22. Nora
CHAPTER 22
NORA
T he click of the door signals Oliver’s departure, and my office suddenly feels too big, too quiet. I press my lips together, trying to hold onto the warmth from his kiss that still lingers like a promise. My heart sinks a little with the knowledge we won’t be spending time together tonight over takeout and bad TV.
He’s off to New York City, barely twelve hours since we returned from Pennsylvania, to try and secure a deal. Which leaves me here alone, missing him.
And I get it. Big deals wait for no one. I would never dare ask him to skip out on something so important. Plus, most likely he’ll be home tomorrow night, and we’ll catch up then.
As I sit down, the leather chair protests with a familiar creak, grounding me back in reality. I scan the mountain of paperwork on my desk, each file a silent adversary waiting to be conquered. The cursor on my laptop blinks expectantly, and I dive into the fray.
I’m knee-deep in deposition transcripts when the nausea hits — a sudden wave that makes my stomach churn. I grimace, willing it to pass as I place a hand against my forehead. Exhaustion cloaks me like a heavy blanket, pressing down on my shoulders. It’s not even noon, but it already feels like a long day.
I must be tired from the travel, and maybe I didn’t eat enough this morning. I try to focus on the words in front of me, but they blur, swimming across the page until I can’t tell where one document ends and another begins.
“Get it together, Nora,” I mutter, but my body rebels against the command.
This is not just fatigue; it’s a bone-deep weariness that whispers it’s time to call it a day. Am I getting sick?
I gather my things slowly, my movements sluggish. The offices around me are a flurry of activity. I wish I could at least kiss Oliver goodbye one more time, but he’s already headed out.
Downstairs, I skip heading straight to my car and instead walk down the street to a drugstore. The automatic doors swoosh open, and I stumble into the interior, a cool blast of air-conditioning welcoming me. My fingers fiddle with the strap of my purse as I weave through aisles stocked with everything from birthday cards to batteries. But I’m not here for any of that. I need something to quell this riot in my stomach and the pounding headache that’s set up camp behind my eyes.
“Flu medicine,” I mumble to myself, squinting at the dizzying array of options on the shelves.
That must be what I’m coming down with. The last time I had the flu, it hit me just as quickly, sapping me of my strength and making me feel lightheaded.
Antivirals, syrups, tablets — each promising speedy recovery. I grab a box that looks promising, the one with bold letters claiming “FAST RELIEF.” Maybe if I take this now and go home and sleep it off, I’ll be able to head back to work tomorrow morning.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. Oliver’s probably boarding his jet to New York by now, ready to dive headfirst into negotiations that could mean big things for his company. The thought should bring a smile and a feeling of pride for his relentless drive.
Instead, there’s only a tightness in my chest — a longing for the night we were supposed to have spent curled up on the couch, his arm around me, our favorite show playing in the background. Being sick makes me want him by my side even more, and I feel a little bit like a baby.
Gripping the medicine, I shuffle for the checkout. That’s when I see them — stacked neatly on a shelf near the pharmacy counter: pregnancy tests. My heart stutters, an unexpected jolt that sends a tremor through me.
Late. My period — it’s late, and that never happens. Not once since I first got it. Not ever.
Could I be…?
The question hangs in the air, absurd and terrifying all at once. And suddenly, the symptoms align in a different pattern — a tender breast here, a wave of unexplained fatigue there, and now the nausea that’s more than just an upset stomach.
I hesitate, caught in indecision. The flu medicine feels heavy in my hand, a tangible reminder of the logical explanation. But logic is waging a losing battle against the what-ifs swirling in my mind, each possibility more potent than the last.
“Oh, no,” I whisper under my breath.
With a resolve that surprises even me, I reach out and snatch one of the pregnancy tests from the shelf. Just one, because maybe deep down, I’m hoping it’s unnecessary. A precaution. A silly overreaction.
Yet if I take one, I know I’ll want to take another, just to be sure of the results.
And so I go ahead and grab two more, bringing it to a total of three.
“Next in line!” The cashier’s voice pulls me from my reverie.
I approach the counter, items in hand, and offer up a weak smile. The cashier scans the boxes, oblivious to the internal chaos they’ve triggered.
“Big night?” she asks casually.
“Something like that,” I reply, my voice barely above a murmur.
I pay, the transaction mechanical, and gather my things. As I step back out into the bright light, the world seems to tilt on its axis. The familiar street looks different somehow — as if I’m seeing it through new eyes, eyes that might soon be gazing upon a whole new life.
I drive back to my street, where I quickly find parking and then scramble up the building’s front steps. The door to my apartment slams shut behind me with an urgency that matches the pounding of my heart. It’s as if each thump is echoing the single question ricocheting through my mind: What if?
Okay. I need to get a grip. I haven’t even taken the tests yet, so I can’t make any assumptions. I just need to cool my jets.
In my bathroom, I line up the little white sticks on the cool marble countertop, each one a silent sentinel waiting to weigh in on my future. The plastic wrappers crinkle as I tear them open one by sputtering one.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, I follow the instructions that suddenly seem written in some alien language. Pee on the stick. Put it down flat. Don’t touch it. Wait three minutes.
Three minutes that stretch and bend like some cruel joke of time. My fingers drum impatiently on the porcelain, and my mind is full of visions of Oliver — his warm smile, his ambitious spirit, the way his presence feels like coming home.
Would he be thrilled? Scared? His dreams are big, and they have been since our college days. I wonder how a baby would fit into the grand blueprint of his life.
More importantly, how does it fit into mine? I’m a lawyer, exceptionally good at my job, and I’ve fought tooth and nail to carve out my place. Are we even ready for this?
Excitement flutters in my chest like a trapped bird, its wings beating against my ribs with every possibility that comes to mind. A baby. Our baby. Little feet pattering across hardwood floors, tiny fingers wrapped around ours.
But then there’s fear, a creeping vine that wraps itself around my thoughts, squeezing until excitement gasps for air. What if something goes wrong? What if I’m not cut out for this? What if?—
“Stop it,” I scold myself.
Worry has always had a way of clouding my judgment, shadowing the what-could-be with what-if. But this — this is different. This isn’t a case I can argue in court; there’s no precedent to guide the way. This is life, unpredictable and untamed.
The timer on my phone goes off. I nearly choke on my breath, the anticipation too much to handle.
My hand shakes a little as I reach for the first test. Then the second. And the third. Each one is a chapter waiting to be written, a story yet to unfold. Oliver’s face flashes in my mind again, his eyes bright with the promise of the future, and I’m struck by a single, searing truth.
Positive. Positive. Positive.
Each one is a tiny pink plus sign. I’m pregnant.
My heart catapults into overdrive, pounding a fierce rhythm that echoes through the silence of the room. A laugh spills out, tinged with disbelief and wonder, the sound bouncing off the tiles.
Pregnant!
Excitement bubbles up inside me, a fizzy concoction of joy and anticipation. It’s as if a dam has burst within, flooding me with visions of tiny onesies, the smell of baby powder, and soft lullabies whispered in the dark. I imagine telling Oliver, seeing his expression morph from surprise to elation as he wraps his arms around me, his joy matching mine.
But then, like a shadow creeping across the sun, fear slinks in. What about the work he’s been so invested in? His company’s expansion plans? We’re both at the pinnacle of our careers; how will a baby fit into this carefully constructed life we’ve built?
My mind races, thoughts tangling like the sheets on our bed after a restless night. Will he think it’s too soon? That we should have planned better?
He’ll make an amazing father; I’ve never doubted that. But does he even want that?
This… this is real. This changes everything.
There’s only one way to find out what he’ll think of this. I reach for my phone, ready to call him, then stop.
I need to tell him in person. This moment deserves more than a hasty phone call or a text message lost amidst a sea of emojis and exclamation points. It needs to be tangible. We need to look into each other’s eyes. I need to see his reaction in good time — be it good or bad.
I’ll wait for him to come home. When he walks through the door, weary from his flight but still carrying that infectious energy that drew me to him all those years ago, I’ll take his hands in mine. And with a kiss, I’ll usher him into a future brimming with possibility.
For now, the secret dances within me, a silent symphony only I can hear. I tuck the tests away, a promise etched in pink, and straighten my spine.
“See you soon, Oliver,” I whisper, a vow that stretches beyond the miles that separate us. “We’ve got a surprise waiting for you.”