I felt and confirmed the fact. It had been some time since I had touched Rosie, and my brain formed the thought of purchasing a triple-espresso coffee and a blueberry muffin. But they were both on the banned substances list.

25

Rosie had completed her PhD thesis. In keeping with the conventional practice of celebrating milestones, I booked dinner for two at a prestigious restaurant, and confirmed that they could produce a pregnancy-compatible meal. At Rosie’s request, I delayed the celebration to enable her to focus on study for a dermatology exam, which she completed that afternoon.

There had been no significant change to our relationship since the Second Ultrasound Misunderstanding. The previous Saturday, I had completed Tile 26—in fact two adjacent tiles. Bud no longer fitted on a single tile.

I had stopped travelling with Rosie on the subway. With the arrival of cooler weather, I established a routine of jogging through the Hudson River Park to and from Columbia. There had been no sex. In my early twenties, I had shared a house with other students. Our current situation felt similar.

Rosie was already home in her study-bedroom when Gene and I arrived. She called out, ‘Hi guys. How were your days?’

‘Interesting.’ I called back from the living room as I removed the access panel to the beer storage to check the system and draw off two samples for taste-testing. ‘Inge discovered a statistically significant anomaly in group 17B.’ After Rosie’s initial reaction to the Lesbian Mothers Project, and Gene’s advice that it was in Rosie’s ‘territory’, I considered it best to limit my report to the safe ground of the mouse-liver research. ‘She used a Wilcoxon signed-rank test—temporary interrupt—I’m checking the beer.’

Gene took the opportunity to hijack the conversation. ‘How did your exam go?’

‘My memory’s like a fucking sieve. Stuff I know I studied, I couldn’t remember.’

I returned with the two filled pint glasses and gave one to Gene. The cooling system was functioning perfectly and I wondered at what point George would realise that he could dispense with my services.

I was in clear speaking range again. ‘The analysis indicated an unexpected—’

‘We were talking about Rosie’s exam,’ said Gene. Rather than point out that we had been talking about the mouse results prior to that and had not completed the discussion, I made a rapid mental adjustment and joined the exam conversation.

‘Impairment of cognitive function is a common side-effect of pregnancy. You should ask for special consideration.’

‘For being pregnant?’

‘Correct. The science is quite clear.’

‘No.’

‘That seems an irrational response. Which is also an established side-effect of pregnancy.’

‘I just had a bad day, okay? I probably passed. Forget it.’

People cannot forget things on command. Being instructed to forget something is analogous to being instructed not to think of a pink elephant, or not to buy certain foodstuffs.

Did the lowering of cognitive power in pregnancy have some evolutionary value, or did it reflect the diversion of some resource to the reproductive process? The latter seemed more likely. I reflected on it as Gene offered the formulaic statements of reassurance that lecturers use to fend off students in the period between examination and results, then I presented a summary of my conclusion.

‘Chances are your exam failure will lead to a higher-quality baby.’

‘What? Don, go and get dressed for dinner.’

Rosie walked back into her study-bedroom, presumably also to dress for dinner. Gene was still in interruption mode. I suspected too much coffee or Inge-related stimulation.

He called out to Rosie. ‘Think about the thesis. The exam’s one small blip. The thesis is six years’ work. If it helps the celebration tonight, I can tell you it’ll get through, with minor amendments at worst. Whether or not I agree with you philosophically, it’s a real contribution and you should be proud of yourself. I’ve been giving you a hard time to keep you honest. So go out and have a good time.’

‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ Rosie called back.

‘I’ll grab a pizza.’

I said, ‘I assumed you would be dining with Inge.’

‘Not every night. Not yet.’

‘I thought you’d be joining us. You’re a big part of this,’ said Rosie.

‘No, I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Seriously, I want you to come. I’d really like you there tonight. Please.’

Rosie was creating a problem—a totally unexpected problem. She had complained constantly about Gene as a supervisor, house guest and in general as a human being, so I had assumed she would not want him present as she celebrated what she had frequently referred to as ‘finally being free of that jerk’. I had booked for two and the restaurant was extremely popular. I explained the situation, leaving out the negative statements about Gene, but Rosie was insistent.

‘Bullshit. They can put another chair at the table. They won’t turn us away.’

Based on my conversations with the restaurant staff earlier in the day, I suspected Rosie’s second statement was likely to be true.

The restaurant in the Upper East Side was within walking distance, though Gene and Rosie seemed to struggle for the final twenty blocks. Both needed to work on their fitness. I mentioned this to Rosie as a possible use of the time freed up by the completion of the thesis and exam.