“It’s wrong this time,” I say as I walk toward the cabinet where the pee cups are stored and wait for her to give me another one. I don’t even need to pee, but I’ll figure it out. “It’s impossible. I’mnotpregnant.”
Her look softens as if she suddenly realizes that I am in denial and needs to treat me with kid gloves on.
“Dear, did you have sex any time after your last menstrual cycle?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And did you and your partner use any protection during intercourse?”
“No, but I’m on the pill. This kind of thing doesn’t happen when you use the pill!”
“Itcanhappen, it’s just uncommon,” she says, using the term a second time. “Besides, a lot of factors can play into its effectiveness. For example, if you were taking oral antibiotics, or if you miss a day.”
“Miss a day?” I ask, instantly incriminating myself. “Likeoneday?”
“Yes dear, do you think that you might have missed a day?”
The truth of the matter is that I haven’t been that careful at all about taking my birth control pills. I haven’t needed to because I haven’t had sex with anyone in alongtime before Chad. So, I mostly just took the pills when I remembered to. But Ididtake one the morning right after I had sex with Chad—both times.
“Okay, so I might have missed a day.” That is a gross understatement since there have been more dayswithoutthe pill than with it. “But I did take it right after I had sex. I figured that would do the trick, right?”
“Oh my,” she says, shaking her head. If she wasn’t such a cute old lady then I would have probably slapped her by now out of sheer, panicked frustration. “The birth control pill isnota morning-after pill, sweetheart. That isn’t how it works at all.”
Panic.I am completely and utterly panicked. Sure, I love kids, who doesn’t? But I certainly hadn’t been planning on having one anytime soon. And I especially hadn’t been planning on having one with Chad. He issoemotionally unavailable,andmy boss, and has his plate already abundantly full. He has a kid, and a career, and I am still just trying to figure out my dreams. This is the absolute worst thing that could be happening right now.
Not that I wouldn’t love the whole fairytale idea of getting married to a billionaire and living happily ever after with him, his sweet daughter, and a new baby. But I know that this isn’t atallsomething that Chad would want. Hell, he can’t even get over his dead wife yet. This will ruineverything, including my future, if I let it.
“Do you need me to call someone for you?” the nurse asks, staring at me but still smiling. “Perhaps your mother to come and pick you up?”
Here I am, a grown-ass woman, standing in the middle of a walk-in clinic getting ready to burst into tears while a nurse asks me if I need my dead mother to come and pick me up.
“No, thank you,” I say. “I’m fine, just surprised, that’s all.”
“Well, you’ll like Dr. Gideon. She’s fantastic!” she says, singing the obstetrician’s praises. Then, her smile turns downward for a moment. “Youaregoing to keep it, aren’t you?”
Keep it? I hadn’t been expecting to make a life-altering decision right here on the spot in front of some stranger. And honestly, it’s not as if I actually need to answer this woman. But something sweeps over me in that moment, and I instantly decide right then and there that I want to keep the baby. No matter what.
I have no actual idea what the hell I am going to do, or how I’m going to do it, but if I truly am pregnant then I’m keeping it.
“Yes,” I blurt out. “Of course I’m keeping it. “
“Wonderful!” she beams, giving me a pat on the back as if I’ve just scored a winning point. “Take care now.”
And with that, I am released back out into reality to bear the burden of this newsalone.
I don’t go back to the office. Instead, I drive straight home.
After an hour or so, I am still reeling from the news when my phone starts to ding with message notifications. I don’t bother looking because I know that it’s either Tori or Chad, asking me how my appointment with the doctor went, and I’m not feeling at all articulate enough right now to be able to put together a convincing lie.
I have already decided that Ihaveto keep this a secret. If I don’t keep this secret, at least for now, then I could risk destroying the relationships that I have built with both Chad and Lilly, losing my job that I need as my only current source of income, and being alone here in Asheville with no one to turn to for help. Not that I can’t handle this on my own—I can, and I will. I just need a bit of time to wrap my head around everything that’s happened. I’ll hide it for as long as possible.
Fuck, I don’t even know how long that will be because I have no idea howpregnantI actually am. I sit at my kitchen table and try to remember when my last period was. I think about the two times that I have had sex with Chad and determine that it must have happened the first time. Still, I have no idea what that equates to in terms of pregnancy gestation. I look at the referral in my hand and know that I need to call and set an appointment. It’s the only way to know for sure how far along I am. Regardless, it has to be still pretty new, which means that I am not “that” pregnant. I should be able to hide it for a while.
I call the number on the card to set an appointment, then speak with a very nice nurse who is sympathetic to my explanation of debilitating morning sickness.
“I’m not sure why it’s even called morning sickness,” she laughs as if we are in this together somehow. “It definitely doesn’t just contain itself to mornings.”
I don’t say anything because I have no idea what to say in response to that. She gives me a list of several over-the-counter medications that are safe for me to take to help combat the nausea and I try to scribble them all down so that I don’t forget. Then she gives me a few pointers before I come in for my first appointment—drink lots of water, cut alcohol, limit caffeine. All the typical stuff that I would imagine pregnant women are told.