Chapter Thirty
“The pregnancy test came back positive.”
“Blood work shows high levels of hCG.”
“The IUD fell out.”
“It rarely happens, but it’s possible.”
Dr. Bowen’s words play on repeat in my head as I lie on the medical table and she pushes a wand into me to do a transvaginal ultrasound to confirm what all signs point to—I’m pregnant.
She clicks around on the computer and then turns the volume up. And like in every movie and book with a plot twist of an unexpected pregnancy, I hear the whooshing of my baby’s heartbeat.
She walks me through everything on the screen while I try my best not to cry. I’m due in May. The heartbeat is strong. It’s recommended I start taking prenatal vitamins. I need to schedule my next appointment.
As I walk out of the doctor’s office, I’m so lost in my head that I don’t see the car coming around the corner as I step into the street.
He honks, and I jump.
I’m physically okay, but mentally … I drop onto the edge of the curb and sob.
I’m pregnant. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to become CEO of Kingston. Prove to my dad that I’m capable of running the company.
Yet I’m pregnant. I glance down at the ultrasound picture, and my heart swells because despite this being unexpected, I already love the baby growing in my belly.
Which sucks because I can’t have both the company and the family. My dad tried that, and look how it turned out. And I can’t become my dad. I refuse to.
But also, Julian is so much like my dad, so what will that mean for us? Will I become my mom and he, my dad? Will we grow apart while I beg for attention? Will our child crave his love and affection, only to be given breadcrumbs of what they deserve?
While I’m sitting on the curb, crying, wondering what I’m going to do, a text comes in from Julian’s mom, Helen, confirming dinner tonight.
We haven’t seen them since the barbecue, so when she reached out, inviting us to dinner, we, of course, said yes. Now, I’m regretting it. Hanging out with the woman who resembles Mary Poppins, Martha Stewart, and Paula Deen is not at the top of my list of things I want to do right now.
Since the day is almost over, instead of going back to work, I head home and take a nap. I wake up several hours later to Julian asking if I’m feeling okay and if we should cancel dinner.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, sitting up. “Just give me ten minutes to freshen up.”
When we arrive at his parents’place, I take in the small but homey-looking house. The front yard is neatly trimmed, and a flower bed with blooming flowers wraps around the house. On the porch are two wooden rocking chairs that I can imagine Helen and Frank rocking in while having their morning coffee.
The inside is even warmer. The walls are filled with family pictures from holidays and vacations. The furniture is clean but well lived in. Unlike the home I grew up in, which screamed wealth and opulence, this home screams love and family.
Helen wraps me in a motherly hug, and I get choked up, missing my mom like crazy—wishing she were here to confide in. She probably wouldn’t have the answers I’m looking for since she died trying to figure out her love life, but at least she would be here to support me.
“While the guys watch the game, do you want to help me make Julian’s favorite dish?” she offers, zero judgment in her tone.
I nod because it’ll probably be good to learn how to cook something, and she’s the only person I know who can help me.
“Mom, Ana doesn’t like to cook,” Julian says, trying to get me out of it.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell him. “I’d like to learn how to make your favorite dish.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Really, babe? You hate sports that much that you’d rather cook?”
“Go away,” I say playfully, pushing on his chest.
He grabs my hands and pulls me in, giving me a quick kiss before he disappears out of the kitchen, and I’m left wondering what will happen to us once he finds out about the baby. We’ve never discussed having a family—well, aside from the time he jokingly said he wouldn’t mind having a couple of mini versions of me running around.
It’s only been us and the company. I don’t even know if he wants kids … oh God. What if he doesn’t want kids? He was counting on me to keep us safe, and my stupid IUD failed. It’s not my fault, but that doesn’t change the fact that he might not see this baby as a good thing.
Will he divorce me and leave me as a single mom? Will I be forced to choose between my husband and my baby?
My hand protectively goes to my flat stomach, knowing there would be no choice. I would choose this baby every time. I shake all the thoughts from my head, refusing to give in to what-ifs. Thinking about them all could drive a sane person crazy.
“I thought mac ’n’ cheese was Julian’s favorite,” I say when I notice all the meat and veggies spread all over the counter.
“He has a few favorites,” Helen notes with a wink. “When he’s sick, he loves homemade chicken noodle soup—heavy on the noodle, light on the veggies. At barbecues, he loves mac ’n’ cheese with a good burger, but his favorite home-cooked meal is lasagna. So, we’re making lasagna tonight with a salad.”
She washes her hands, so I follow suit.
“Lasagna is actually super easy to make,” she says. “The first thing we want to do is make the tomato sauce.”
When she pulls out a bunch of spices and sets them next to fresh tomatoes, I immediately know I’m in over my head. This woman doesn’t even use tomato sauce out of a jar.
I watch as she adds all the ingredients to a pan, explaining what each one is, as if I’m seriously going to remember this later. Once that’s simmering, she goes about cooking the ground beef. When she notices that I haven’t said a word in several minutes, nor have I attempted to help, she stops what she’s doing and looks at me.
“Ana, are you okay?”
I try to nod, but instead, I shake my head, and then I lose it, right here in my mother-in-law’s kitchen.
She pulls her apron off her and envelops me in a hug, and I cry softly in her arms, not wanting to alert Julian that I’m a sobbing mess.
When I’ve calmed slightly, she sits us at the table and says, “Talk to me, dear.”
“I can’t cook,” I choke out. “I can’t cook or clean or do laundry. I mean, I’m smart. I have a degree and a master’s, and I can do numbers all day, but I can’t even follow along with a simple lasagna recipe while you walk me through it. And the truth is, I don’t want to. I hate cooking. I don’t find it fun or enjoyable, and I have no desire to do it,” I admit, the words flowing out like a therapeutic river.
“Oh, Ana. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It wasn’t you.” I sniffle. “It’s me. I wasn’t supposed to be a wife or a mom. I was meant to run numbers, and now …” I shake my head, not ready to admit that I’m pregnant yet. Julian should be the first person I tell. “I’m not good at this, I don’t want to be good at this, and Julian deserves to have a wife who’s good at this. I’m going to suck at it, and he’s going to resent me, and I’ll resent him right back, and where will that leave us?”
Helen hands me a tissue, and I wipe my face and blow my nose.
“You don’t suck at anything,” Helen says kindly. “But regardless, my son is in love with you, and that’s not going to change over who cooks and cleans.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree noncommittally as more thoughts fill my head, like, Who’s going to stay home with the baby?
My mom raised me with very little help from the nannies, and while I didn’t mind the nannies, my fondest memories are of the time spent with my mom.
Can I give it all up, everything I’ve wanted for my future, to be the mom this baby deserves?
And what about Julian? This is exactly what my dad was talking about when he said he wanted to hire a family man. Someone who knows how to balance work and family. Something neither of us knows how to do.
With the flooding of thoughts and questions, I start to cry again, my emotions in overdrive. Helen hugs me tightly, telling me everything will be okay, and once I’ve gotten myself together, we make dinner. And by we, I mean she makes it, and I watch while we talk about nothing of substance.
By the time dinner is ready, I barely look like I’ve been crying, yet from the look on Julian’s face, I can tell he suspects something is wrong. The way he’s in tune with my thoughts and emotions is kind of crazy.
Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it, and we have a nice dinner with delicious lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. After dessert, we say our goodbyes and head home. And when I tell Julian that I’m tired and I’m going to head to bed, he insists on joining me.
As I fall asleep in his arms, I vow to figure this out soon. Julian and I are both so much like my dad, and I can’t allow what happened with my parents to happen to us.