Chapter Fifteen Vivian
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: VIVIAN
O ne Month Later
Sitting before my laptop, I eyed the annoying blinking cursor. It taunted me mercilessly. The fact that it sat flashing itself in a field of white didn’t help matters. I was ridiculously behind on my newest nonfiction exploit–a deep dive into the mysterious Sweating Sickness that plagued, pun intended, Tudor England.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was writing about a plague when I felt I’d succumbed to one myself. Unlike the heavy sweats, intense aches, and fevers of the Sweating Sickness, mine was purely gastrointestinal. First several days of debilitating nausea. Then came the early morning stomach evacuations.
Two days ago, it had taken a serious turn, and I’d had to call out of work. Nothing seemed to quell it. This morning was the first time in forty-eight hours I was able to remain upright for more than ten minutes, which was why I’d cracked open my laptop.
Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I forced my fingers over the keys. “In 1528, the infamous nocturnal tendencies of Henry VIII went into overdrive as the randy king took to bed-hopping every night–”
As I gagged, it wasn’t at the thought of Henry VIII getting busy. After all, this was pre-obese Henry without the smelly, rotting leg. He was still somewhat hot. Instead, my reaction came from my churning stomach.
Soldiering on, I typed, “This time his actions weren’t part of his sexual proclivities. Instead, it was an extreme measure for the somewhat hypochondriac king to escape the rampant Sweating Sickness.”
I barely had time to grab the wastebasket before puking my guts out. After heaving over and over again, I realized there was no way I was going to be able to stay upright. As I started to rise out of my chair, I swiped the back of my mouth on the sleeve of my robe. While I contemplated emailing my editor, my gaze honed in on the circled red dates on the calendar above my desk.
“Fuck,” I muttered when I realized just how behind I was. Forget emailing, I was going to need to make a very apologetic call. Maybe even FaceTime so she could see how terrible I looked, therefore she would know I wasn’t lying.
Just as I rose to my feet, another date on the calendar caught my eye. The one circled for the day my period was supposed to arrive.
The one that was ten days ago.
My hand flew to my mouth. This time it wasn’t to stamp down the rising vomit. Instead, it was out of horror.
I was ten days late for my period.
I was nauseated .
I was puking. Constantly.
Besides the symptoms, there was the fact I had fucked three men a month ago. Three young men whose swimmers were in the Olympic Gold phase. I mean, vitality was why Sperm Banks targeted college campuses for donors.
“No…Oh God, no,” I muttered.
Just the act of speaking caused me to sprint out of my home office and across the hall to the bathroom. When I finally stopped heaving, I staggered back to my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.
As I stared up at the ceiling, I tried talking myself down from the ledge. We’d used condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. We were overly protected, right?
Ever heard of a condom breaking, Viv? Not to mention that only abstinence is 100% effective.
“Oh God,” I moaned again.
My self-deprecating tirade was momentarily interrupted by my phone ringing. Rolling over, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand where I’d left it so it wouldn’t distract me while I was writing.
When I realized it was Carlee FaceTiming me, I groaned. I knew better not to answer. She would just keep harassing me until I did.
With a resigned sigh, I swiped right. “Hey.”
Carlee’s eyes bulged. “Jesus, Viv. You look horrible.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise.”
“It’s fine. I can assure you that I feel just as bad.”
“Listen, I’m taking my lunch break to come see you.”
“No, no. That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. I think you might need to go to the doctor for what you have.”
You have no idea.
“And considering how bad you look, I think I need to drive you.” Leaning over, she started typing furiously on her computer. “I’m searching for the closest urgent care as we speak.”
It’s not Urgent Care I need–it’s my OBGYN . “Carlee, wait–”
She shook her head. “Nope. You’re not getting out of this.”
“Will you just listen to me for a minute?”
Her fingers froze on the keyboard. Tearing her gaze from the computer screen, she stared expectantly at me. “What?”
“I need you to come, but instead of taking me to Urgent Care, I need you to get something for me at the store.” When she opened her mouth to protest, I said, “I need a pregnancy test.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, I would’ve busted out laughing at the expression on Carlee’s face. “Did you just say a pregnancy test?”
“Yes.”
“Vivian Whitlock, are you pregnant?”
Sighing, I replied, “I won’t know for sure until I take the test.”
“Holy fucking shit!” Carlee blared.
“Ms. Flannery!” someone chided Carlee to which she rolled her eyes. “Prude,” she huffed under her breath.
“Listen, I can’t talk long because I feel like I’m going to puke at any moment. Can you please get me some tests?”
“Of course. I’m leaving right now.”
“But it’s not even your lunchtime.”
She shot me an exasperated look. “For fuck’s sake, Viv. Do I look like I care about that?”
“You should. I mean, you could lose your job.”
With a snort, she replied, “I’m Carlee Flannery of the Flannery Hall here on campus. There would be hell to pay if they fired me.”
I laughed at her reference to the nepotism that had initially gotten her the job. “Fine. Come on then.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“See you then.”
Forty minutes later, Carlee arrived carrying a brown paper bag. At what must’ve been my questioning look, she said, “I thought this would be better than plastic since it wasn’t see-through.”
With a laugh, I replied, “You don’t have to be so secretive. I seriously doubt the university has spies hanging out in my bushes.” Nodding at the bag, I said, “Besides, it looks like you’re smuggling in alcohol.”
After reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small bottle of Moet. “When your tests come back negative, we’re popping this one open.”
Shaking my head forlornly, I replied, “I have the sinking feeling that is going to remain uncorked.”
Carlee shoved the bag at me. “We won’t know until you take the tests.”
Nodding, I then ducked into the half bath. Over the years, I’d had a few late periods, so I wasn’t completely clueless when it came to pregnancy tests. My fingers were crossed that I would have the same outcomes this time.
After guzzling two bottles of water while waiting on Carlee, I thankfully had enough in me to pee on three of the different tests. I set a timer on my phone and then prepared to wait.
My jangled thoughts immediately flashed on the three men who had potentially knocked me up. If I truly was pregnant, I couldn’t even begin to think how to tell them. It was one thing for me at thirty, but it was completely different for them. They were young men who had the rest of their lives in front of them. But for one of them, they were going to be a father.
The father of my child.
A knock at the door caused me to jump. “Well?” Carlee questioned.
Cracking the door, I replied, “It’s not time yet.”
“How much longer?”
I glanced at my phone. “A minute.”
“Christ. This has to be the longest five minutes of my life.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I huffed.
Jerking her chin at the tests on the vanity, Carlee said, “You could probably peek by now.”
“I can’t.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of breaking the pregnancy test rules?”
Shaking my head, I replied, “It’s more like my nerves can’t take it.”
“Then can I peek?”
At that moment, my phone alarm went off. “I think we both can.”
Carlee stepped inside the bathroom. She then slipped her hand in mine. “Let’s do this.”
Sucking in a harsh breath, I took a tentative step forward. At the sight of two lines on the first test, my knees buckled, and I had to brace myself on the counter to keep from falling to the floor. I didn’t even bother looking at the others.
Somehow I just knew.
“Oh shit,” Carlee muttered.
And now she knew.
All that was left was for the guys to know.
“How am I going to tell them?” I bemoaned without thinking.
Carlee’s blonde brows furrowed. “Them?”
“Oh God,” I wailed, covering my hands with my eyes.
“Vivian, what do you mean ‘them’? Is that like his preferred pronoun or something?” Carlee questioned.
Peeking at her through my fingers, I said, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“No shit!” She snatched my hands away from my eyes. “Are you telling me there’s more than one possible baby daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Vivian Whitlock, just how many men did you bang over the last month?”
“Three.”
Carlee’s eyes bulged comically wide. “Three?!! You haven’t been with three men in the last five years.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“This is too much. I gotta sit down.” Staggering backward, Carlee flipped the lid down before sitting on the toilet. After swiping the hair out of her face, she jabbed a finger at me. “Okay. Start talking.”
As I drew in a deep breath, I leaned back against the vanity. “There was more than one hockey player,” I began.
Throughout the rest of the story, Carlee hung onto my every word. When I finished, she’d been leaning forward so far on the seat that she almost fell off the toilet. After a few moments of stunned silence, she remarked, “Holy motherfucking shit, Viv.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” I replied with a rueful smile.
“And you haven’t seen or heard from them since you cut them off that night after the threesome?”
I shook my head. “I mean, they said if I ever changed my mind, their door was always open.”
“More like their flies were always open.”
“Well, that too.”
Rising off the toilet seat, she came over to me. After placing her hands on my shoulders, she said, “Forget about the guys. The first thing you need to do is decide what you want.”
When I realized her meaning, I replied, “In this case, there’s no question–I’m having this baby.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. Regardless of how unexpected this is, I am thirty. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. Sure, I wanted to be married to the man of my dreams when it happened, and not single with three potential men as my baby’s father. But, hey, we don’t always get what we want.”
“That’s a fucking understatement.”
Cocking my brows at her, I said, “And I have to tell them, right?”
“Seriously, Vivian?” Carlee questioned incredulously.
“I know, I know. I have to tell them.”
“The only question is when do you tell them? I mean, you could wait until you’re out of the first trimester in case of a miscarriage.”
“Considering how terrible I am at keeping secrets, I don’t think I could wait.”
“You did a pretty good job of keeping the sex trio a secret from me,” Carlee countered.
I laughed. “True. But that was more out of self-preservation than necessity.”
“Why did you think you couldn’t tell me?”
“I was afraid you might judge me.”
Carlee snorted. “You’re joking, right?”
Sweeping my hands to my hips, I asked, “You’re not judging me for sleeping with three younger men in one night?”
With a grin, Carlee said, “To quote the great Samantha Jones in Sex and the City , ‘Not my style.’”
Overwhelmed with emotions, I couldn’t help the tears that pricked my eyes. “I mean it when I say thank you.”
“I know you do.” Opening her arms, Carlee said, “Now come give me a hug, you whore.”
As I swiped my eyes, a laugh burst from my lips. I then let myself fall into Carlee’s embrace. “I hope you know you’re not getting out of being this kid’s godmother.”
“I accept.” She pulled back to wink at me. “As long as I get to be the fun godmother who does all the stuff that you won’t let them.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Of course, raising my child wasn’t just about me. It was also about its father. As I thought of the guys, I said. “I think I need to let the guys know what’s going on. But only after I see the doctor first.”
Carlee nodded. “I think that’s a good plan.”
“I hope so.”
“Who knows? Maybe this pregnancy will aid in their hockey superstition,” Carlee suggested.
With a groan, I replied, “Or completely fuck up their season.”
“You’re such a pessimist, Viv.”
“I’d call it being a realist.”
As I picked up my phone to call my OBGYN, I suddenly froze. When I glanced somewhat horrified at Carlee, she eyed me curiously. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t go to the OB I’ve been seeing for years and ask about early paternity tests.”
“Why the hell not?”
“What will she think of me?”
Rolling her eyes, Carlee replied, “It’s none of her business that you got dicked by three hot guys.”
When I opened my mouth to argue, Carlee shook her head. “Listen, Viv, until you find who the father is, you’re going to have to accept the truth. Some close-minded peckerwoods are going to judge you for not knowing who the father is. Your pregnancy is different because of a three, I mean, foursome, and it will remain different until you find out the baby’s paternity. So, the sooner you embrace telling them to go fuck themselves the better.”
Now it was my turn to ease down on the toilet. “You’re right. If I can’t accept the parameters of how I got pregnant, how can I expect anyone else to?”
“Exactly.”
With a sheepish grin, I said, “But until then, it wouldn’t hurt to make an appointment with an OBGYN out of town.”
Carlee blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re seriously impossible, Viv.”
“I know,” I replied, as I dialed a number for a new doctor.
Two days later and thirty miles outside of town, a doctor confirmed I was really and truly pregnant. As soon as I hopped out of the stirrups and back into my clothes, I made a call to the box office at the hockey arena.
It was time to tell the guys.