The Green Lace Corset, стр. 31

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How could Fay be pregnant too? At least she knew who the father was. Late that afternoon, Anne crawled into her daybed, picked up her journal, and began to jot:

Pros

Cons

a cutie in my life

no partner

clock is ticking

family would be mortified

loss of freedom

not enough money

Even though the cons side tipped the balance way over, thinking about ending the pregnancy grieved her. She’d never wanted a white picket fence or to be a stay-at-home mom. She’d always wanted to have children, though, hoped to get married and after a while have a child or two. But now, without a partner in her midst and as her thirtysomething clock ticked, she knew this might be her only chance. Maybe God’s plan was for her to have this baby.

It was probably the biggest decision she’d ever make. She needed some kind of grounded spiritual connection. She wasn’t religious, never went to church services, except when she visited her family in Michigan. She felt closest to God when in nature: walking on a beach or a park path, or even fishing on a lake. Doing her art was a form of worship for her too. When she let her heart guide her and created intuitively, she could feel God’s divine love within her.

She felt too ruffled to make art right now, though, and it would be dark soon, so walking in nature was out of the question. Going up to Grace Cathedral, Sylvia’s church, might help. She always felt close to her old friend there. Sometimes Anne walked the cathedral’s labyrinth or did Tuesday night yoga.

She glanced at her phone. Yoga started in forty-five minutes. Even though she was pretty wiped out, she decided to go anyway. For cleansing and balance, she rolled eucalyptus balm on her hands, rubbed them together, and inhaled three times. Then she added some balm to the bottoms of her feet and rubbed them together. She swore eucalyptus helped her do the tree and other balancing poses.

She’d better hurry now; the space filled up fast. Plus, it was bad manners to show up late. She gathered her mat, huddled in her black coat, and hiked up the hill. As she followed a few other stragglers carrying mats into the cathedral, early-evening light streamed in through the rose window, reflecting colors on the floor and yogis.

A musician played live new-age rhythms. Hundreds of colorful mats covered the black-and-white mosaic labyrinth in a circular fashion, up the aisles and even around the altar. Yogis of all ages, shapes, sizes, genders, and colors had gathered. A young woman lit votives.

Anne dropped a few dollars in the donation basket and zigzagged quietly around the supine bodies until she found a spot. She slipped off her sneakers, rolled out her mat, and sat down with a thud.

Her body had been changing rapidly: bigger boobs, puffy stomach. Her balance felt way off. After practicing yoga regularly the past two years, she’d begun to master the tree and dancer poses. Soon her whole body would be off-kilter again. That was the least of her worries, though.

The instructor’s soothing voice began, and Anne rolled down, one vertebra at a time, until she was flat on the mat and closed her eyes. Hands on her stomach, she thought of the baby growing inside her and inhaled and exhaled. The music began to trill within her, and tears leaked out the sides of her eyes. She couldn’t raise a child alone. If she had that simple procedure at the clinic, all those cons would disappear. Her life could go back to normal again. But would it ever really return to normal after what she’d done?

What she had really always wanted was to start a family with her soul mate. She hoped he was out there somewhere. She’d thought Sergio was the one, but he’d turned out not to be. As much as she tried to deny it, though, she still loved him. With his fun, outgoing, loving personality and generous spirit, he would be a great father. Maybe with a baby, she’d feel differently about living in New York with him and wouldn’t get so lonely when he worked late or traveled, because she’d have a cutie-patootie with her. Wasn’t home where the love was?

Anne rolled onto her hands and knees, did cat and cow, pushed up to downward-facing dog, and stepped forward. Reaching her arms up into warrior-one pose, she swayed to the left and had to catch herself. This had always been so easy for her.

Their passionate sex life would probably be nonexistent, or at least interrupted by the baby’s cries and exhaustion. Sergio also insisted on a pristine condo. How would that be possible with a child? The last time Anne had visited Michigan, Pootie’s house toys had been scattered everywhere, sticky sippy cups had lined the counter, and the high chair had had food scraps underneath it. When Anne had stayed with Sergio and left even a Coke can on the kitchen island, he never yelled, just gave her the disappointed puppy-dog look that made her feel so bad.

The really scary thing was that there was a good chance it was Barnaby’s baby. She’d gotten tipsy several times before with Sergio, skipped the condoms, and never gotten pregnant. She didn’t even want to think about how the baby might have Barnaby’s genes and how gross it would be to live with that one-night stand. No, if