The office Christmas party had started half an hour ago, but Renee hadn't called me about her appointment yet. Across the street, music and laughter poured out of the rooftop cocktail bar my work had booked out. I turned away and leaned back against the park bench. The view was picturesque: pohutukawa trees studded the shoreline, their red flowers blazing with summer enthusiasm. Beyond them, azure waves hushed gently against the sand. A young couple held hands as they walked down the beach. The taller of the two, a lanky guy in shorts, carried a parcel of fish and chips. The girl's yellow sundress flickered in the wind. A pair of seagulls followed them down the beach. I shifted on the park bench and checked my phone again.

My older sister was the most punctual person I knew. She was never without a watch on her wrist, and a year planner in her arms. I'm pretty sure she had an entire planner for her wedding a few years ago. Maybe she hadn't called because it had finally happened. 18% of a chance is barely a chance. I pushed that awful thought out, and ran my fingers over the wooden bench. That's still a chance. I couldn't call her; not if it was bad news she was receiving.

This year's work function was being hosted at Albatross and Gill. It was one of those excessively beautiful and expensive places with instagrammable drinks, from color-changing gin, to passion-fruit spritzers. Not that I'd be drinking this year. Not after last year's travesty.

I only remembered fragments of last year's party: downing shots of vanilla vodka with the rest of the advertising team before we left work. Then, the dizzyingly long rows of grapevines in the vineyard. The waiters inside had been dressed as festive Santas: complete from long white beard to black boots. I remember trays of alcohol that were a kaleidoscope of vineyard offerings: red and white wines, rosé, champagne. I remember meeting someone who had dazzling eyes: one deep blue and one emerald.

And then this gem of utter humiliation:

"I don't even like wine!" I wailed to Santa Claus, outside the bathrooms, as fat tears streamed down my cheeks. "It tastes so bad. It's not fair that I'm this drunk."

Santa Claus was speechless. I staggered towards him for a hug.

He stepped backward, his fake white beard swinging like a pendulum. "Uh, can I get you some water?"

"I need a gingernut and peppermint latte cocktail," I said, wiping my nose. "A Starbucks cocktail. Please will you make me one?"

"You're much too intoxicated for that." He said, steadying me as I stumbled in my heels.

And then I tried to kiss him.

There are times you wish for lightning to strike, for the ground would swallow you up, and then for a wildfire and tsunami to hit the area in quick succession to remove the witnesses. In hindsight, that night was one of them.

Still nothing from Renee. I promised I'd be here for her for this. Would the outcome be any different from the first three cycles? God, it had to be. Surely this time it would take. The image of my sister, my meticulous and perfectly-planned sister, somehow missing this milestone she'd always spoke so lovingly about, of her going home to grieve the news with her husband tonight. It was too heartbreaking to think about. I smoothed my red dress out across my lap and squinted along the beach.

The couple had spread a picnic blanket out on the sand. The girl was starfished on the tartan fabric. She moved to rest her hands on her stomach. I wondered if she had a stomach ache, or was pregnant. It's so easy to get pregnant when you're younger. The seagulls following them had increased in number. There were five now, gathering a safe distance away in the shade of the trees. The guy unwrapped the fish and chips like a toddler on Christmas, flinging the parcel wide open. This was a mistake. Rookie. The exposed chips were a beacon. Every bird in the vicinity - not just the seagulls, but pigeons and sparrows - took flight and descended upon the couple. They were quickly surrounded by an avian mosh pit, each bird fighting for the best spot. For the best pickings. The guy tossed some chips into the mosh pit, attracting more hungry birds.

My phone cried out, vibrating on the bench so loudly I flinched.

I answered, the knot in my throat cracking my voice. "H-hello?"

"Georgia, it's happened." Renee cried, choking back sobs. "It finally happened. I'm pregnant."

All the stress in my stomach dissolved, replaced with elated joy. Tears welled in my eyes.

"The IVF took," she rushed. "Twins! Dion and I are having twins."

"That's fantastic! I am so happy for you two, Renee!"

"This means," she said conspiratorially. "You have to drink for both of us at your Christmas party. You promised that you'd drink for me if I was pregnant."

"You know what happened last time. I really can't-"

"It'd be good luck. Besides, you don't have to go crazy: just one for me, and one for you."

"How could I not?" I said. "You're going to be wonderful parents. I'm so thrilled, really."

After talking to Renee, I climbed the stairs of Albatross and Gill. Twins. Renee would be a mum. I was going to be an aunty. I tried to push out the dangers of the first trimester out of my head, and headed straight to the bar.

"Two drinks please, I'm in a celebratory mood."

"What sort of drinks do you want?" the bartender said, turning around from cleaning his glass.

I locked eyes with him. He had heterochromia: his left eye was deep blue and the right was emerald.

Some memories from last year's party connected. I looked out to see the ocean. Unfortunately, there was no tsunami in sight.

A faint smile played on his lips. "We don't have Starbucks flavors, but how about I get you started on a Gingerbread Martini?"

.