“I wouldn't mind seeing you skinny again,” he said wistfully, “you had kind of a cute figure when I met you.”

“Thanks,” she said to him, rolling onto her back like a beached whale. Lying like that, she looked absolutely enormous. “You don't like my figure now?” She was half serious, and he knew he had to be careful. He lay next to her, on his stomach, and propped himself up on his elbows as he kissed her.

“I happen to think you're the most beautiful woman I know, pregnant or not.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and tears came to her eyes, and then she put her arms around his neck like a child, and the tears brimmed over. “I'm scared,” she confessed, and she touched his heart as she said it.

“I know you are, baby, but it's going to be fine. I promise.”

“But what if it isn't? What if something happens … to me … or the baby?” It sounded stupid, but she was afraid she was going to die. She kept thinking of the woman in the film, going through awful pain and screaming. No one had ever told her it was going to be like that. She just thought the baby came out, somehow, and that was it. No one had ever admitted that it could be that painful.

“Nothing's going to happen to you or the baby. I won't let it. I'll be there every second, holding your hand, and helping you. And it'll be over before you know it.”

“Is it really that bad?” She looked into his eyes earnestly, and he didn't want to tell her how bad it had been for Leslie. It had almost driven him crazy to see it.

“Not necessarily. I think for some people it's fairly easy.”

“Yeah. If they have hips like the Panama Canal,” she said sadly, because she didn't.

“You'll be fine.” He kissed her gently on the lips, and she slipped her hands into his shirt and touched his shoulders. And then she ran her hands down his back, and he felt a tremor of excitement. They were kissing, and she was touching him, and he gently let his hands wander over her body, and then he grinned in the midst of their passion. “I should be shot for molesting a woman in your condition.” The absurdity of it struck him for a moment and then he forgot it.

“No, you shouldn't,” she teased, and he marveled at how much she still turned him on. He rolled over on his back and laid her on top of him, as they took their clothes off. And half an hour later, they lay spent, and he looked at her guiltily. He was terrified he might cause her to go into labor, but the doctor hadn't told them not to.

“Are you okay?” he asked nervously, looking at her as though she might explode at any moment.

“Never better.” She looked at him as though she were drunk, and then she giggled.

“I'm disgusting,” he said, watching her. “I shouldn't do that.”

“Yes, you should. I'd much rather make love to you than have the baby. And at least I can't get pregnant.”

He frowned then as he looked at her. “I thought you told me you were a virgin.”

“I am,” she said happily. It seemed miraculous to her that their relationship was still so passionate, and she was more than eight months pregnant.

“Want to try the breathing again?” he volunteered as they lay in bed. He felt as though he had to do something to redeem himself for his unbridled passion.

“I thought we just did,” she said benignly. And then she glanced at the clock in dismay. It was ten o'clock, and she had to get up and go back to work. She was still planning to work full-time till the eleventh hour. Zelda had already volunteered to cover for her, anytime Adrian wanted her to, but so far Adrian hadn't called her. She was planning to start her maternity leave the same day she was due to have the baby. And Bill had already told her he thought she was pushing.

“Why don't you at least relax for a few weeks before that?”

“I'll have plenty of time to relax after I have the baby.”

“That's what you think.” He grinned. He remembered only too well the nights without sleep, the broken sleep from nursing a baby who wanted to eat every two or three hours. He tried to tell her that, but she still wanted to work till the end. She felt fine and insisted that she needed the distraction. But every time she went in to work, Zelda practically groaned when she saw her.

“How do you walk around with that?” she asked, pointing to Adrian's stomach. “Doesn't it hurt?”

“No.” Adrian smiled. “You get used to it.”

“I hope not,” Zelda sympathized. It was something so foreign to her, and she had no desire to make it familiar. Babies were just not something she wanted. Nor was a husband. And she liked Bill a lot, but she admitted to Adrian early on that just being with them made her nervous. It was all much too married. But she was happy for Adrian. No one deserved a good man more than she did. And there was no doubt in Zelda's mind, he was a good one. Not like that son of a bitch Steven. She had run into him a few times. He went to the same gym she did, but he hadn't seemed to notice her. And she had seen him there several times with different girls, always pretty, always young, and she was willing to bet that none of them knew that he had walked out on his wife because she was having a baby.

She had asked Adrian once or twice if she ever heard from him, but Adrian always shook her head, and it seemed to be a sensitive subject, so she stopped asking.

Bill drove Adrian to work that night, as he did every night now, and spent an hour at his own desk while she was working and then she would come to his office to pick him up, and sometimes they would sit and chat for a little while, in his comfortable office. They never seemed to run out of things to say, or ideas that they shared, or new plots for the show. They were a perfect match in many ways, and they had a good time, in bed and out, and they were both laughing as they headed for the elevator and she stopped with a funny look on her face.

“What's up?” He looked at her worriedly.

“I don't know….” She leaned against him, surprised by what it had felt like. Her whole belly had gotten hard as a rock, and felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise. She knew what it was from the description in the Lamaze class. “I think I just had a contraction.” She looked scared, and he put an arm around her. But she felt fine now. It had come and gone, but she looked up at him with an expression of panic.

“You've been working too hard. You've got to slow down, or the baby will come early.”

“It can't do that. I'm not ready for it.” The nursery was almost finished, but her head wasn't prepared for what she'd have to go through. “I want to enjoy Christmas before I have it.”

“Then stop knocking yourself out,” he scolded. “Tell them you can't do the late show anymore. They'll understand. Hell, you're eight months pregnant.” And she wasn't even sure she was coming back. She was going to use her maternity leave to decide if she wanted to go to work for Bill. It still scared her a little to become that dependent on him.

They drove home and on the way, she had two more contractions. But when they got home, he gave her a small glass of white wine and insisted that she drink it, and miraculously the contractions stopped, and she looked delighted. She had been scared to death that she was about to have the baby. “That really worked.”

“Of course.” He looked pleased with himself as he kissed her. And then, for an instant, he looked guilty. “Maybe we shouldn't be making love anymore.” He wondered if their earlier indulgence had done it.

“The doctor didn't say anything. And I think those are just those warm-up contractions to get things ready.”

“The more you have now, the easier it'll be.”

“Good. Then let's make love again.” She polished off the wine, and grinned up at him, looking like an elf with an enormous stomach as she said it.

“I think you're perverted.” And the awful thing was that he actually wanted to make love to her. He wanted to make love to her all the time. How could he have fantasies about a woman who was eight months pregnant? But he found that he loved her more each day, and somehow she seemed sweet to him the way she was. She was so vulnerable, and so cute and so cuddly. He leaned over and kissed her then, but he managed to ward her off when she tried to get sexy. “If you don't stop this, Adrian, you'll have triplets.”

“Now there's a thought,” but she sobered quickly when she contemplated the delivery. “I bet that must hurt.”

“See, be grateful you're only having one.” There was a long silence in the dark, and then she whispered to him again.

“What if it's twins and they don't know it?”

“Believe me, nowadays they'd know it.” She was worried about everything, and she seemed to make a dozen trips into the nursery every night, checking things out, folding undershirts, looking at tiny little bonnets and booties and nightgowns. It touched him to see her like that, and more than once, it made him think of what a jerk Steven was for giving all that up. It meant so much to Bill, and absolutely nothing to Steven.

Bill had wallpapered the room for her, in a white paper with little pink and blue stars and a pretty pink-and-blue-rainbow border. He had put the four-poster bed away, in a storage locker he had in the basement, and they had bought nursery furniture together at the beginning of December. Everything was ready finally the week before Christmas. And they'd bought a Christmas tree, and decorated it with old-fashioned ornaments and cranberries and popcorn.

“I wish the boys could see this,” he said proudly. It was a beautiful little tree, and the apartment looked pretty and festive. The boys had gone skiing in Vermont, and Adrian and Bill had talked to them several times before they left. But it wouldn't be the same for him, having Christmas without them. They were coming out in February, for their spring break, and that was going to work out perfectly. If the baby came on time, it would be three weeks old by then, and Adrian would be more or less recovered, except for the sleepless nights. She had decided to nurse the baby, and they were going to leave the baby in a basket next to their bed, so she wouldn't have to get up every time the baby was hungry.