“Laurie, you’ve been in there a while.”
Oscar has actually delayed going to Brussels today to see if I’m pregnant. I’m not. I’m sitting on the toilet holding a negative pregnancy test and trying to work out how to let him down gently.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” I call, flushing the toilet.
He’s loitering in the hallway waiting for me when I open the bathroom door. I shake my head, and he can’t keep the disappointment from his eyes as he hugs me.
“Early days,” I say. Only two months in and the shine of trying to get pregnant has already well and truly worn off. Who knew it would be so stressful? I’d like it if we could just take our foot off the gas and relax, but it’s not in Oscar’s nature to be so laissez-faire. He’s used to being able to make things happen; it’s clearly a huge frustration to him that he can’t dictate this so easily.
“Third time lucky.” He presses a kiss against my forehead and picks up his briefcase. “See you in a few days, love.”