"Verdi," he called, "Jennifer is here for tea." The words echoed. Verdi was nowhere to be seen; probably he had taken refuge upstairs. Oliver paced back and forth from the stove to the fireplace. Why had she come to him? He felt the future looming, threatening to sweep away the controlled life that he complained about but that suddenly seemed more attractive.
The shower stopped. Jennifer stepped out a few minutes later wearing his Navy blue bathrobe. 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.