Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Suzie
The scent of coffee and sizzling bacon fills the kitchen as Dexter hums along to a tune on his phone, flipping pancakes with impressive finesse. Pete’s standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder as we both watch Dexter’s enthusiastic breakfast routine. It's cozy, surreal even—us three in the kitchen, moving around each other as if we've done it a hundred times.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself sink into the normalcy of it. Here, with them, it feels like everything I never knew I wanted.
“Alright, sunshine,” Dexter says, sliding a golden pancake onto a growing stack. “Taste-test?”
I laugh, taking a bite as he waits for my verdict, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Perfect,” I say around a mouthful, and he grins, satisfied.
In turn, I'm relieved that I seem to have my nausea under control for now.
Just as we’re about to dig in, my phone vibrates on the counter. I glance down, and my heart sinks when I see the reminder blinking up at me:
Prenatal Appointment at 10:30 AM
My chest tightens, the reality settling back over me like a shadow, reminding me of the secret I’m holding close. The timing couldn’t be worse.
“Everything okay?” Pete asks, glancing over at the phone screen. I quickly lock it, nodding as casually as I can manage. “Yeah, just a… reminder. I actually have to run out for a bit.”
Dexter frowns, gesturing toward the kitchen table set with everything we’ve just made. “But you were supposed to have the weekend off, right?”
I force a smile. “I do, but I, um… need to take care of a few things, errands, stuff I forgot about.”
Pete’s arms tighten around me, his voice a little softer. “Do you want company?”
A pang of guilt hits me hard, but I push through it, giving a small shake of my head. “Nah, it’s nothing exciting. You guys enjoy the food. I’ll be back soon, and maybe we can pick up where we left off?”
They exchange a quick look, one of those silent conversations that makes me feel the bond between them. But they don’t press me, thankfully, just nod, albeit with a bit of hesitation.
As I gather my things and slip out of the door, the weight of the secret pulls at me, sharp and unavoidable. It’s a beautiful day, clear and sunny, but I can’t shake the dark cloud of guilt. I know they’re serious about us, about wanting to be here for me no matter what, yet here I am, sneaking off to handle this on my own.
The clinic is only a few blocks away, but every step I take feels heavy. A small voice in my mind keeps asking why I’m doing this alone, why I won’t let them in, and other than protecting myself and my heart, I don’t have a solid answer.
When I walk into the clinic, the antiseptic smell hits me, the bright fluorescent lights jarring after the warmth of the morning. Sitting in the waiting area, surrounded by other expectant mothers with partners or friends, the loneliness seeps into my bones. I clutch my bag, my fingers tracing over the leather strap as I try to ignore the ache in my chest.
A nurse calls my name, and I follow her, determined to get through this appointment without breaking down. This is for me, for the life I’m carrying. And maybe, once I know more, I’ll be able to share it with Pete and Dexter. Just… not yet.
The nurse leads me into a small exam room, and I take a seat, feeling the cool paper crinkle under me. It’s quiet here, the sterile smell almost too much, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to steady my breath. I answer the nurse’s questions as she types them into a tablet, my responses feeling automatic—age, medical history, last period. My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.
Once she finishes, the nurse gives me a soft smile and leaves, saying the doctor will be in shortly. My heart races in the silence that follows, my gaze darting around the room. This is it—the start of all of it. And I’m here alone.
A soft knock breaks the quiet, and a woman in a white coat steps inside. She’s in her fifties, maybe, with short gray curls and kind eyes that crease at the corners when she smiles.
“Hi, Suzie. I’m Dr. Rose. Congratulations.”
Her voice is warm, and soothing, and for the first time, I feel a small, shaky bit of relief.
“Thank you,” I manage, swallowing hard. “It’s… yeah, this is my first time.”
“Well, we’ll take good care of you,” she reassures, pulling up a stool. “Let’s start with the basics. This first visit is mostly a chance for us to get to know each other and make sure you have all the information you need to stay healthy.”
Dr. Rose runs through a list of questions about my health and lifestyle. She asks about my diet, and I’m relieved I’ve already cut back on coffee—thank you, morning sickness.
She glances up, studying my face with a kind, but serious expression. “Are you familiar with prenatal vitamins, Suzie? We’ll want you on a good one with folic acid, iron, and calcium. The folic acid is especially important in these early weeks, as it helps prevent neural tube defects.”
“I’ve been taking some I bought at the drugstore,” I admit. “But I don’t know if it’s the right kind.”
Dr. Rose nods. “That’s a good start. I’ll give you a recommendation today. Also, try to get plenty of leafy greens, dairy, or fortified alternatives, and make sure you’re staying hydrated.” She pauses, then adds, “Are there any foods you typically eat a lot of? Things we can help tailor to what you like?”
I think about my usual meals and shake my head. “Just… what I can keep down,” I admit with a small, embarrassed laugh. “Mornings are tough.”
Dr. Rose chuckles. “That’s common in the first trimester. It usually eases up, but in the meantime, eat small, frequent meals. Sometimes cold foods are easier to handle if the smell bothers you.” She jots down a few notes, then looks back up. “And, while we're on that, there are a few foods to avoid. No raw or undercooked seafood, eggs, or meat, and try to stay away from deli meats unless they’re heated to steaming. And watch out for high-mercury fish—stick with salmon or tilapia if you’re craving seafood.”
I nod, filing everything away, but it’s a lot to remember. "I didn’t know about the deli meat,” I admit, feeling a bit of panic creep in. “And I had sushi last week?—”
“Not to worry,” she soothes, giving me a reassuring smile. “One time won’t hurt. Just keep it in mind going forward.”
We talk about exercise next, and I ask if it's okay to keep doing my regular workouts. “Nothing too intense,” she cautions, “but gentle exercise is beneficial. Walking, yoga, swimming—anything low-impact is great. And yes, as I often tell worried partners, a healthy sex life, as long as you remain safe, is definitely allowed.”
When we finish, Dr. Rose asks if I have any other questions. A hundred things come to mind, but I can't find the words for most of them.
“When will… I mean, when can I… hear the heartbeat?” I ask finally, my voice almost a whisper.
“We should be able to do that at your next visit,” she says, and something in me settles, imagining that moment.
When the appointment is over, Dr. Rose hands me a small bag with pamphlets and samples. “We’re in this together,” she says warmly.
I grip the bag tightly, smiling back at her. But as I step out into the hallway, a pang of guilt tightens in my chest. For now, at least, I am alone in this, holding onto a secret that I’m not sure how—or when—to share.