Page 75 of Things We Do for Love and Science
“Hey, what happened? You’re scaring the life out of me.”
“You were right all along,” she said, her voice muffled. “I love Gabriel. I always have. Now it’s too late. I’m pregnant, but he’s with somebody else.”
“Wait, what? Slow down.” Tom peeked into her face. He released her from the hug, put his arm around her shoulders, and guided her to the living room.
They sat on the sofa underneath Gabriel’s painting of the giant DNA molecule. She shivered beside Tom despite the room’s warmth.
He took the blue blanket from the armchair and tucked it around her. “I’m going to make you a cup of hot chocolate, then we’ll talk.”
She lifted her face to him. “Please, no hot chocolate. The smell alone makes me nauseous.”
He furrowed his brow. “Since when? You live for that stuff.”
She pressed a cushion to her stomach and glanced at him through puffy eyes. “Ever since I fell pregnant.”
“You...” He averted his head for a moment before turning to her again. “You said you’d let me know.”
“I...” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I meant to, but I went to Gabriel first and then...” Her voice broke, and a new wave of tears shook her.
He gently stroked her arm. “What can I get you to drink instead?”
“Just water,” Delia said in a small voice.
A little later, he returned with a glass of water and placed it into her cold hands.
“Thanks.” She took a tiny sip and breathed a shaky sigh. “Should have listened to my big brother, shouldn’t I have?”
“Ah, Delia, I’d rather you be happy than me be right.” He squeezed her shoulder while the whole messed-up saga poured out of her.
“How could I have been so stupid?” She sniffled into a tissue.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “There’s no easy way to learn things about oneself. It takes time for us to realize what’s been going on. I’m sorry you’re in such pain. Right now, I’m sure it feels as if it might never pass, but it will, eventually. Just because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love, doesn’t mean it has to be the last.”
“Please,” she lifted her gaze to him, “don’t talk about love to me.”
“I want you to do one thing for me, for yourself.” He shifted in his seat. “I want you to go see a therapist.”
She balked. “You think I need a shrink?”
He gave her a playful prod with his elbow. “Psychology is as much a science as genetics. It doesn’t always have to be test tubes, pipettes, and spectrometers.”
She laughed a little. Tom had a point.
“Anjali has a friend whose sister is a psychologist,” he said. “She comes highly recommended.”
Delia narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t there long waiting lists for good therapists?”
“Push come to shove, you can always go private. You can afford it, sis.”
She folded her arms. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to pore over my childhood for years and years without getting anywhere.” In fact, she could think of nothing worse.
“It’s not like that at all. Things have progressed since the days of Sigmund Freud. I’d say you’d appreciate the practical approach of cognitive behavioral therapy.” He took both her hands and held them. “We’ve been through hell, you and me. We were small, helpless, and utterly dependent on our dysfunctional parents. That’s a lot to process, to shake off.”
She hummed. “I suppose.”
He warmed to the subject. “You’ve given everything to your career, give something to yourself for a change, and get the help you need. You’re going to be a mother. That’s a huge amount of work and responsibility. You’ve got to be at your most stable for that. Delia, you’re carrying this massive wound from our childhood, and if you’re not careful, you’ll pass it on to your kid. Your research in epigenetics proves the very point.”
She looked straight ahead, focusing on a point above his shoulder. “I’m going to listen to you this time, because I’ll need all the help I can get once he marries Vanessa and they start having children.” She closed her eyes and took another sip of water. “Tom, there’s one more thing. Could you collect a painting for me?”
