When I was two years old and he was seven, George’s family spent Christmas in Michigan. George and his brother, John, were always running around and playing. And naturally, my older sister, Bella, was included in everything because she was five, like John, and “old enough to play.” I, on the other hand, was not allowed to play because I was “slow and boring and chubby, and besides, Mum, she chews on everything. And you can’t understand a single word she says. It’s awful. She’s so annoying. But she is cute. She has the most adorable eyes in the world. But she’s annoying, seriously annoying.”
I highly doubt that seven-year-old George ever would have guessed that someday, we’d be living together and raising child together. Mercifully, I no longer chewed on everything, and apparently I had outgrown being boring. However, I was becoming chubby again-at least from my own perspective. While George disagreed, I spent much of July and part of August complaining about being fat.
“You’re adorable,” George replied to one such rant. “You’re pregnant, and you’re showing, and I think you’re gorgeous.”
“I’m fat,” I replied, slapping my growing belly ruefully. “I mean, look at my face. My face is getting fat.”
“You have dimples again,” he replied. “Dimples are cute on you.”
“And I’ve gained twenty pounds.”
“You’re pregnant. There is a baby growing inside of you. Of course you’re going to gain weight. That doesn’t mean you’re getting fat. It means you’re growing a baby inside your body.”
“I’m not quite six months pregnant, and I’ve already gained twenty pounds. What am I going to do in the next three months?”
“You’re going to be fine,” George said. “You’re beautiful. And after the baby comes, you can lose the weight if you want. But for now, you’re pregnant. Enjoy it.”
“Fine,” I moaned, flopping on the couch. “Pass the ice cream. If I’m going to gain weight, I might as well enjoy it.”
George laughed at me.
“I need to move,” I told George one evening in mid-August a few days after my weight-related meltdown.
“You’re standing up,” he replied from the comfort of his recliner. “How hard is it to move when you’re already moving?”
I smiled. “I mean that I need to move to a bigger space.”
“What’s wrong with this apartment? I like this apartment.”
“So do I,” I replied, leaning against the counter. “But I need a place that has enough room for the baby and me. This place only has two bedrooms.”
“Won’t that be fine for the first few months?” he asked. “Won’t you want the baby in your room anyway?”
I nodded. “At least at first, I suppose. But eventually, we will need more space.”
“Eventually,” he replied. “But you don’t have to move right now.”
I sighed and sat down. “No, but we do need to start thinking about it.”
“So you’re expecting me to move with you?”
“Of course,” I replied. “I thought you wanted to be around for everything.”
“I do,” he replied firmly.
“And besides, we still have the pact, don’t we?” I asked.
George grinned. “You bet. If you aren’t married by July 19 of next year, then you and I are going to make this official.”
I laughed. “You don’t have to marry me, you know.”
He nodded. “Oh, I know. You’re not forcing me to do anything against my will, Emma Clare.”
“I highly doubt that I could force you to do anything against your will.”
George smiled. “It is highly unlikely.”
Three days after that conversation, I had lunch with Betsy Williamson, Hannah Taylor-Churchill, and Hattie Smith. Hattie was full of some guy she’d met two nights earlier named Rob Martin. Rob was, as it happens, one of George’s best friends. He was a research analyst, and I never completely understood what he did. But he and George were good friends, and so I just let him be.
Hannah was thrilled because she and Weston had decided to start trying to have a baby. She wanted to have a girl first. “I mean, boys are wonderful, but I’d really love to have a girl first. I want a girl who can be West’s princess. But I do want a boy later.”
“Girls can be wonderful,” Betsy said softly. She had four sisters and now a daughter of her own. “But boys have a charm all their own.”
“Well, I’m starting with a girl,” I inserted, resting my hands on my firm belly. “And we’ll see what, if anything, comes later.”
Hattie sighed. “You and George will definitely have more children. I mean, it’s you and George. You guys will be perfect parents. You have to have more than one kid.”
“I’m glad to know that Mark and I won’t be perfect parents,” Betsy said, bouncing almost eight-month-old Natalie on her lap. “It takes so much pressure off my mind.”
“Oh, it’s nothing personal,” Hattie protested. “It’s just that you know George and Emma. They’ll be the best parents ever. This baby is so lucky to have them.”
“Whereas Mark and I will probably screw our children up by exposing them to too much coffee or yarn or too many books,” Betsy said.
Hattie sighed. “I’m not criticizing you. I just think that Emma is perfect. If it makes you feel any better, I think that Mark is better looking than George.”
I laughed. “Hattie, it is a truth universally accepted that Mark is the most attractive man on earth. He looks like Henry Cavill’s twin brother; he’s gorgeous. George, on the other
hand, looks far more like Laurence Fox than Henry Cavill. He’s tall and angularly thin and his ears stick out.” I didn't, however, admit to them that as my pregnancy progressed I had been finding myself more and more attracted to George-angular thinness and all.
“And he has one of the kindest hearts on earth,” Betsy said. “Mercifully, he doesn’t have Mark’s temper.”
“But Mark makes better coffee,” I said.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking coffee while you’re pregnant,” Hannah scolded.
I shrugged. “That’s more George’s rule than my rule. I’m trying to reduce my caffeine intake; he’s trying to eliminate my caffeine intake.”
“It’s better for the baby if you don’t have caffeine while pregnant.” Hannah’s voice began to take on a maternal, preaching tone.
“And it’s better for the baby if I’m not exhausted, overwhelmed, and cranky all the time. The caffeine stays,” I replied firmly.
Betsy smiled. “You don’t need to worry. I drank coffee when I was pregnant with Natalie, and she seems to be doing just fine.”
“I’m sure that Emma’s baby will be perfect just because she’s Emma’s baby,” Hattie sighed.
Hannah shrugged. “I just want you to have the healthiest baby ever.”
“I’m doing everything that the doctor tells me to do,” I replied.
“I’m just sick of people telling me how to manage my pregnancy,” I told George that evening. “I’m sick of being told what to eat and what to do and what to drink. I just want to enjoy being pregnant without worrying about what everyone else thinks.”
“But people love to give advice,” my roommate replied, sitting down next to me. “And for some reason, everyone loves to give pregnant women advice. My mom sent me an email of ten helpful hints for pregnancy the other day that she wanted me to pass on to you.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
He shrugged. “I figured you’d find it intrusive or annoying or over-the-top.”
“What did she stay?”
“She talked about the amount of water you should drink and how much exercise you should get,” he said.
I scrunched up my nose. “No thanks. I’ve heard all of that from my doctor.”
He patted my belly. “I think you’re doing a fabulous job taking care of Baby.”
“Even if I am getting fat?” I said, semi-jokingly.
George laughed lightly. “You’re not fat. You’re lovely.”
“I just feel all big and blech right now,” I told him. “And hanging out with Hattie and Hannah doesn’t help. They’ve got these perfect bodies. I mean, Hattie can eat anything and it won’t do a thing to her. I never could eat like that. I never was a stick. And now, I’m big, and I’m only going to get bigger between now and November. I know you think I’m still lovely, but I just don’t feel very lovely right now.”
“Come here, Emma Clare,” he replied.
“Why?”
He put a long, thin arm around my shoulders. “Because you are lovely, and I am going to make sure that you don’t forget it.”
I sighed and buried my face in his bony shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, George. I know what I look like.”
“I don’t think you do,” he replied, his breath soft again my ear. “I don’t think you know how gorgeous you are. I don’t like stick-thin girls like Hattie or Hannah. I love your curves. I love your dimples when you smile.”
“I hate my big butt,” I sighed.
“Too bad,” he said, his hand sliding lower on my back. “I love it, and I would miss it if it was gone.”
“You like my backend?” I asked.
George smirked mischievously. “Real women have curves, Emma Clare.”
It was probably just second-semester hormones, but when he said that, I really wanted to kiss him. I wanted to really kiss him and kiss him good. But instead, I just buried my face further into his shoulder.
George ran a finger down my cheek. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
I poked my head up. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He smiled that mischievous grin that was totally not helping my pregnant hormonal brain. “I think you’re cute when you blush.”
“You’re not helping me at all,” I replied.
A concerned look fell on his face. “What’s wrong? I just want you to know how beautiful you are.”
And then my hormones overtook my better sense. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
George’s reaction was thoroughly unexpected. He leaned his face down next to mine. “And why is that a bad thing?” he breathed.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I kissed him.
When we pulled apart, I ran to my room and shut the door. I had probably just ruined my relationship with my best friend.
I highly doubt that seven-year-old George ever would have guessed that someday, we’d be living together and raising child together. Mercifully, I no longer chewed on everything, and apparently I had outgrown being boring. However, I was becoming chubby again-at least from my own perspective. While George disagreed, I spent much of July and part of August complaining about being fat.
“You’re adorable,” George replied to one such rant. “You’re pregnant, and you’re showing, and I think you’re gorgeous.”
“I’m fat,” I replied, slapping my growing belly ruefully. “I mean, look at my face. My face is getting fat.”
“You have dimples again,” he replied. “Dimples are cute on you.”
“And I’ve gained twenty pounds.”
“You’re pregnant. There is a baby growing inside of you. Of course you’re going to gain weight. That doesn’t mean you’re getting fat. It means you’re growing a baby inside your body.”
“I’m not quite six months pregnant, and I’ve already gained twenty pounds. What am I going to do in the next three months?”
“You’re going to be fine,” George said. “You’re beautiful. And after the baby comes, you can lose the weight if you want. But for now, you’re pregnant. Enjoy it.”
“Fine,” I moaned, flopping on the couch. “Pass the ice cream. If I’m going to gain weight, I might as well enjoy it.”
George laughed at me.
“I need to move,” I told George one evening in mid-August a few days after my weight-related meltdown.
“You’re standing up,” he replied from the comfort of his recliner. “How hard is it to move when you’re already moving?”
I smiled. “I mean that I need to move to a bigger space.”
“What’s wrong with this apartment? I like this apartment.”
“So do I,” I replied, leaning against the counter. “But I need a place that has enough room for the baby and me. This place only has two bedrooms.”
“Won’t that be fine for the first few months?” he asked. “Won’t you want the baby in your room anyway?”
I nodded. “At least at first, I suppose. But eventually, we will need more space.”
“Eventually,” he replied. “But you don’t have to move right now.”
I sighed and sat down. “No, but we do need to start thinking about it.”
“So you’re expecting me to move with you?”
“Of course,” I replied. “I thought you wanted to be around for everything.”
“I do,” he replied firmly.
“And besides, we still have the pact, don’t we?” I asked.
George grinned. “You bet. If you aren’t married by July 19 of next year, then you and I are going to make this official.”
I laughed. “You don’t have to marry me, you know.”
He nodded. “Oh, I know. You’re not forcing me to do anything against my will, Emma Clare.”
“I highly doubt that I could force you to do anything against your will.”
George smiled. “It is highly unlikely.”
Three days after that conversation, I had lunch with Betsy Williamson, Hannah Taylor-Churchill, and Hattie Smith. Hattie was full of some guy she’d met two nights earlier named Rob Martin. Rob was, as it happens, one of George’s best friends. He was a research analyst, and I never completely understood what he did. But he and George were good friends, and so I just let him be.
Hannah was thrilled because she and Weston had decided to start trying to have a baby. She wanted to have a girl first. “I mean, boys are wonderful, but I’d really love to have a girl first. I want a girl who can be West’s princess. But I do want a boy later.”
“Girls can be wonderful,” Betsy said softly. She had four sisters and now a daughter of her own. “But boys have a charm all their own.”
“Well, I’m starting with a girl,” I inserted, resting my hands on my firm belly. “And we’ll see what, if anything, comes later.”
Hattie sighed. “You and George will definitely have more children. I mean, it’s you and George. You guys will be perfect parents. You have to have more than one kid.”
“I’m glad to know that Mark and I won’t be perfect parents,” Betsy said, bouncing almost eight-month-old Natalie on her lap. “It takes so much pressure off my mind.”
“Oh, it’s nothing personal,” Hattie protested. “It’s just that you know George and Emma. They’ll be the best parents ever. This baby is so lucky to have them.”
“Whereas Mark and I will probably screw our children up by exposing them to too much coffee or yarn or too many books,” Betsy said.
Hattie sighed. “I’m not criticizing you. I just think that Emma is perfect. If it makes you feel any better, I think that Mark is better looking than George.”
I laughed. “Hattie, it is a truth universally accepted that Mark is the most attractive man on earth. He looks like Henry Cavill’s twin brother; he’s gorgeous. George, on the other
hand, looks far more like Laurence Fox than Henry Cavill. He’s tall and angularly thin and his ears stick out.” I didn't, however, admit to them that as my pregnancy progressed I had been finding myself more and more attracted to George-angular thinness and all.
“And he has one of the kindest hearts on earth,” Betsy said. “Mercifully, he doesn’t have Mark’s temper.”
“But Mark makes better coffee,” I said.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking coffee while you’re pregnant,” Hannah scolded.
I shrugged. “That’s more George’s rule than my rule. I’m trying to reduce my caffeine intake; he’s trying to eliminate my caffeine intake.”
“It’s better for the baby if you don’t have caffeine while pregnant.” Hannah’s voice began to take on a maternal, preaching tone.
“And it’s better for the baby if I’m not exhausted, overwhelmed, and cranky all the time. The caffeine stays,” I replied firmly.
Betsy smiled. “You don’t need to worry. I drank coffee when I was pregnant with Natalie, and she seems to be doing just fine.”
“I’m sure that Emma’s baby will be perfect just because she’s Emma’s baby,” Hattie sighed.
Hannah shrugged. “I just want you to have the healthiest baby ever.”
“I’m doing everything that the doctor tells me to do,” I replied.
“I’m just sick of people telling me how to manage my pregnancy,” I told George that evening. “I’m sick of being told what to eat and what to do and what to drink. I just want to enjoy being pregnant without worrying about what everyone else thinks.”
“But people love to give advice,” my roommate replied, sitting down next to me. “And for some reason, everyone loves to give pregnant women advice. My mom sent me an email of ten helpful hints for pregnancy the other day that she wanted me to pass on to you.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
He shrugged. “I figured you’d find it intrusive or annoying or over-the-top.”
“What did she stay?”
“She talked about the amount of water you should drink and how much exercise you should get,” he said.
I scrunched up my nose. “No thanks. I’ve heard all of that from my doctor.”
He patted my belly. “I think you’re doing a fabulous job taking care of Baby.”
“Even if I am getting fat?” I said, semi-jokingly.
George laughed lightly. “You’re not fat. You’re lovely.”
“I just feel all big and blech right now,” I told him. “And hanging out with Hattie and Hannah doesn’t help. They’ve got these perfect bodies. I mean, Hattie can eat anything and it won’t do a thing to her. I never could eat like that. I never was a stick. And now, I’m big, and I’m only going to get bigger between now and November. I know you think I’m still lovely, but I just don’t feel very lovely right now.”
“Come here, Emma Clare,” he replied.
“Why?”
He put a long, thin arm around my shoulders. “Because you are lovely, and I am going to make sure that you don’t forget it.”
I sighed and buried my face in his bony shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, George. I know what I look like.”
“I don’t think you do,” he replied, his breath soft again my ear. “I don’t think you know how gorgeous you are. I don’t like stick-thin girls like Hattie or Hannah. I love your curves. I love your dimples when you smile.”
“I hate my big butt,” I sighed.
“Too bad,” he said, his hand sliding lower on my back. “I love it, and I would miss it if it was gone.”
“You like my backend?” I asked.
George smirked mischievously. “Real women have curves, Emma Clare.”
It was probably just second-semester hormones, but when he said that, I really wanted to kiss him. I wanted to really kiss him and kiss him good. But instead, I just buried my face further into his shoulder.
George ran a finger down my cheek. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
I poked my head up. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He smiled that mischievous grin that was totally not helping my pregnant hormonal brain. “I think you’re cute when you blush.”
“You’re not helping me at all,” I replied.
A concerned look fell on his face. “What’s wrong? I just want you to know how beautiful you are.”
And then my hormones overtook my better sense. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
George’s reaction was thoroughly unexpected. He leaned his face down next to mine. “And why is that a bad thing?” he breathed.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I kissed him.
When we pulled apart, I ran to my room and shut the door. I had probably just ruined my relationship with my best friend.