“Gabrielle,” said Melinda the next day, as Gab helped her hang out the washing. “Are you involved with your baby’s father? Is he supporting you?”

Sure, Gab had known Mr. C. for years and years, and in a small town, where everyone rubbed shoulders with everyone else, she had noticed when Mr. C’s wife showed up and moved in. But still—she wouldn’t say she really knew Melinda. Melinda was being so kind, so warm and friendly in manner, but was oblivious to any possible sensation of discomfort which might result from her assumed right to know. Gab wouldn’t have minded if Mr. C. had asked—but he wouldn’t have, not like that. And that was exactly why she would have told him. But, Gab couldn’t allow herself to be rude and ignore Melinda’s question. She couldn’t not reply, could she?

“Nah,” she just said simply. Melinda pursed her lips.

“I can’t stand it when that happens!” she said. “So often it’s us women who are left to shoulder the blame and responsibility.” Gab wasn’t sure what she was being blamed for. She would have tended to agree with Melinda a few months ago, but things seemed different from here—from her own particular position.

“It’s okay,” Gab responded. “It’s kind of easier this way.” This logic did not at all fit with Melinda’s framework of how things should be, but she simply pursed her lips tighter and kept on hanging the washing. Somehow, Gab sensed that if she mentioned how she was really feeling—her uncertainty as to whether to keep the baby in the first place—Melinda’s sensibilities would be significantly more offended than they already were.

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***

Upstairs at the Cheng’s was comfortable, clean and airy. Gab quite liked it. She tried to imagine how things would be if she lived there—her and her baby. She did feel a slight inkling that Melinda was trying to rescue her though. The sense in that of being patronised, as though she needed rescuing, got to her a bit. It felt offensive to her dignity. But then, she told herself, that wasn’t quite fair. Melinda was trying to do the right thing and the Chengs were being very generous, not just in their hospitality this long weekend, but in their offer of ongoing support. They had enough to juggle in their lives with two young kids, and they intended to charge Gab much less for rent and bills than she was paying in Melbourne. They weren’t in it for the money. And it wasn’t like having her around would make life easier for them.

So why were they doing it? Why was Melinda so eager to help? Gab didn’t want to feel like she was being used in some weird, inexplicable way—but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t explain it or demonstrate it or defend it. So she pushed the feeling aside, attributing it to her idiosyncratic and imbalanced sensitivities. That second night at the Chengs, she got into the clean double bed with paisley sheets and tried not to think about it. She listened to an audiobook about carbon-neutral pig farms instead.