Chapter 10
Bianca
“You’re definitely pregnant.” My OBGYN, an elderly woman with kind blue eyes, smiles as she moves the wand over my lower abdomen.
I sigh, shaking my head. “I took Plan B,” I confess to Dr. Stevens. “This wasn’t planned.”
Dr. Stevens pauses and looks at me sharply. “Did you take it within three days of intercourse?”
I nod.
She frowns, her forehead creasing. “Were you sick afterwards, a stomach bug, something that would cause vomiting?”
I start to shake my head but freeze. “Yes,” I breathe out. “I flew to Italy for my brother’s wedding and the turbulence was intense. I threw up twice on the plane and took the pill right before I boarded.”
Dr. Stevens sighs. “That could do it. The pill wouldn’t have been absorbed into your system.”
I heave out a sigh. Plan B didn’t fail. I did.
Dr. Stevens’ gaze turns sympathetic. “Would you like to listen to the baby’s heartbeat? You don’t have to, Bianca. We can talk about other options or—”
“No,” I whisper, phantom pain, old memories and wounds, clogging my throat. “I’d like to hear it.”
She nods, clicks a few buttons, and then—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. The sound fills the air and I exhale shakily.
Tears gather in my eyes—damn these pregnancy hormones—and I sniffle. Unimaginable relief rolls through my body. I had no idea how nervous I was, how terrified, that I wouldn’t hear the baby’s heartbeat. And now that I have—“Oh, God,” I murmur.
There was a time when I heard this sound and it changed my life. It expanded my perspective on everything I thought I knew, on the person I was becoming. And then, it stopped, and I don’t think I’ve been the same since.
Dr. Stevens nods in understanding and pats the back of my hand. “You’ll be okay, Mama.”
Mama.
The word causes my eyes to snap to hers.
Will I be? Will I be enough?
“I’m not so sure,” I admit.
Dr. Stevens clicks a few more buttons on her keyboard before removing the wand and passing me some napkins to clean up. As I wipe the gel off my abdomen, I prattle on. “The baby’s father…”
“Isn’t in the picture?”
“Doesn’t know I’m pregnant.” I look up at her and offer a watery smile. “I’m not sure how to tell him either.”
She smiles back. “Honesty tends to be the best approach in these situations.”
“Yeah. Right. Of course.”
Dr. Stevens tilts her head. “Do you think he’ll support you in whatever you decide?”
“I’m going to have the baby.”
“Okay. Do you think the father will want a relationship with the baby?” she asks gently and I know she’s asking for my benefit, for me to consider all the angles of this decision, and not out of curiosity.
I swallow as I rebutton my jeans. They’re feeling slightly snugger than usual. “I’m not sure.” But as I say the words, I know they’re a lie. Niko Karas will be an incredible father. Maybe even a better father than I’ll be a mother. The thought is oddly comforting.
“I understand. If there are any resources or support that you need during this time, we’re certainly here for you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Stevens.”
“Abigail will book your next appointment. If, at any time, Dad wants to join, he’s more than welcome.”
“Sure,” I manage even though I can’t imagine bringing the Greek God of Goals to my next OBGYN appointment. Not when he’s basking in the limelight—professionally and personally—in Germany.
I gather my purse, stop at reception to make my next appointment, and leave the office.
The chill of early autumn floats on the summer breeze as the temperature flirts with seasonal change. Dressed in a structured crop top, a blazer, jeans, and flats, I look the part of crossing into September. But I don’t feel it at all.
No, I feel borderline hopeless. And also, ecstatic. And fucking panicked.
I pop into a café and order a coffee. Decaf! Then, I sit at a corner table and pull up Niko’s social media platforms.
Lately, the gossip blogs have been highlighting his budding relationship with a mystery woman. A gorgeous, tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, unnamed woman who celebrated his first, and second, wins of the season by his side.
“Argh,” I groan aloud, drawing a glance from the man at the table beside me. When I glare at him, he quickly averts his gaze.
I don’t want to tell Niko I’m pregnant. Hell, I don’t want to tell anyone I’m pregnant. The last time I did…my life fell apart. The anger in Christian’s eyes, the ugly twist of his lips, the hateful, hurtful words he hurled at me…
I shake my head, clearing the memories that I’ve repressed for so long, I sometimes wonder if they were as bad as I remember. Or do I need them to be bad to assuage me of the shame, the guilt, that came afterwards?
My due date isn’t until April 19. April! That’s an eternity from now.
How long can I hide it before anyone guesses? How long does it take before I look pregnant? Four months? Six? I have no clue.
I chew the corner of my lip as I ponder these questions, realizing just how unequipped I am for this experience because I know next to fucking nothing.
Last time, I didn’t make it to my second trimester and after that experience, I shut out and blocked all pertinent information related to pregnancy and motherhood.
It was too difficult to absorb. And I wasn’t deserving of the knowledge anyway.
I sigh and take a sip of my coffee, letting the strong roast center me.
Who knows stuff about babies? I can’t ask anyone at work because I don’t want work to know I’m pregnant. I can’t ask any of my childhood friends because they’ll ask too many questions about the father, which I’m not ready to share.
I need someone I can trust.
Marlowe.
Marlowe García is my former roommate and practically my family. She had an awful pregnancy, is still a new first-time mom, and understands discretion.
I hit her name on my phone’s screen, pop in AirPods, and hold my breath.
“Hey!” she answers, her bright smile filling the screen. Antonio coos in the background, and the sound of his voice hits me square in the chest. “You okay?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“You look…tired,” she says slowly.
“Mar,” I start.
Concern washes over my friend’s expression. “What is it?” Her voice comes out as a whisper, cracking slightly.
Tears fill my eyes and Marlowe leans closer to the screen.
“I need to swear you to secrecy. I need…I need advice. And I’m not ready to talk to anyone else about it.”
“Okay.” She nods. “I got you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
My tears spill onto my cheeks as my gratitude for my friend surges.
“I’m…fuck, Mar. I’m pregnant.”
Marlowe’s mouth drops open in shock. She gapes at me.
“Seriously?” the man next to me mutters, clucking his tongue and shaking his head.
I glare at him. “Fuck off!”
He frowns and snaps his book closed, relocating to two tables away. Good riddance.
“Are you sure?” Marlowe asks hesitantly.
“I’m due April 19, just came from the OBGYN.”
“Oh shit.”
“Mama. Mama. Mama.” Antonio prattles in the background.
“I’m here, sweet love,” Marlowe says, bending to scoop her son into her arms. “Okay. Okay.” She relocates to a rocking chair and her face comes back into focus. “Okay.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s talk. You’re…seven weeks?”
“Eight.”
“How do you feel?”
“Exhausted. Hormonal. Fucking crazy.”
“All normal,” she breathes out, smiling at me. “That’s good.”
I heave out a sigh. Is it? I’ve felt this way before and it ended in a cold, sterile operating room.
“I didn’t realize you were seeing someone…” She lets that sentence trail off.
I narrow my eyes.
Marlowe nods. “Right. Okay, so you’re not.”
“I’m not.”
“Are we telling the father?”
“Not yet,” I admit.
“Do we know who the father is?”
I give her a look.
“We listen and we don’t judge,” she reminds me.
“I haven’t told him yet. How long do you think I can wait before doing that?”
“Depends,” she says, considering thoughtfully. “Will you run into him?”
“Not a chance.”
“You have some time.”
“Like, eight months?” I ask hopefully.
“Like, two more weeks,” she replies, frowning at me. “You need to tell the baby’s father. It’s the right thing to do. But, logically, you also could not know you’re pregnant yet so…you can have a two-week buffer if you need more time to process things or build up some courage.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Marlowe smiles. “Are you nervous? Happy? Miserable?”
“I don’t know. When I heard the baby’s heartbeat today—”
“You heard the heartbeat? That’s wonderful!”
“It affected me a lot more than I imagined. It felt like being flattened with undiluted relief.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“But I’m also…confused. This obviously isn’t how I pictured doing this.”
“Because you’re not married?”
“No, I don’t care about that.” I shake my head. “Because I’m just making strides at work and I love my career. And, I mean, I’m not even seeing the baby’s father.”
“Right.”
“I never imagined myself doing motherhood on my own, but I also never actively envisioned myself as a mom either.” Not since last time. Not since Christian. I was twenty-two and na?ve then. I know better now; I won’t make the same mistakes.
“Really?”
“Really,” I partly fib. Because Marlowe didn’t know me before. When I was dating Christian and making plans, I was a softer version of myself. Before my mama was diagnosed with cancer, I wasn’t as jaded and sarcastic as I am now.
“Yeah, I can see that about you,” Marlowe says, her voice devoid of judgement.
And for that, I love her. I know I made the right decision in confiding in her. In fact, I already feel better that someone, besides me and Dr. Stevens, knows the truth about the baby.
“Are you going to tell Luca?”
“Eventually. But you have to—”
“I swear.” She cuts me off, holding up a hand. “I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. But in the meantime, if you have any questions or fears or, well, anything, you call me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
I hesitate. “Marlowe, is it bad that I drank alcohol before I knew I was pregnant? Can that hurt the baby?” My voice catches as fear I wasn’t prepared to feel sweeps through me.