33. Sunny
I ’m late.
Ten days late, to be exact.
I’ve been on the pill for the past nine years, and my periods have always come like clockwork—until now.
I could have taken a test days ago, but I chose to wait instead.
I think that was my first clue that I’m not ready for this to be happening.
I just don’t understand how that’s possible, when I’ve orchestrated my entire life to get me to this precise moment.
I’m a successful attorney…if you measure success in dollars, not passion.
I’m engaged to a brilliant, handsome man who wants to build a home and a family with me.
We might even be having the baby I’ve always wanted.
So why the hell am I so scared?
I glance at Jeremy, sleeping beside me in bed. Things have been good between us lately .
I mean, it’s not like he never gets moody.
But work’s been going well for him, and that helps.
Also, he set some boundaries with his mom recently, which seems to have made him less stressed.
He finally got so fed up with her taking control of our wedding plans and inviting distant relatives he “couldn’t care less about,” that he cancelled the reservation he made at The Plaza.
Which means that now, we can have the Beachwood wedding I’ve always wanted.
It's nice being on the same page.
After our disastrous trip to New York over the summer, it took three weeks of no sex and countless arguments for him to realize what an ass he was being. I suspect my telling him I wanted to go home to my mom’s for a weekend and “think about things” was a major wake-up call for him.
Suddenly, he was the Jeremy I fell in love with again.
Funny. Thoughtful. Adoring. He sent roses to my office.
He went online and ordered the latest romance novels from all of my favorite authors.
He bought me expensive lingerie, and left me without a doubt in my mind about his burning desire for me.
I didn’t need the gifts. I only wanted him to defrost, which he did. And then some.
Now things are steamy between us again—obviously.
That’s why I need to buy a pregnancy test.
I stop at the pharmacy on my way to work. My plan is to take the test as soon as I get home, since I’m always back from the office much earlier than Jeremy. That way, I’ll have time to process my feelings about the outcome—whatever it may be— before I tell him.
But now that I have the kit in my work tote, I can’t wait any longer.
As soon as I get to the office, I head into the bathroom. I’ve never had to take a pregnancy test before, so I read the instructions with shaky fingers, even though it’s pretty obvious what I need to do.
Then I do it. And I start a timer on my phone for three minutes.
While I wait, I’m consumed with worry.
Yes, Jeremy’s back to being sweet and warm with me again…but is it only a matter of time before he gets chilly?
As much as I want to believe he’s changed once and for all…so far, the evidence isn’t in my favor.
And do I really want to raise a child with a man I have to walk on eggshells around?
God, I feel like I’m going to throw up .
I must be pregnant.
This is morning sickness.
I’ve never felt this nauseated in my life.
My phone dings. Time’s up.
I pick up the stick, which I’d put face down on top of the toilet paper dispenser.
It’s negative.
I nearly cry with relief.
It’s been a week, and I haven’t told Jeremy I thought I was pregnant. I’m not sure I’m going to. I still haven’t gotten my period, and right now that’s my biggest concern.
I wonder what’s wrong with me.
I consider asking my mom, but her mind will immediately jump to something catastrophic, like cancer, so I don’t.
I’m having a hard enough time not catastrophizing as it is.
I call my doctor, and she tells me to come in for blood tests. When the results are back two days later, I go in to see her.
Her brow furrows with concern as soon as she takes one look at me. Quietly, she examines my chart. I wipe my sweaty palms on my hospital gown as I wait for her to speak.
“Well, you’ve lost twenty pounds since I last saw you, Sunny. And you were already thin to begin with.” She scoots her chair toward me with a sympathetic frown. “What’s going on? Aren’t you eating?”
I bite my lip. “It’s this job . I wake up filled with dread every morning because I hate it so much, and I can barely stomach breakfast. And while I’m working, I’m so busy, I almost always skip lunch. I guess the only meal I regularly eat is dinner.”
It’s not until I say the words out loud that I realize the extent of the problem. I always loved food—I never would have dreamed of skipping a meal before I became a lawyer.
That’s when it dawns on me. I’ve become so used to being miserable that it doesn’t even register anymore. Not even when my stomach is churning from being so empty.
My doctor sighs. “Look, I know you’re in a stressful profession—I get it. But this job is doing a real number on you. Your blood pressure’s through the roof. And your blood tests show you’re anemic too. Have you noticed feeling more tired than usual lately?”
I shrug. “I’m always tired. When I get home from work, all I want to do is nap on the couch.”
She nods. “And you’re not eating nearly enough. That’s why your periods have stopped.”
A tear falls down my cheek and, before I know it, I’m sobbing. “I can’t live like this,” I tell her.
“I know you can’t,” she says.
She prescribes me an iron supplement and three weeks off from work, at which point she wants to re-check my blood pressure.
I don’t give a shit what the partners will think about my medical leave.
But I’m pretty fucking scared to tell Jeremy.
I can already see the disappointment on his face when I tell him I despise being a lawyer so damn much, it’s actually killing me.
As soon as I leave the doctor’s office, I stop at Whole Foods for a croissant.
But I’m still starving, so I decide to sit for lunch at an Italian restaurant.
I order lobster ravioli and clean my plate—as well as half a loaf of bread, which I dip in olive oil and parmesan.
I’d all but forgotten how delicious and decadent a meal can be.
Both my body and soul are satiated in a way I haven’t experienced in ages.
Even though I’m stuffed to the gills, on the walk back to the apartment, I stop and buy a pint of rocky road for later.
When Jeremy gets home, I don’t tell him about my doctor’s visit yet—I’ll save that conversation for tomorrow evening. I need a clear head for what I want to do when I wake up in the morning.
As soon as he leaves for work, I get up and shower. But I don’t flat-iron my hair. I let it air dry and enjoy the beachy waves that appear. While I was sitting alone at lunch yesterday, I decided to stop chemically straightening it. In time, I’ll get my natural curls back.
And that’s only the first step in my journey back to myself. I made another significant decision yesterday. I have a three-week break from work, and I know precisely how I want to spend it.
I finish my breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, then open my laptop. My heart’s racing. But for the first time in far too long, it’s not because I’m anxious.
I’m excited.
I navigate to Northwestern’s graduate admissions page and find the link for their MFA program. I need a writing sample in the genre of popular fiction for my application—and I haven’t written anything unrelated to law in years. But as soon as my fingers hit the keyboard, I’m in my zone.
I know exactly what story I want to tell. It’s about a boy and a girl who meet when they’re young, and later fall in love.
Five hours later, I have a rough draft. And I’m smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.