Chapter Fourteen
Regan
Two days and four pregnancy tests later...
I sit and stare at the test, not believing it. I take another one. And then another.
Still negative.
It doesn’t make sense.
I google early signs of pregnancy. Technically, based on my last period, I’d only be five weeks pregnant. Most sites claim a woman may or may not experience any pregnancy symptoms at that time. I palm my breasts to see if they’re more sensitive. They aren’t. I have felt a little queasy over the past few days. My shoulders slump. Despite the six tests claiming I’m not knocked up by the runaway groom, I know deep down I am.
On my way out of the shop, I turn my sign to CLOSED . I don’t bother setting a return time. I can’t even think about work right now.
As inconspicuously as possible, I walk down McQuaid Circle on this mild afternoon and make my way to the medical complex where my gynecologist’s office is adjacent to the hospital.
Inside, I step up to the front desk. “I’d like to see Dr. Russo please.”
Carrie, the receptionist, looks up. “Oh, hey, Regan. I didn’t know you had an appointment today. You’re not on her schedule.”
“I’m not. But I really need to see her.”
“What’s the problem?”
I know everyone here is bound by that law that says you can’t talk about stuff, but I know how things go. Carrie will go home and tell her boyfriend, Stu. Stu will tell his best friend, Cameron. Cam will tell his poker buddies. Each of those will spill to their wives or significant others. Before you know it, the whole freaking town will be abuzz with the latest hot newsflash: Regan Lucas, single and pregnant, who’s the father?
“Carrie… I just really need to see her.”
She nods. “I’ll try to fit you in.” She smiles cordially. For all she knows, I could be harboring an STI. Or have some other gynecological emergency. I’m sure pregnancy is the last thing on her mind when it comes to me—the ever-single eccentric boutique owner who hasn’t been seen with a man in who knows how long.
I sit in the waiting area, hoping nobody will see me. Then again, I could just be here for my annual. The realization of that has me not so quick to wish I was hiding under a rock.
Time stands still. I glance at the many magazines, infants and babies adorning the covers, and shake my head. How is this happening?
An hour and twenty minutes later, I’m called back. The nurse—a new face in town I’m not familiar with yet—takes my weight and vitals, escorts me to a room, and asks why I’m here.
“I’d rather just talk to the doctor.”
She sighs, and I could swear she rolls her eyes on the way out the door. “It’s not like I won’t find out later,” she mumbles loudly enough for me to hear.
My head slumps into my hands knowing everyone will find out later. There are no secrets in Calloway Creek.
The door opens and Dr. Russo comes in carrying my file. It’s a paper file, not an iPad. She’s been my gynecologist since I started going to one. She was my mom’s before that. In fact, she was the doctor who delivered Ryder and me. My guess is that she’s approaching retirement age. Mid-sixties perhaps.
She sets my file on the counter and pulls over the rolling stool. “Nice to see you, Regan. I’ve been told you have a private matter to discuss?”
I nod, embarrassed to have even thought for a second this wouldn’t spread like wildfire no matter who I tried to keep out of the loop. “I think I’m pregnant.”
She smiles. “Oh, well that’s not such a terrible thing, dear.”
“It is if you weren’t trying to be and the father is… well, I just need to know for sure.”
She picks up my chart. “When was your last period?”
I tell her. “Hmm,” she mumbles. “Five weeks ago. And you’ve had a positive pregnancy test?”
“No. That’s the problem. They’ve all been negative. But my periods come like clockwork. And I’ve been nauseous.”
“First thing’s first.” She reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a cup. “Let’s get a urine sample, shall we? The bathroom is across the hall.”
I hesitate, looking at the cup.
“You can bring it right back in here and I’ll do it myself.”
I let out my breath and nod.
“I have another quick exam to do.” She spreads a paper towel on the counter. “Leave it here. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Thank you, Dr. Russo.”
I palm the cup and follow her out, going into the bathroom. I know I’ll be able to pee, I’ve been drinking more than usual in order to take all the tests.
After peeing in the cup and washing my hands, I make sure the coast is clear and go back across the hall, shutting the exam room door behind me. I set the cup with the pale-yellow liquid on the paper towel and stare at it for a full twenty minutes before the doctor returns.
Dr. Russo puts a test strip into my pee and turns to smile. “This is basically the same kind of test you took at home. We’ll have the results in a few minutes.” Her body blocks the cup as she faces me. “In the meantime, how are your mom and dad doing down in Florida? It’s been ages since I’ve seen them. Do they ever make it back here?”
Small talk. She wants to make small talk at a time when my life is turning upside down.
“They don’t like to make the long drive,” I say. “And ever since the pandemic, my mom swears she gets sick whenever she flies, so she avoids it whenever possible. I mostly see them when I go to Sarasota for a visit. Ryder, his wife, and I went down for Christmas last year.”
“That sounds heavenly. Christmas at the beach. Was it warm?”
I know she’s just trying to kill time. I see her glancing at her watch every so often. But the wait is killing me.
Finally, she claps a hand on her knee and says, “Let’s find out if you’re going to be a mother.”
A mother . The word stabs me right in the heart. But for a second, I feel it’s not a wound that would kill me. In fact—for one fraction of a second—it feels like something totally different. And the feeling takes my breath away.
“Well, there you go,” she says. “No need to worry yourself further. It’s negative, dear.”
“But… I’m late. And nauseous.”
“When did the nausea start?”
“Tuesday night when I realized I missed my period.”
“Nerves probably, at the thought of being pregnant.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Didn’t your friend, Maddie Calloway, recently have a baby?”
I nod.
“Sometimes our minds and bodies can play tricks on us, Regan.”
I scoff. “You think I wanted to be pregnant?”
As soon as the words come out, however, that strange feeling hits me once again.
She looks at my chart. “I see you had a birthday recently. Thirty-five. For some women, that’s an age at which they believe they are running out of time to have a child. It’s not true, of course, women can be fertile well into their forties. But fertility does diminish. In fact, it starts to decline around age thirty.”
“But my period.”
Her head shakes. “As we age, we tend to become more irregular.”
I sigh. But for the first time, I’m just not sure it’s in relief. “I was so sure.” I look up. “Isn’t there a more definitive test?”
“We could do a blood test. But it’ll have to be sent to the lab. Odds are you’ll get your period by then.” She nods to the test strip. “Those are very reliable. Over ninety-nine percent.”
“But what if I’m the one percent?”
“Do you know how many times I hear that, Regan?”
“Please, Dr. Russo. I have to know for sure.” I glance at the machine in the corner. “Can you do an ultrasound?”
“A five-week fetus is smaller than a grain of rice.”
“But there would be other signs, wouldn’t there?”
She sighs. I know I’m being pushy. But I have to know.
“At five weeks, the only thing we’re likely to see is the gestational sac and yolk sac, but even those aren’t guaranteed.”
“Please?”
“Okay. But like I said, no guarantees.”
“Thank you.”
“Remove your lower clothing. It’s a vaginal ultrasound.”
I quickly do as she asks as she powers up the machine, types things on the keyboard, and rolls it over.
She lowers the head of the exam table. “Just lie back and relax.”
Right. I couldn’t relax now if my life depended on it.
I feel her insert the long steel rod covered by what looks like a condom and lube. He used a condom , I think, not for the first time.
She studies the screen for quite a long time before she speaks. Then she says, “Regan, what I’m seeing here is the normal uterus of a woman who is about to have her period. Your uterine lining is thicker, and I can’t see any indication of a gestational or yolk sack. Dear, you’re not pregnant.”
“I’m… not?” I say in a morose tone that surprises even me.
“If you really need further verification, I’ll do a blood test. But, honestly Regan, all you’ll be doing is adding to your bill.” She pulls out the wand, removes her gloves, and places a hand on my arm. “When you came in, I was sure this was something you didn’t want. But now… I’m getting the feeling that perhaps you did.”
I look up at the ceiling and blink away traitorous tears. What the hell is happening to me?
She lets me lie here and puts her things away.
“I’ll send a nurse in for the blood if you really want it.”
I shake my head.
“Okay then.” She pauses before she reaches the door. “Regan, if it’s in your plans to become a mother, you may want to start solidifying those plans. I know you’re not married, but there are plenty of single women having babies. I can even refer you to a sperm bank. You have options. And you still have time. I’m just saying, you might want to figure out sooner rather than later how you really feel.”
She offers one last smile, then she leaves.
Me—I break down in tears, sobbing for the baby that never was. The one I never knew I wanted.