Chapter 7
Seven
Addie
I sit in my car in the doctor’s office parking lot for a long time, the engine off, the radio silent. The information I’ve just been given feels mismatched, like it belongs to different versions of my life that weren’t supposed to intersect.
Dr. Lucas Anderson.
Anderson from the bonfire.
The same man whose name now sits at the top of my chart, whose voice registered within me before I understood why. He isn’t passing through or here for a season. He’s back in town and here to stay. Summer nights don’t usually come with consequences that follow you into an exam room.
And somewhere in the middle of all that—quietly, clinically—I learned the baby I’ve been so certain was a girl is actually a boy. The notion I’d been carrying evaporated in an instant.
A son.
His son.
The word father lands last, heavy enough to crowd out everything else.
The thought of my baby having a father doesn’t feel warm or comforting the way people say it should.
It just feels heavy, like something I’m going to have to carry, to manage.
Being a father means showing up. It means being visible.
It means sharing decisions I’ve made on my own up to now.
Staying separate, managing myself—that’s the way I know how to stay safe, even from the people who are supposed to love me and care about me.
I’ve been planning to raise this baby without having to explain myself or give anything up that I don’t choose to. Now, that may not be possible.
What happens if he wants partial or even full custody?
What happens if he doesn’t want anything at all?
The second option is easier. I know how to handle doing things alone. But now that I know who the father is, it isn’t that simple.
My stomach roils, and I bend forward and press my hands to my thighs until it passes. My nausea often comes out of nowhere, as if my body knows things my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
After a few moments of breathing, I start the car, pull out of the parking lot, and turn away from my apartment. Going home feels like the wrong choice. Being alone with this right now will be worse. And there’s really only one place I can go.
At a stoplight, I text Emma.
Me: I’m on my way over.
If I sit with this any longer, I’ll start answering questions no one has asked, adding details that may not even be real. And I don’t trust where that will go.
The light turns green before she replies. That’s fine. Sending the message is enough. It breaks the spiral long enough for me to breathe.
When I arrive, Emma opens the door and offers me a cup of decaf green tea. I thank her, take the mug, and sit at the small table by the window. Steam rises and fades. I watch it for a second, and then look away.
“How was the appointment?” Emma leans against the counter, not facing me directly. She doesn’t want to crowd the moment. She knows I often need my space. “How did it go?”
“Fine,” I say, because that’s the word people expect first.
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t prompt me. Just waits.
“Did you know Dr. Hutchinson was retiring?” I ask.
She turns her head slightly. “I got a letter a few months back saying he’d be retiring at the end of the year. He said he’d found someone to take over his practice.”
“Why didn’t I get that letter?” I demand.
“You probably did,” she says gently. “It wasn’t anything exciting. Just that he thought everyone would like the new doctor. Did you meet him today?”
I nod. “Dr. Anderson.”
“What was he like?” she asks.
“Anderson,” I repeat.
Her eyes widen. “The same Anderson?”
I nod. Saying it out loud still feels unreal. “And if it’s possible, he somehow looked even hotter in his white coat.”
“Wait.” She pushes off the counter and sits across from me. “I thought he was passing through town. Just here for the party.”
“He’s back,” I say. “And he’s the new doctor.”
Emma blinks once. That’s it. No sharp inhale. No widening eyes. Just a quiet recalibration. “The guy,” she says.
“Yes,” I say. “And he knows.”
She nods slowly.
“I was looking out the window when he came in, not paying attention. But when we looked at each other…” I pause, remembering the moment it clicked. “It hit both of us.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.” I huff out a breath. “He put it together, but I don’t think he believes it’s his son.”
She tilts her head. “Son?”
“Yeah.” I press my lips together. “That was another rock to my psyche today. I’m having a boy.”
Emma exhales. “Okay. Let’s back this up a minute. Why would you lie about him being the father? It’s not like he can’t do the math.”
I look out the window, watching a car cruise past like this is any other afternoon. “I didn’t lie. I told him he was the only one I’ve been with before or after. And he told me the condom didn’t break.”
“Fine,” she says after a beat. “I won’t hate him for questioning things. It’s a lot to take in. He’ll want a DNA test, and that will verify what we already know.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “And the appointment itself?”
I finally take a sip of the tea. It’s too strong now, but that feels appropriate. “Professional. Technically fine. He didn’t cross any lines.”
“But?” she says.
“My morning sickness is worse,” I admit. “It’s not just nausea. I’m throwing up more than I’m keeping down. I barely digest anything. He saw me lose my lunch, and he knows I’ve lost weight.”
Her focus sharpens.
“The numbers were already there.”
“And how did that feel?”
I open my mouth, and then close it again. The answer shifts as I try to grab it. “Unsettling,” I say finally. “I know it’s his job,” I add, feeling the need to clarify. “I’m not disputing that. I just wasn’t prepared for how fast everything rearranged itself.”
Emma shakes her head. “You don’t have to resolve it right now.”
“I’m not confused,” I say, surprised by how true that feels. “I’m angry.”
“About what?”
I look out the window again. “The assumption that I’m suddenly the vulnerable one. That pregnancy turns me into someone who needs oversight.”
“Did he treat you that way?”
“No,” I say, realizing he left the decision in my hands, didn’t force the medication on me. “Not outright. But the structure does. The way the room is arranged, the chart between us, the fact that I was sitting while he stood.”
“Okay… What’s your next step?” she asks.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say. “I’m fine without him being on the birth certificate. I can do this the way I planned.”
“Are you going to change doctors?”
I look up at the ceiling. “He mentioned it, said he could refer me. But I’ll talk to Ric and see who he recommends, if I need to—if anyone’s even taking new patients.”
Emma sighs. “I don’t think anyone is. Dr. Hutchinson really saved us by finding someone to take over his practice.”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “And in all the drama, he also told me Elise Anderson is his cousin.”
Emma sits back hard in her chair. “Oh, fuck. When your grandmother finds out, she’s going to lose her mind.”
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He’s Paradise adjacent.”
“You had quite the afternoon.”
My phone rings on the table. It’s my mother, and I send her straight to voicemail. “I thought running into my mom was going to be the worst part of my day.”
Emma smiles. “You actually had a good day. It just created some things that feel like bad news right now. In a year or two, you may discover this was a great day. You found out you’re having a boy.”
I shake my head. “I had the perfect girl’s name picked out, Summer.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “That is lovely. But you found your son’s father,” she adds. “You don’t have to marry him. But you can be friends.”
“I suppose,” I say. “Who would’ve thought a stranger I shared an hour with would be in my life forever?”
We sit for a quiet moment, and then she glances over at the clock.
“Plans tonight?” I ask.
“Maybe. But if you need me, I’ll cancel.”
“No way.” I stand, my body suddenly heavy. “I want to go home and lie down.”
We hug at the door. When I get back into my car, I point it toward my apartment this time.
Despite the many things I’m feeling, I’m not embarrassed. And that surprises me. I don’t regret the night at the bonfire. It doesn’t feel reckless. It feels complete, intact, exactly what it was meant to be at the time.
The unsettling part is what’s come after.
I can’t believe I’ve seen him again, and more than that, I can’t believe he’s the new doctor in town—my doctor.
Doctor and patient isn’t a neutral situation.
It creates a power imbalance whether I want it to or not.
Added to our brief history, it brings a dynamic I hadn’t prepared for, and now, I’m not sure if I can.
And I know what can happen with that dynamic when concern turns into control without warning.
Help shows up before it’s asked for. Choices are treated as obvious, as if pushing back would be unreasonable instead of part of the process.
Pregnancy makes that imbalance stronger in ways I never considered until I was living inside it and until the barriers in my life all bled together.
I sit in my car after I park, engine still running, and work through this. I’m not angry that he noticed the weight loss. He was my doctor today. That was his job. But I’m angry that this situation now gives him access I didn’t expect when I said yes under the stars that night last summer.
Inside, my apartment is quiet. I drop my keys into the bowl by the door and stand there longer than necessary. I could tell myself this would feel different if I’d known more. If I’d asked better questions. If I’d prepared for what might happen instead of letting that night exist on its own.
But that version of the story doesn’t hold.
People pass through this valley every summer. Things happen. You either lean into them, or you don’t. I didn’t pursue him, because there was nothing to chase.
That wasn’t naive. It made sense with what I knew.
The problem isn’t that I let him go. The problem is that he came back. And now, he’s in a role that affects my body and my life. It’s a role he didn’t ask for either, I remind myself.
In the studio, late light catches the worktable. Dust floats through it. I rinse my hands at the sink, letting the water run hot and then cool.
He is my doctor. I’m pregnant.
Neither fact removes my ability to decide what comes next.
I almost don’t book the next appointment. Part of me wants to wait, to call it caution, to say I need more time. I sit with that feeling until I recognize it for what it is—worry, avoidance, fear—and then I book it anyway. I owe that to my child.
The confirmation appears. I made the appointment. That’s the first decision. The rest can wait.