The Rosie Effect Read Online Free Page B

I had always considered them wrong, and no definitive diagnosis other than depression was ever recorded, but the meltdown problem was the weak point in my argument. It was a reaction to irrationality, but the reaction itself was irrational.
    Dave returned and handed me a beer. He had also poured one for himself, and drank half of it rapidly. Dave is banned from drinking beer except on our joint nights out, due to a significant weight problem. Perhaps these were extenuating circumstances. I was still sweating despite the air conditioning, and the drink cooled me down. Sonia and Dave were excellent friends.
    Dave had been listening and had heard my admission of the psychiatric problem. ‘You never told me either,’ he said. ‘What sort of—?’
    Sonia interrupted. ‘Excuse us a minute, Don. I want to speak to Dave alone.’ She and Dave walked to the kitchen. I was aware that conventionally they would have needed toemploy some form of subterfuge to disguise the fact that they wanted to talk about me without me hearing. Fortunately, I am not easily offended. Dave and Sonia know this.
    Dave returned alone. His beer glass had been refilled.
    ‘How often has this happened? The meltdown?’
    ‘This is the first time with Rosie.’
    ‘Did you hit her?’
    ‘No.’ I wanted the answer to be ‘of course not’, but nothing is certain when logical reasoning is swamped by out-of-control emotions. I had prepared an emergency plan and it had worked. That was all I could claim credit for.
    ‘Did you shove her—anything?’
    ‘No, there was no violence. Zero physical contact.’
    ‘Don, I’m supposed to say something like, “Don’t fuck with me, buddy,” but you know I can’t talk like that. You’re my friend—just tell me the truth.’
    ‘You’re also my friend and therefore aware that I am incompetent at deception.’
    Dave laughed. ‘True. But you should look me in the eye if you want to convince me.’
    I stared into Dave’s eyes. They were blue. A surprisingly light blue. I had not noticed before, doubtless as a result of failure to look him in the eye. ‘There was no violence. I may have frightened a neighbour.’
    ‘Shit, it was better without the psycho impression.’
    I was distressed that Dave and Sonia believed I might have assaulted Rosie, but there was some comfort in realising that things could have been worse, and that their primary concern was for her.
    Sonia waved from the entrance to Dave’s office where she was talking on her phone. She gave Dave a thumbs-up signal, then jumped up and down with excitement like a child, waving her free hand in the air. Nothing was making sense.
    ‘Oh my God,’ she called out, ‘Rosie’s pregnant.’
    It was as though there were twenty people in the room. Dave clinked his glass against mine, spilling beer, and even put his arm around my shoulder. He must have felt me stiffen, so he removed it, but Sonia then repeated the action and Dave slapped me on the back. It was like the subway at rush hour. They were treating my problem as a cause for celebration.
    ‘Rosie’s still on the phone,’ said Sonia, and handed it to me.
    ‘Don, are you all right?’ she said. She was concerned about me.
    ‘Of course. The state was temporary.’
    ‘Don, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have just sprung it on you like that. Are you coming home? I really want to talk to you. But, Don, I don’t want this to be temporary.’
    Rosie must have thought that I was referring to her state—her pregnancy—but her answer gave me vital information. Riding home in Dave’s van, I concluded that Rosie had already decided that it was a feature rather than a fault. The orange juice provided further evidence. She did not want to harm the fertilised egg. There was an extraordinary amount to process, and my brain was now functioning normally, or at least in the manner that I was accustomed to. The meltdown was perhaps the psychological equivalent of a reboot following an overload.
    Despite my