Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Autumn
On the Tuesday leading up to Thanksgiving break, I wait for my name to be called at the doctor’s office.
I can no longer grin and bear the worry that’s been gnawing at my gut.
No amount of googling or going down dark rabbit holes on Reddit has assuaged it, and I’m only driving myself crazier, convinced of the worst. Since I moved back into our shared office, I’ve been insistent that the door remain open, though I needn’t have.
The man who told me he was going to prove himself no longer reaches for me, pleading with me to talk to him.
He is the utmost professional at work, having only slipped a handful of times by calling me “angel,” wincing each time.
So much for him being “a wreck” and having changed his mind.
It pisses me off almost as much as it hurts.
I’ve finally decided to see a doctor for real answers, taking a long lunch break after being lucky enough to get this appointment right before most offices shut down for the holiday.
Since I’m still on my parents’ health insurance plan, I’ve picked a new private practice and have checked in as a “self-pay” patient.
No need to stress my dad with a surprise Explanation of Benefits letter in the mail if this turns out to be nothing.
The door to the right of the busy, brightly lit waiting room opens, and a nurse in pink scrubs to match her pink hair reads from her clipboard. “Ms. Fisker?”
“Fischer,” I correct when I stand, weaving my way around a trio of kids playing at a DUPLO blocks table as they wait for their parents to be called.
“Fischer,” she repeats with an apologetic smile, opening the door wider to let me through. “Second door on the left.”
I follow her into the small, crowded room, where she takes my height, weight, and blood pressure, then asks me a few questions to add to my new patient file.
“So, what brings you in today?”
My stomach caves in when I answer, “I need a pregnancy test.”
“Have you already taken one at home?”
“Yes.” Three, to be exact, having bought each at the corner pharmacy on my way to work. I used their public restroom so there wouldn’t be a chance of the tests being spotted in the trash by my mom at home, or by a coworker at the firm.
“So this is just to confirm?”
The answer is the very reason I’m here today.
I take a steadying breath as I keep my tears at bay.
“Yes, but I had some bleeding.” Worry about the most dangerous explanation for the blood and positive test—an ectopic pregnancy—makes my heart race with fear.
If that’s the case, then I have a ticking time bomb inside my body with devastating results.
“Oh,” the nurse says, pausing her typing on the laptop before she schools her features and asks me follow-up questions pertaining to the color, consistency, and frequency of my bleeding.
I use the restroom, leaving my cup of urine in the drawer with my name written in permanent marker, as instructed, then follow the nurse into an examination room to wait to be seen by the OBGYN.
Carefully folding my blouse and skirt to hide my underwear between them, I kick off my heels and dress down in the paper gown the nurse provided.
My skin pebbles with goosebumps when I sit on the edge of the padded examination table, loosely wrapping my arms around my stomach.
I stare blankly at the empty chair where a supportive partner would normally sit close by, and hardly blink as my vision turns hazy with anxiety.
A knock at the door startles me, and I sit up straighter when an older woman enters the room.
Dr. Bautista’s jet-black hair is streaked with glittering silver strands and pulled back in an effortless chignon.
“Hello, Ms. Fischer,” she says, shaking my hand, exchanging small talk to get to know each other slightly before proceeding.
Wearing a neutral expression, her dark brown eyes are reserved, and her tone is calm and even when she delivers the news: “The results of your test were positive for pregnancy.”
I can’t breathe, even though I expected as such, and I clutch the sides of my gown tighter around my torso.
“Though you had some spotting,” she says, “since you haven’t had any cramping, it’s likely you experienced what is called ‘implantation bleeding’. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes.” It was one of the rabbit holes I went down when I didn’t experience my normal cycle after the initial bleeding. At first, I thought maybe Forest had been too rough with me, though I was never in any pain. But then, the longer I went without getting a full period, the more nervous I became.
Taking a seat on a padded stool and rolling it closer, Dr. Bautista says, “The next step would be to perform an ultrasound to fully rule out ectopic pregnancy, which we can do now.” She hesitates for a moment, studying my tense body language closely, before she says, “If it’s not ectopic, and this is not a desired pregnancy, there are other options we can discuss.
” She waits a beat before continuing. “One such option would require traveling outside of Texas, given the date of your last menstrual cycle and the new laws.” She’s speaking of abortion, which is now all but outlawed in Texas, especially since my pregnancy has passed the six-week mark.
Deeply appreciative of the nonjudgmental and sensitive way she’s approached the conversation, I tell her softly, “I don’t need to discuss options.”
Her neutral expression remains in place when she nods, and I stuff my panic down, contemplating just how much my life is about to change.
She stands and says, “I’ll send the sonographer in.”
I hold my breath throughout the uncomfortable transvaginal ultrasound, finally letting it go with a gasp when it’s confirmed that the pregnancy is not ectopic.
Though the images on the screen are nothing but blobs of gray to my untrained eye, the fast woosh, woosh, woosh of the baby’s heartbeat is clear as day, and the tech kindly gives me time to record it on my phone.
Thirty minutes later, after discussing what to expect as my pregnancy progresses with Dr. Bautista, I schedule my next prenatal appointment in two months’ time.
On my way out of the office building with the sky dark and cloudy, I stop mid-stride when I open my calendar app to input my next appointment so I don’t forget it—as if I could ever forget something so monumental.
I’ve accidentally opened the work calendar I share with Forest instead of my personal calendar.
Scrolling through it, I see that he’s, ridiculously, added a “past event” for each day we’ve had sex.
Who does that??? He’s also marked the calendar with a rough estimate of the start of each trimester, including a potential due date that is only a few days shy of the one Dr. Bautista gave me.
Since this is a calendar that Barbara and my dad can see, I hurry to delete it all.
In the parking garage, I sit in my car, staring at the ultrasound photos the sonographer printed for me, and play back the recording of the baby’s heartbeat.
Too emotionally raw to return to work, I call Barbara directly, instead of Forest. There’s no way I can speak to him without breaking down, and this is not how I want to share the news that his whole life is about to change, too.
With Dad back home, making strides in his recovery, absolutely bored out of his mind and nosier than ever, I can’t go home, either.
Not yet. I can’t call one of my sisters, because we’re all markedly terrible liars, as are the kids, and they’d be more likely to accidentally spill the beans to Forest than I am before I’m ready.
Since I don’t want to be alone, I tap on the contact for the next person I’m closest with who doesn’t know Forest.
“Hey, Sunshine,” Bryce says with his deep Southern drawl that I’ve missed hearing since we graduated from UT and moved out of Austin. “I was just thinking about you. How ya been?”
A few hours later, in the packed Texas Roadhouse parking lot, Bryce turns his late nineties blue pickup truck into the empty spot beside me, and kills the rumbling diesel engine.
I suggested we meet somewhere between here and his hometown of Wichita Falls, but he knows how much I hate driving after he saw firsthand the results of my car crash. He’s always been sweet like that.
Bryce meets me behind his tailgate, takes one look at my face, and takes his cowboy hat off before scooping me up into a bear hug. It’s exactly what I needed.
“You’re all sweaty,” I say, the back of his western button-down damp, as is his thick brown hair, though I hug him all the tighter.
“Yeah, damn A/C went out on the drive again. Been meaning to replace a few parts, but can’t seem to find the time.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling away. Bryce is a busy man, working for his father’s land surveying company before he takes over when his father retires.
“Don’t be. You call, I’m there, you know that.
” He drops his hand to my lower back, steering me inside, then to a table when the hostess calls our name.
He rests his cowboy hat on the tabletop, pulls out a chair for me, then pinches his dusty blue jeans when he takes his seat across from me.
Ordering two ice-cold glasses of sweet tea for us, Bryce finally clasps his hands and leans forward.
“So, you wanna tell me what’s got your eyes all misty? ”
Two or three inches taller than Bailey, he’s easy on the eyes, plus one of the most considerate and gentlemanly men I’ve ever known. Had he been the one, instead of Tobias, to walk me to my dorm and ask me out, I just might have said yes. If I had, I might not be in the situation I am now.
Bryce winks when he catches my stare, his bronzed skin crinkling at the corners. “Did you call me to meet up so you could confess you’re wildly in love with me and want to have all my babies?”
My giggle is on the cusp of hysterical, and I take a large gulp of tea.