It's a baby

“Oh, it’s a baby!” Clara had broken our conversation off with this. She sat across from me on the backyard patio, reposed upon a fold-out camp chair. But then the sound of a baby crying from the direction of the street brought her to attention.
    “Can you hear it, David? It sounds like it’s in pain.”

    The infant’s cries came as a staccato mewing, stopping at intervals for the duration of tiny breaths.

    “I can hear it. I think that’s what babies do, dear. It isn’t pain per se.” As soon as I said it, I knew I’d made a mistake. I’d come under the focus of her reproving glare.
    “You don’t know what pain is, David. Oh, I should go check on that poor baby.”
    “I am sure it’s fine. How would you like it, Clara, if some stranger came to assist us with our crying baby?”
    “We don’t have a baby, David.”
    “You’re right, we don’t.”
    “You said you didn’t want children,” she said bitterly. By now her arms were crossed, her bottom lip pushed up to a pout.
    “Should we get into this now? Here? Clara, I told you, neither of us make enough money yet.”
    “You said you weren’t willing to exchange your dreams for having children.” She wouldn’t look at me, tears were forming in her eyes.
    “I think it’s possible to have both. Look, we still have time, we’re still young. There’s nothing wrong with waiting.”
    “I’m going to check on that baby.”
    She stood and turned and walked toward the front of the house, out of sight from me. And the baby continued in its crying.