and who wants to see me naked, and before I get comfortable enough to actually let them.” I looked at him sideways again. What if he thought I was flirting? “Just FYI,” I added lamely.
“I’ll file that away,” he said somberly. He seemed so serious, I had to laugh.
“Tell me something… how do people know when you’re kidding? Because you always sort of sound the same way.”
“Which is what? Nerdy?” He spent a long time saying the word nerdy, which, of course, made him sound… a little nerdy.
“Not exactly. Just serious all the time.”
“Well, I’m not.” He actually appeared to be offended. “I actually have a very fine sense of humor.”
“Which I’m just somehow managing to completely miss,” I teased.
“Well, considering that the handful of times we’ve spoken, you’ve been having some extravagant life crisis, I haven’t been at my funniest.”
Now he was definitely sounding offended.
“Point taken,” I said. “I’m sure you’re very funny.”
He looked at me suspiciously, thick brows furrowed. “How do you know?”
“Because you said you were. People who are funny know that they’re funny. People who aren’t funny will say, ‘My friends say I’ve got a great sense of humor.’ Or ‘My mother says I’ve got a great sense of humor.’ That’s when you know you’re in trouble.”
“Oh,” he said. “So if you were to describe yourself, you’d say you were funny?” “No,” I sighed, looking out at the night sky. “At this point, I’d say that I was fucked.”
We sat in silence for a minute. I watched the skaters turn.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” he finally asked. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to”
“No, no. I don’t mind. I’ve only figured a few things out, really. I know that I’m going to keep it, even though it’s probably not the most practical thing, and I know I’m going to cut back my schedule when the baby comes. Oh, and I know I’m going to maybe start looking for a new place to live, and see if my sister will be my birth coach.”
Laid out like that, like a losing hand of cards fanned out on a table, it didn’t seem like much.
“What about Bruce?” he asked.
“See, that’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” I said. “We haven’t talked in weeks, and he’s seeing someone else.”
“Seriously?” “Seriously enough for him to tell me about it. And to write about it.”
The doctor considered this. “Well, that might not mean anything. He might just be trying to get back at you… or make you jealous.”
“Yeah, well, it’s working.”
“But a baby… well, that changes everything.”
“Oh, you read that pamphlet, too?” I hugged my knees into my chest. “After we broke up… after his father died, when I felt so miserable, and I wanted him back, and all, my friends kept telling me, ‘You broke up with him, and you must have done it for a reason.’ And I know that it’s true. I think I did know, deep down, that we probably weren’t supposed to be, you know, together for the rest of our lives. And it was probably my fault I mean, I’ve got this whole theory about my father, and my parents, and why I don’t trust
