The Bride Wore Size 12

“Well, sorry,” I say, “but if Cory was that antichildren, he should have done a little bit more to make sure you two didn’t have any.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He could have had a vasectomy.”

Lisa gasps. “Heather!”

“Why not? It’s a simple procedure that only takes half an hour to perform, and doctors do close to half a million of them every year in the U.S. alone.” I watch way too much of the Discovery Channel. “So why did Cory never get one? Do you think it might be because he’s secretly undecided on the subject of kids?”

Lisa stares at me, her mouth slightly ajar.

“Oh God, Heather. I never even thought of that. Do you really think that’s true?”

I shrug. “How should I know? But I think before you make any decisions about this, you and Cory need to have a long talk. And you need to visit your gynecologist too. Six plus signs probably mean you really are pregnant,” I say, waving my hand at her white wands, “but you never know. And remember, it’s your body. Whatever you decide to do is up to you.”

Lisa’s shoulders slump. “That’s just it,” she says. “I don’t know what to do. I feel so awful telling you all this, because I know how badly you want a baby and can’t have one, and here I am, never having wanted one, pregnant by mistake, like some dumb teenager on MTV.”

“Hey,” I say, reaching out to squeeze one of her hands. “It’s not like that. If I really wanted a kid, there are steps I could take. I’m just not any more ready to jump on the baby train than you are. But I’ll be here for you, no matter what. More important, I think Cory will be too. He completely adores you.”

Lisa’s gaze softens as she glances at a framed photo on her desk of her and Cory on their wedding day, holding Tricky, their ring bearer. “You think so?”

“I know so.” I give her hand a final squeeze, then release it. “It’s pretty obvious from the way he looks at you. Every time I see you guys together, his face is all goopy and smiley. He really, really loves you.”

The tips of Lisa’s ears turn red as she flushes, but this time from pleasure, not rage. “Goopy?” she echoes with a little laugh. “That’s not even a real word.”

“But you know what I’m talking about. That look guys get on their faces when the person they love is around . . . like they can’t believe anyone that amazing would ever fall for someone like them. That’s Cory, with you. It’s like he thinks he’s won the lottery or something. You two are going to be okay, no matter what.”

“You’re exaggerating to make me feel better,” Lisa says, but she’s smiling as she lifts the wedding photo on her desk and gazes down at it. “I do know the look you mean, though. It is kind of goopy. And he’s so great around our nieces and nephews. I always kind of suspected he secretly wanted a kid of his own . . . Oh, but, Heather, what if we have this baby and he turns out to be a serial killer?”

“What if you have this baby and she turns out to be a genius who finds the cure for cancer?” I hold my arms out wide. “Lisa, the fact is, you and Cory aren’t teenagers on MTV. You’re happily married college-educated adults with great, stable jobs and a kick-ass apartment in Greenwich Village for which you don’t even pay rent, in a building assistant-directed by me. You’re going to make incredible parents.”

Lisa’s flush of pleasure increases. “I hate you so much right now for making this all sound so reasonable. How are Cory and I going to backpack around Peru with a baby?”

“Leave the baby here in the file cabinet. I told you, I’ll watch her. Only from nine to five, though, then Gavin will have to take her.”

Lisa bursts into laughter.

There’s a knock on the door. “You guys?” Sarah asks hesitantly. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course, Sarah,” Lisa says, hastily dabbing the tissue to her eyes to wipe away evidence of her tears.

Sarah opens the door, popping her head inside.

“First,” she says in a low, intense voice, “Jasmine’s parents are here. Dr. Flynn already met them at the front desk and has escorted them to the second-floor library. Second, I could hear almost every word the two of you were saying in here.” She points at the grate above the doorway. “And I just want you to know, Lisa, all that stuff they say online about the abortion pill isn’t true. My friend Natasha said when she took it, she hardly had any cramping.”

Lisa drops her wedding photo.

Fortunately, my reflexes are lightning quick, and I save the frame from being smashed against the floor.

“Dammit, Sarah,” I say, setting the photo back on Lisa’s desk. “What did I tell you about eavesdropping?”

“Whatever,” Sarah says, looking bored. “But also, Lisa, if you decide to forgo the pills, I’m an excellent babysitter. Newborns seriously love me. It’s why I’m considering going into child psychology.”

Lisa’s face has gone ashen. She looks like she’s about to start throwing up again. “Sarah,” she says. “If you tell anyone about this—”

Sarah puffs out her chest, offended. “I’m insulted you’d even suggest such a thing. I totally understand your ambivalent feelings toward parenthood, Lisa. You don’t want to lose your autonomy, but you also want to be the best mother you can be. Your concerns are completely natural. Also, hormones are raging through your body, so you need to consider that as well.”

“That’s not the—oh my God. Forget it.” Lisa sweeps her pregnancy test wands back into her desk drawer, closes it, then rises to her feet.

“Heather and I are going upstairs to meet with the Albrights,” she says, throwing back her shoulders. “Sarah, at five o’clock today all the new RAs are going to receive letters from the president’s office informing them that their employment with the Housing Office has been terminated and that they have until Sunday afternoon to find alternative lodgings.”

Sarah’s face falls. “What?” she cries. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious as a heart attack,” Lisa says. “I suggest you not be here at five o’clock, and also that if any of the terminated RAs contact you, you do not engage. Your own employment is none too secure thanks to the continued leaks about Prince Rashid to the New York College Express.”