How about a beer

"How about a beer?" I asked. The more I resolved not to show my alarm -- alarm was the last thing I wanted to suggest was called for -- the more plainly I could see it in my voice and manner.
"All right. Rennie? Want one?"
"No thanks," Rennie said, in a voice something like mine.
She sat in the overstuffed chair by the front window, and Joe on the edge of my monstrous bed, so that when I opened the beer bottles and took the only remaining seat, my rocking chair, we formed most embarrassingly a perfect equilateral triangle, with the gun in the center. Joe observed this at the same instant I did, and though I can't vouch for his grin, my own was not jovial.
"Well, what's up?" I asked him.
Joe pushed his spectacles back on his nose and crossed his legs.
"Rennie's pregnant," he said calmly.
When a man has been sleeping with a woman, no matter under what circumstances, this news always comes like the kick of a horse. The pistol loomed more conspicuous than ever, and it took me several seconds to collect my wits enough to realize that I had nothing to be concerned about.
"No kidding! Congratulations!"
Joe kept smiling, not cordially, and Rennie fixed her eyes on the rug. Nobody spoke for a while.
"What's wrong?" I asked, not knowing for certain what to be afraid of.
"Well, we're not sure who to congratulate, I guess," Joe said.
"Why not?" My face burned,Discount UGG Boots. "You're not afraidI'm the father, are you?"
"I'm not particularly afraid of anything," Joe said. "But you might be the father."
"You don't have to worry about that, Joe,homepage; believe me." I looked a little wonderingly at Rennie,moncler jackets women, who I thought should have known better than to complicate things unnecessarily.
"You mean because you used contraceptives every time. I know that. I even know how many times you had to use them and what brand you use, Jacob."
"What the hell's the trouble, then,fake uggs boots?" I demanded, getting a little irritated.
"The trouble is that I used them every time too -- and the same brand, as a matter of fact."
I was stunned. There was the pistol.
"So," Joe went on, "if, as my friend Rennie tells me, this triangle was never a rectangle, and if her obstetrician isn't lying when he says rubbers are about eighty per cent efficient, the congratulations should be pretty much mutual. In fact, other things being equal, there's about one chance in four that you actually are the father."
Neither Joe's voice nor his forehead indicated how he felt about this possibility. I wasn't terribly anxious to find out.
"How sure are you that you're pregnant?" I asked Rennie. To my chagrin my voice was unsteady.
"I'm -- I'm pretty late," Rennie said, clearing her throat two or three times. "And I've been vomiting a lot for the last two days."
"Well, you know, you thought you were pregnant once before."
She shook her head. "That was wishful thinking."
She had to wait a second before she said anything else. "I wanted to be pregnant that time."
"There's not much doubt," Joe said. "No use to hope along those lines. The obstetricians never commit themselves for a month or so, just to be safe, but Rennie knows her symptoms."