I must be pregnant. Something big is going on for me to be losing my ambition. It’s true that I don’t have much to do or think about lately. I’ve only got one essay to write and I’ve got two weeks to do it. Otherwise it’s just me and my growing breasts and my daydreams.

I lie awake. Do I feel a stirring in my belly? I sit up and Google it; use some of my precious data.

No. You only feel ‘life’ as they call it, halfway through your pregnancy. It can’t be moving yet but I do still think its breathing in there somewhere.

Do they breathe? Surely not, they get oxygen through the umbilical cord, I think.

I get up and try to watch a game show on TV. The man who is answering the quiz questions is sweating heavily. He could win thirty grand with the next question.

Phaka’s brother works for the railways as an electrical engineer. He is twenty-eight with two kids and a medical aid. Maybe Phaka would be like him, settle down and become a reliable man. I’ve never thought about the value of medical aid but the girl three houses away had her baby at the day hospital here and she says they sent her home without even feeding her. No towels, she said. A terrible place to have a baby.

The man on TV gets the question wrong. He is almost crying.

If Phaka is anything like his brother he’ll be cool with it. He’ll worry about his studies but I’ll tell him I’ll do everything I can to make sure he graduates. I’ll do more isiXhosa translation for Mercury publishing.

When UCT starts again its fine, I’ll just work in the middle of the night. And my mom will help us, surely? I’ll tell Phaka the baby won’t mess up his career. Or his social life. We can go to parties with the baby and I’ll just cover her little ears. My friend who is a DJ on the weekends said Prestik makes perfect ear plugs.

Why am I thinking ‘girl’? Is it a girl?

I’ve heard you can damage a baby’s ears permanently with loud music but I won’t stay at home, I’ll be a normal young woman with a baby in my arms or under the table, that’s all. We will look so beautiful as a family too.

Just then an ad comes on for life insurance. A good-looking mom and dad are playing hide and seek with their little son and daughter. The dad ducks behind a tree. Disappears.

Phaka’s friend Dubu can take some pictures for Living and Loving or something, with all of us three: mommy, daddy, baby. Phaka’s beautiful fingers touching the baby’s tiny hand and me, tranquil and smiling. Maybe Phaka can do a pregnancy shoot with me in a few weeks. Show me on the beach with a white dress over my belly.

Stop it Bulelwa! You are thinking like those poor girls who pay Phaka for pictures and never ever get a single modelling job out of it.

But still, we would make a lovely looking family.

The father on TV has gone forever. A voice says, ‘Get Sable Insurance. Any day might be your last.’

I go back to the mirror and check my belly. Normal. I check my breasts again. Definitely bigger. I’ve got to tell Phaka what’s happening to my body. I’ve got to talk to him. How will I say it?

I SMS him just before eleven p.m.

What time r u shooting?

He replies immediately:

So much for an early night. How come?

His answer is cagey. Or am I imagining it?

I need to talk to u bout something.

I can just imagine the defensive, angry expression ruining his beautiful face.

Am I in trouble?

I sigh. Type:

No.

He tries one more time to wangle out of it.

How urgent is it?

There is only one way to get him here. I nod, type firmly.

Urgent.

OK. I’ll stop on way to station.

Don’t do me any favours, Phaka.

***

Tell us what you think: How will Phaka react to this possible pregnancy news?