As the winter in London dragged on and my due date neared, Quentin doted on me more and more. It is as if he normally consult every article ever written on how to treat a pregnant woman. He had taken me to fabulous restaurants: Planque, The Clove Club and Petrus. He buys me lavish gifts—Jo Malone bath oils, a Valentino clutch, lingerie from Agent Provocateur—which he normally leaves on the bed and pretend to be just as surprised as I when I'd emerge from the bathroom to discover them. He doesn't fail to reassure me that I am only becoming more beautiful with every passing day. He even insisted that he can't see the zits (or "spots" as he called them) that are frequenting my nose and chin. He always talks about our future and also promised to take me to see exotic places he had traveled to: Botswana, Budapest, Bora Bora. Quentin promised me a wonderful life and makes me feel like a lucky woman. A saved woman. But, as I lay next to him every night, I can't shake the feeling that someth

I suggested another double date with Andrew and Capucine. Although our first effort wasn't an overwhelming success but I want to give it another try. Quentin protested a bit, saying that he prefers to be alone with me. I informed him that where I came from, Valentine's is a cheesy, amateur nonevent and therefore we have two options: blow it off altogether and order a pizza, or share the evening with another couple. I told him that I am not going to be one of those silly couples sitting alone at a table, all dressed up and eagerly ordering off a jacked-up, prix-fixe menu, and that going to dinner with another couple would temper the whole cheese factor. Quentin reluctantly saw my point and reluctantly made reservations for four at Daphne's, an Italian restaurant in South Kesington. ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***Quentin and I drove to the restaurant for our Valentine's double date. We arrived right on time and waited for Andrew and Capucine. They showed up thirty minutes lat

I woke up to the *"grrring grrring"* ringing of Andrew's phone. Firstly, I hope it's not Quentin. And secondly, I still love Andrew. So my feelings aren't just an illusion rooted in near tragedy. I felt the mattress jostle as Andrew reached down to grab the phone. I can hear Capucine's French accent on the other line. "Right here," Andrew said into the phone. I think Capucine must have asked where I'm sleeping. The controlling, jealous, break-of-dawn maneuver is something I would have pulled in my former life, and I silently vowed that no matter what the circumstances of my future relationships, I will never behave that way again. It is selfish and unattractive. I opened my eyes to take a peek at Andrew's face and his face showed restrained annoyance—a reaction that I have seen not more than once. I shut my eyes back and pretended to be sleeping as he got out of bed and whispered fiercely in the hall that she is being ridiculous. "Were you not there witnessing the same ordeal last n

I have successfully stayed two weeks in bed, no cramps and no blood. My baby boys will be so healthy. Andrew surprised me with a homemade chocolate cake to celebrate the milestone. He brought it to the bedroom on his wooden tray. A cake decorated with about thirty-seven blue candles, one for each week of my pregnancy, which he lit while singing, off-key, "Happy, Baby A and B!"I laughed, made a wish, and blew out the candles in two tries. "Blowing your candles twice because of two babies!" Andrew squealed. I giggled. "Really?""Oh yeah, hot mama . . .It's like . . . baby A *whoosh!* and baby B *whoosh!*," Andrew said while making blowing sounds and making a funny face. He cut the cake and served us each a big slice. I went for seconds, it tasted really good and then had thirds. I praised his baking efforts, especially the icing. We finished eating and he cleared our plates and tray. Andrew returned with a big box wrapped in buttermilk and blue polka-dotted paper. "You shouldn't h

"Cab is waiting outside! Cab is waiting outside!" Andrew yelled as he bursted through the door and streaked down the hall toward the bedroom, ten minutes after our call."I'm right here," I called out to him from the living room. My small duffel, which I had packed few weeks ago, rested at my feet. He ran into the living room, kissed my cheek. "How are you?" he asked breathlessly."I am fine," I said, feeling relieved to see him. "Would you mind tying my shoes? I can't reach.""Oh, God. I'm so sorry I wasn't here," he said as he stooped down to tie my Nikes. His hands kept shaking."Where's your jacket?" I asked, noticing that he came home wearing only his lucky Standford T-shirt. "It has to be freezing outside.""I left it at the bar.""Oh, Andrew, I'm sorry," I said. "And I'm really sorry about interrupting your game too.""Don't be silly, Tessy. I will get the jacket later, and the game is not that important," he said. Andrew bent down and picked up my bag and I saw a clear patch