My eyes flare. “So what I’m hearing is it won’t be the same?”
She pushes up her glasses. “Our bodies are meant to change and adapt during birth. All women are different.”
“Still not what I wanted to hear,” I grumble. “Doesn’t it just pop right back into place?”
She holds up her hands to form a circle. “This is about ten centimeters dilated, which is what you need for the baby.”
A clammy feeling rushes over me. “Uh ... what?”
“I’ll make sure they stitch up your happy place so it’s not floppy,” Brogan says as he pats my hand.
I tense. “Promise you won’t look, Brogan! You’ll have to stay at my head, okay?”
“Maybe just a peek. I want to see a live birth. Whose better than yours?”
“Never,” I mutter.
He ruffles my hair, and I lean into him.
After getting more pamphlets and prenatal vitamins, we leave and head outside to a brisk December wind. I tug my peacoat closeraround me and inhale the air. It feels like snow, and I sigh. Winter in Manhattan is my favorite: the Christmas decorations on the lampposts, the elaborate shop displays, the people milling around with smiles.
My mind invariably turns to Tuck the closer we get to Wickham. We’ve taken three walks, counting the first one. We haven’t talked about anything personal. I do, however, know that his jersey number is eighty-one, he’s been playing since he was ten, and when he was in college, he sometimes played quarterback. I know you can score different ways on the field: touchdown, extra point, two-point conversion, field goal, and safety.
I kept information about myself brief: I grew up all over New York, I don’t have siblings, I love Manhattan.
On the last walk, we stopped at a food truck and got hot chocolates, then wandered through a Christmas tree farm illuminated by crisscrossing strings of fairy lights. As “Jingle Bells” played over the loudspeaker, he asked me to have dinner with him.
I wanted to say yes. That really stupid, gooey part of me. I watched the man hand out a coat a night. But I also knew from the tabloids that he was a party boy who dated supermodels.
I haven’t been able to resist the walks with him, but anything else ...
I told him no.
I glance over at Brogan. “About Tuck. If I tell him, is he going to be angry I didn’t terminate? No way does he want a kid with the girl from the sex club. Right?”
“Sure, his feelingsarerelevant, but it’s your body. You don’t want time or money from him ...” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Look, you don’t have to tell him. You’ve got a new job, and I’ve saved up a shit ton of money—”
“Hang on. You said you were going back to med school. You need to use your money for that.”
He keeps his face straight ahead so I can’t read it. “Meh, whatever. I changed my mind.”
No, he didn’t. I’ve seen him buried in his old textbooks when he gets off work. He’s prepping. His first year of med school, he dropped out to take care of his sick sister. After she got better, he got a job at Decadence to pay her medical bills and put school on hold. That was three years ago.
“You’re going back,” I say. “You’ve always dreamed of being a surgeon, and you will be one.”
“I’m gonna help with whatever Baby Ivy needs. Get over it.”
I huff. “That’s your last name. And you’re trying to change the topic.”
He steers me inside my favorite pastry shop. “Let’s see if they have any of those peanut butter balls I like. They aren’t on your food list, though.”
“Just cruel. If you’re getting them, I’m eating one.”
We walk past a pastry case, and my stomach rumbles. “Brogan. Oh my God, look at those lemon bars—”
I glance up for Brogan and see Tuck at the checkout counter several feet away, the rest of my words dying on my lips. He’s buying chickpea vegan cookies. And Courtney is next to him.
I tug Brogan behind a display of Christmas cookies. It’s been over a week since our last walk—when I still didn’t know what I was going to do. Annoyance stirs. Part of me is pissed he hasn’t tried harder to see me. The other side is upset that Courtney is with him. Then I’m ticked because I’m upset. I have no right to him. We aren’t dating. We took some walks. Big whoop.