She was rosy cheeked and much recovered.
"Uh, how do you like your tea?"
"Do you have any chamomile?"
"Umm, no. I should get some herb tea. All I have is English Breakfast."
"Oh, that's fine. Just a little milk, thanks." She sat next to the
fireplace and looked around the apartment while Oliver fixed the tea.
"I don't know," he said, handing her a mug. "Whiskey might be a better
idea." Jennifer took a sip and sighed.
"That's so good. I forgot how nice your apartment is."
"It's large enough," Oliver said. "Walking distance from Deweys--I like
that. So, what happened? You look great."
"I feel great. I'm just starting to show a little--getting into the
fifth month." Oliver counted backwards. "What happened is that Rupert
freaked out when I told him I was pregnant. He became--I don't
know--_distant._ I thought he was just nervous and would get used to
it, but he got more and more uptight. I couldn't take it anymore." She
drank her tea and sighed again.
"So today, I . . . I said to him: 'Look, Rupert, _what_ is the
matter? We're going to have a baby. What is _wrong_ with you?' I guess
I should have been more diplomatic. You know--said something like:
'Rupert, I need your affection; I'm feeling all alone here.
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