Late June, exams

Early July, mid-semester break

Exams came and went. Gab passed, but not well. The nausea finally began to relent when she was fifteen weeks pregnant, but she still hadn’t made up her mind about what to do next. She had until twenty-four weeks of pregnancy to easily access a termination, and she was putting off the final decision, fluctuating between a sense of just waiting to see what was around the corner, and denying the whole situation entirely, pretending it wasn’t there.

Over the mid-semester break, Freya invited Gab to come and stay with her family. Gab agreed timidly. Did they all know about the pregnancy? She felt self-conscious.

“Don’t worry,” said Freya. “Mum would never tell them. She’s very strict about things like confidentiality and boundaries. In fact, she’ll probably tell you specifically when you come home that she’s not your doctor when we’re there! She’s embarrassing like that. Embarrassing, but good,” she added.

The next day the girls took the tram back to Freya’s family home.

They arrived and walked in the backdoor, Gab with her pillow and backpack. Saanvi greeted them both with a hug, and—as Freya had predicted—said to Gab:

“When we’re here, Gab, I’m just Saanvi, okay? Not doctor.” She smiled. “You can call me Aunty, or Saanvi, or Freya’s Mum … whatever you like.”

“How about Mum—like everyone else does around here!” said Freya. “And hi Mum!” Freya went and gave her a hug, which was a very different scenario to their interaction at the doctor’s clinic. Gab thought Freya was joking about having her call Saanvi Mum, but Saanvi absorbed it naturally and said, “Yes, of course. Whatever you prefer.”

“My two best friends in high school called my parents Mum and Dad,” explained Freya, when she saw Gab’s surprise. “Doesn’t hurt to borrow someone else’s parents every now and then!”

“What are your parents’ names?” asked Saanvi to Gab.

“Oh, just Gina,” said Gab. “My mum’s name is Gina. Yeah, she’s a bit of a weird one.”

Saanvi recalled that first appointment, when Gab had expressed fear about being like her mother. Despite the work-home boundary line, Saanvi couldn’t not carry this knowledge with her. But she held it carefully, observing with gentle understanding.

“I haven’t told my Mum,” Gab blurted out suddenly. Then she felt like an idiot. She didn’t specify what exactly she hadn’t told her mum, but both Freya and Saanvi knew.

“There’s time,” said Saanvi, patting Gab’s hand.

Gab still had no idea how to tell Gina. It seemed like the logical thing to do, the normal thing, to tell her mum she was having a baby. If she was Freya—well, maybe it wouldn’t have been easy, not in those circumstances, but she couldn’t imagine Saanvi being anything but helpful and supportive. Perhaps in her grief, Gab’s perception of Freya and Saanvi’s relationship was oversimplified or romanticised. But nothing at all seemed simple about her relationship with Gina—except that Gina needed Gab’s help simply to get by. Maybe Gina wasn’t malicious. She was just … empty. Fearful. Pretentious. Under-resourced. But what did that mean for Gab? Was it her burden to bear?

“Come on Gab, let me show you round!” said Freya, taking Gab’s bag and pillow from her. “And I’ll introduce you to the sisters. Who’s home, Mum?” she asked, as she turned down the passageway, beckoning Gab after her.

“Just the young ones,” Saanvi called after her.

The house was big but not astoundingly so for a house of six, plus pets. Wood panelling lined the walls and the ceiling downstairs, and Freya led Gab down the end of the passageway to a timber staircase.

“Up here,” she said, and they walked up the stairs to an open loft, with two beds, desks and lots of photos on the walls. “I share with Priya,” explained Freya. “So she gets the room to herself while I’m gone. The younger girls share a room downstairs.”

“What does Priya do?” asked Gab, scanning Priya’s desk, her bed, the photos on her wall.

“She’s studying education,” said Freya, “to teach primary school like Dad.”

“Where are the homing pigeons?” asked Gab, suddenly remembering.

“Ah! I’ll introduce you to them later,” laughed Freya. “Just don’t ask Dad about them. He’ll give you a history of the homing pigeon and you’ll never escape.” She winked. Then she said, “You can sleep in my bed and I’ll grab a lilo for the floor.” Freya threw Gab’s pillow onto her bed and laid the bag on the floor next to it.

“Oh no,” said Gab, “keep your bed! I’ll use the lilo.”

“No way! And you can’t win an argument with me on home turf, Gabby!” said Freya, joking but firm, flicking her long black plait over her shoulder with a grin. “The bed’s yours. Besides, I like the lilo. Reminds me of happy camping days.”

Gab was silently inspecting the shelf above Freya’s bed with its various trinkets, books and photos. Gab noticed a canister of brushes and trays of watercolour paint; a photo of Freya and her family in front of the Taj Mahal; an eclectic mix of books—Enid Blyton sat with Arundhati Roy and Nelson Mandela; Jane Austen leant up against Gertrude Stein. There was a beautiful wooden box, carved with elephants, and a collection of delicate, clay-sculpted dancers that Gab assumed had been shaped and painted by Freya.

“Wait there,” said Freya, and she ran downstairs to a cupboard in the hallway, and came back up again a moment later, lugging an inflatable mat and a pump.

“Get comfy then!” said Freya, motioning to a beanbag and the bed. Gab sat down gingerly on the bed. “You okay Gab?” asked Freya, more quietly. Gab nodded.

“I like your house, Freya. It’s really cool.”

“Well, thanks. I find it kind of lame sometimes but that’s because it’s my house. Other times, it’s my favourite place ever. Hey Gab, you look a bit pale. Do you want a drink or something?”

“No, I’m fine thanks,” replied Gab. For a few moments, Gab had forgotten about her stupidly complicated life scenario. Remembrance was all the more painful when it hit. Freya gave her a sympathetic look and got to work pumping up the lilo.