Thanksgiving. Of all the silly things to bring up now, when he had just told her they would be apart for three months. Was that all she cared about, that the holidays got taken care of?
She tried to explain around the lump in her throat. "We won't be able to have Thanksgiving together."
He looked puzzled for another moment, then decided to make light of it. He tried to grin, shrugging expansively. "We've never had it together before, you know," he re minded her. "It won't be that much of a change."
Fear welled up in her chest. All he ever did was joke. Couldn't he ever be serious? She stared down at her plate and ate automatically. Ross talked about Australia again, about Vegemite and milk bars. She felt colder and colder and wondered why he didn't ask her to go back with him.
Maybe he didn't think she would be able to take off from the restaurant, but that didn't wash. He knew Nancy could take over, and anyway, he should ask even if he knew the answer would be no. At least he would have shown he cared. The months in Australia would be full of challenge and new experiences for him. But for her, staying behind, alone and lonely, they would be hell.
"You said you had something to tell me?" he reminded her.
She shook her head slowly. "No." Her voice was barely a whisper. "No, it was nothing."
She was hurt and angry and her anger grew during the night as she lay still, after he'd left. He didn't want to hear about a baby, that much was certain. He liked having "nothing tying him down." How had she got herself into this mess? He was obviously trying to draw away, and here she was saddled with a fact of life that was meant to pull them together.
She wanted to tell him about the baby, but she knew what would happen if she did. Reluctantly, but with gal lantry, he would insist they marry. She clenched her hands into fists as she thought about it. She would never, never use her pregnancy to get a man to marry her.
For a moment she thought about how it would be if she did. She could see his parents' faces. They would put on a polite front, but deep in their eyes she would see the accusation. She imagined their conversations.
"It's the clas sic story. The little tramp found a way to land herself an upper crust husband, didn't she? Well, she's a crafty bit of baggage. But poor, dear Ross. How will he manage with such a little nobody for a wife? He'll never be able to take her to the club. He'll be ashamed to bring her along to family functions. And what on earth will the child turn out to be like?"