Golden Luckenbooth

Fifty-Two

The cavernous house instantly feels more like a small cottage with the addition of five adults and two children. Molly's daughters run through every room, leaving a trail of sticky Cheerios wherever they go as the partially closed snack container cannot adequately contain the cereal. Their laughter as they chase each other, stopping to stare at different sculptures and artwork, is of the high-pitched giggle variety. Upon being released from the car, they had both made a beeline for "HARRRRRYYYYY!", jumping on him until he picked up the youngest to hold and hugged the older one to his side.

I swear my ovaries jump, but perhaps it's just the foetus reminding Harry that he's going to have his own child to worry about.

Harry Lambert removes his sunnies the moment he steps inside, his gaze wandering the interior of the space panoramically – first at eye level and then while focused on the ceiling and second floor.

"Call me Sue, love! It's the only way to tell us apart!" He chortles as he grabs a suitcase and races up the stairs to the left. He makes me laugh instantly, and I can understand why Harry cares about him so much. A few seconds later, I hear Sue faintly calling, "I'm claiming this room!"

Jeffrey, who I had previously met briefly, gives me a tight hug, taking me by surprise. It's not like we're friends, but perhaps this is how he greets everyone?

"My wife, Glenne" is all he says before he disengages from me and carries two suitcases upstairs with him, his baseball cap pulled low over his brow, his athletic legs pumping as he tackles the stairs two at a time.

"Hi." The woman smiles at me as she removes her sunglasses and blinks at the opulence of the house. "Not a bad place."

"Agreed." I attempt some small talk, but I've no idea how to engage with this woman. She's stunningly beautiful. Her pantsuit isn't even wrinkled, and I know they've just flown in from America via London. She must be exhausted, yet nothing of that feeling is expressed on her face.

I feel inferior.

"Congratulations." Gesturing to my clearly outlined bump, Glenne smiles politely. "Jeff and I have been trying off and on for a few years." With a cursory glance away from me, she grimaces before cheerily adding, "Oh, well. It's not the end of the world."

Instantly, my inferiority complex disappears. I am guilt-ridden for wearing a dress that accentuates my pregnancy. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"Well..." Lost, I gesture at my stomach, trailing off my sentence with, "I mean..."

She grasps my hand and laughs, "Please don't worry! I get frustrated sometimes, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy for others. Harry is so excited for this baby. It's not your fault that we haven't gotten pregnant. One of these days, we'll decide to either give up trying, or we'll adopt, or we'll go for IVF. None of that is connected to you and Harry, and I am so sorry that my response made you feel like you don't have a right to be happy."

It's a strange conversation to have with someone you've just met. Although I want to hug her, I'm not sure she's the type who would enjoy physical touch or see it as a comfort.

If you don't ask, you don't know.

"Glenne, I know we've just met, but I feel an urge to hug you."

"Because you feel sorry for me?"

"Because I thought maybe you could use one right now."

Opening her arms, she laughs. "What an admittedly bizarre initial conversation. Let's blame it on jetlag, shall we?"

"Oh, no," I protest, "Let's blame it on pregnancy hormones."

Glenne smiles broadly, "I have a feeling we're going to become fast friends."