I woke up with a fresh panic very early in the morning. I laid in the bed, thinking about my life and how to navigate the shocking news of yesterday from Mr. Gibson. How in the world am I ever going to manage twins? Would Andrew let us live with him? Will two cribs even fit in my tiny room? What if I couldn't find a job? I have less than two thousand dollars left in my account —barely enough to cover my hospital bills, let alone baby supplies, food, rent. "Alright Tessy Johnson, you have to remain calm. Stay focused on your list, and take things one day at a time," I said to myself. I'm going to find a job to raise money for me and my boys . . .** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **For almost one full week, I was all about the job hunt. I kept an open mind, diligently seeking any kind of work: high-minded jobs, jobs in PR, even menial jobs. I checked the papers, made phone calls, hit the pavement. Nothing turned up—except some disappointing findings regarding the difficulty of se

Quentin called me in the afternoon to prove that he is man enough not to subscribe to any silly waiting games. Or perhaps only American men make you wait. Well, Quentin said that he enjoyed my company and would love to see me again. Honestly, his candor is immensely attractive, which in turn made me feel I have matured.I shared my observation with Andrew as he stood at the stove making us fried eggs and bacon for dinner. Andrew and I loves breakfast foods any time of the day. In fact, one of the few things that Andrew and I agreed on in high school was that going to IHOP after football games was a better choice than the infinitely more popular Taco Bell. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds like you might be ready for a real, healthy relationship.""As opposed to pursuing someone like Jon?" I asked. He nodded. "Jon was all about rebellion." He flipped one egg with a spatula and then probed gently at the yolk of the other. "You subconsciously knew Max was wrong for you, so you cheated on him t

Quentin went to pick up his son, Curt, from his mother's house at Wimbledon. As I waited in his flat, I resisted the strong temptation to snoop through his drawers. In the past, I wouldn't be able to stop myself, but in the past, I think what I wanted was to find some fodder for a fight, a photo of another woman, an old love letter, a condom that predated me. Something or anything to rile me up, fuel my jealous instincts, get my competitive juice flowing. I don't know if my pregnancy has matured me, mellowed me, or simply sapped my strength. I am just enjoying the ease of my new, tranquil relationship. I'm not interested in barriers, only smooth sailing and a happy ending. **********************************Quentin and Curt returned, I stood to greet them, my face stretched out in a huge smile. Curt is adorable—cute enough to be in a Gap ad in his little navy overalls and fire-engine-red turtleneck. I felt my first wave of excitement over having sons instead of daughters."Hi, Curt

Andrew and I woke up and sleepily wished each other "Merry Christmas.""What are we going to do today?" I asked him."We're gonna chef it up," Andrew answered joyously.We had gone grocery-shopping the day before yesterday, and his small English refrigerator is packed to the gills with all of our ingredients. "What else?""Cooking Christmas dinner will take most of the day," he said. "Do you wish that we waited till today to open our gifts?" I asked Andrew. I know that Christmas isn't about presents, but there is always a bit of a letdown when the part the holidays has passed. Although, for once, I enjoyed giving more than recieving."I prefer opening gifts on Christmas Eve," Andrew said. "But, I could give you something else though . . ."I looked at him, and I think my face registered surprise. Is it my imagination or is his tone suggestive? Is Andrew coming on to me? "How about a poem?" Andrew asked innocently."Oh. Yeah. Sure," I said, feeling relieved that I hadn't responded in

Andrew, Capucine, Quentin and I are doing the whole double-dating thing for the first time on New Year's Eve. Quentin made reservations for us at Gordon Ramsey, the posh, Michelin-starred restaurant at Sloane Square, which is the perfect venue for a special occasion. As we ate, we praised the New French cuisine. Quentin called it "sublime" and Capucine referred to it as a "symphony of flavors." I think both of them sounds a bit pretentious, although it is a fair description of my pot-roasted belly of West Country pork with aubergine caviar, and of Andrew's roast Scottish gray-legged partridge with braised red cabbage—which I tasted more than once.Unfortunately, the interpersonal dynamic didn't live up to the food. The measure of success of any double date is how well the women get along, and Capucine and I just do not jell. On the surface, everything looks pleasant enough. She is extremely nice to me and very easy to talk to, but she came across as condescending. It is almost as i