9. Amanda
CHAPTER NINE
AMANDA
The check-in desk sits straight ahead, a barrier of polite smiles asking for insurance cards.
To my left, nurses open a door deeper into the clinic, guiding people in and out of treatment rooms. The scratch of crayons and the squeak of sneakers press at the edges of my thoughts.
To my right, the entry door swings open and shut, letting in bursts of chill air.
Two women take turns chasing their kids, who bolt for freedom every time it opens.
I suppose, in a couple of years, that’ll be me, running after one of my own.
Alone. The way they laugh makes it look easy, but my chest still caves.
I would have been fine doing this on my own, but when I mentioned to Eric I had an appointment for the pregnancy he insisted he’d be here.
Now, while I wait here—expecting him—the thought of doing it alone feels heavier.
The closer it gets to my appointment time, the more the air seems to thicken.
My knee bounces, and I unlock my phone, scrolling over our text messages again.
Eric
I ended up making an appointment for myself. Just waiting for the doctor. He’s running a few minutes behind.
Eric
I’ll be done on time. I promise.
I stare at the thumbs up I sent. Maybe that was bitchy. I wasn’t annoyed when I responded, but I am now. I’ve been staying with him for a bit over a week, and I kind of don’t want to leave—I also can’t until I know when I’m due.
The door to my left swings open, and Eric steps out.
His frame fills the doorway, and the door hasn’t even clicked shut before he’s pulling out his phone.
Mine buzzes. He must’ve heard it, too, because his eyes flick toward me with a knowing glint.
Like a switch, his face breaks into a grin the second he sees me.
That easy, familiar smile. He strides toward me, his steps confident, purposeful.
He stops in front of me. We lock eyes, that strange magnetic pull we never talk about buzzing between us.
His work blazer stretches across his shoulders, and his shirt, light and slightly wrinkled, clings just enough that I can make out the faint shadows of his chest tattoo.
That ink is etched into my memory, the feel of my fingers tracing the design a sensation I can’t shake.
He lightly brushes his lips against my cheek unexpectedly.
His breath is warm, and my nose bumps his as I instinctively tilt up, trying to meet his eyes.
But he’s already gone, slouched into the stiff plastic seat next to mine.
His arm drapes over the back of my chair, his thigh slightly pressed against mine.
Usually, I’d make some sarcastic remark about manspreading. Today, I don’t.
I knew this would happen. Boundaries keep us sane and safe from each other. Val’s voice drifts into my head. You have to be honest with yourself. Why did you go to Eric and no one else, Mandy? I shake the thought away.
“Hey,” Eric says. His voice is soft, carrying a gentleness I’m not used to.
I swallow. Staring into his eyes, my annoyance from earlier fizzles out. “Hey,” I echo, my chest tightening.
He shifts, and the contact between his arm and my shoulder sends a shock through me—electric, charged, and complicated.
Over in the corner, there’s a woman flipping through a tattered parenting magazine, and a toddler with a juice-stained mouth at her feet.
The whole place smells like antiseptic and stale coffee.
The silence between us stretches, thick and stubborn.
“You okay?” he asks, low. His gaze searches mine, trailing my features.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s just a check-up.” More denial, sprinkled like salt and pepper.
His brows knit, like he’s about to call me on it, but a nurse says my name.
I jolt to my feet, and Eric’s arm slides away.
I expect the warmth to vanish with it, but it doesn’t.
His hand finds my elbow, steadying me. My stupid, stupid heart that never learns likes the gesture way too much.
We fall into step together, his hand moving to the small of my back.
Don’t read into it, Amanda. I focus on the sterile floor tiles, the hum of fluorescent lights.
I should tell him thanks, but no thanks. I can handle this on my own.
But I don’t. And he just follows me into a standard examination room.
Posters line the walls, reminding patients to get their flu shots or practice safe sex.
One curls at the corner of a pregnant lady cradling her belly, the text under her reading, Take your prenatal vitamins. Take your baby seriously.
The nurse confirms my name, date of birth, and reason for the visit before sending me off to pee in the cup of shame.
“Dr. Matthews is working with a medical student. Is it okay if she comes in?”
I nod. I’m a teacher. Students can learn from me any day. Even from this disastrous predicament I’m in.
When I return after peeing in the cup, Eric awkwardly sits on a plastic chair next to the desktop, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s too big for the cramped space. The stiff fabric of his clothing brushes against the chair arms every time he moves.
A soft knock at the door interrupts the thick silence. A young woman in scrubs enters, followed by my doctor in a white coat. The student—likely mid-twenties—has a name tag that reads Lina, and she offers a warm but rehearsed smile. The attending physician nods as she scans my chart.
“Good morning, Amanda. I’m Dr. Matthews, and this is Lina, one of our medical students. We’re just going to go through a few things today,” she explains as she logs onto the computer. “We’ll confirm the pregnancy and check how you’re doing overall.”
Confirm. Like it’s still hypothetical. I nod tightly, my hands clasped in my lap. Eric clears his throat but says nothing.
“Before we begin,” Lina starts, her eyes flicking between us, “is it okay for us to discuss your medical information in front of your partner?”
I feel Eric’s gaze, steady and expectant, daring me to correct her.
My skin prickles. Partner. The word lands with a thud.
I could deny it, laugh it off, but what would that even sound like?
He’s not my partner, but he’s just a friend.
He’s… here. Maybe it was a mistake to have him here in the first place.
“Yes. That’s fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s easier this way.
Lina nods, scribbling something in the chart. “Great.”
Dr. Matthews adds, “Let’s get started. Just as we expected, the pregnancy test came back positive.”
Her words land with a strange weight. I already knew, of course. The cheap plastic test I took showed me that much. But hearing it confirmed by someone in a white coat makes it feel… irreversible. I am going to have to tell Daray about it.
Dr. Matthews pauses, her gaze flickering from my face to Eric’s. My stomach twists, wondering if she’s noting how I’m not beaming, not crying, not glowing. I’m just holding myself together, trying not to betray that I’m falling apart. I square my shoulders tightly.
And then there’s Eric. His hands are clasped too rigidly, his spine ramrod still. It’s that brand of restraint that Eric wears when he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do—or worse, when he’s afraid to let anything slip.
He must slip, because he stands up and closes the distance between us.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving me a tight squeeze.
His touch is an offer I would have reached out for without a second thought long ago.
I let the moment settle and allow myself to pretend this means nothing more than comfort.
Lina, of all people, breaks the tension, a bright smile on her face. Like this is what she chose medicine for. “Congratulations! Let’s get you and Dad some information on next steps.”
Dad.
The word slams into me, louder than it should be. Eric shifts, his grip on my shoulder tightening just enough for me to feel it. The word hangs between us, too loud, too certain. I catch the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but close.
He doesn’t correct her. Instead, he leans closer to me, his lips brushing against my temple, but I feel them deep in my chest.
Dr. Matthews breaks the tension, her tone professional but kind.
“At this stage, we’ll confirm the due date with a quick ultrasound.
This will give us a better idea of what options to discuss with you.
” She is staring straight at me, telling me without telling me that it’s my choice, and my choice only. “No assumptions. Just support.”
It’s a reminder to Lina—and maybe to us—that assumptions have no place here. It’s a reminder that I’m calling the shots here. I wasn’t sure I needed it until now. I know not every woman has this, and I am filled with an incredible wave of affection toward my doctor.
Lina doesn’t fucking get it because she obliviously pushes through. “Would you like Dad to stay for the ultrasound?”
My eyes find Eric’s. There’s something in his eyes. Still, he gives a slight nod, like it’s up to me. Always up to me. My throat tightens. I nod.
The student prepares the machine, the faint hum of the monitor filling the room.
I lie back, the crinkling paper beneath me loud in the silence.
My heart beats faster, the nerves clawing their way up.
Eric moves to the very end of the chair, and his hand snakes around my arm until our fingers intertwine.
Neither of us looks at the other.
Dr. Matthews helps Lina maneuver the probe, and the image flickers to life on the screen, telling us that it may just be early enough that the external ultrasound may not pick up the heartbeat.
We hear it, though. A faint, rhythmic thumping.
My breath catches. Eric tightens his hold on my hand. Our eyes meet. There are tiny wrinkles on the edge of his. That’s how big his smile is.
It’s real. Not just an idea, not just a mistake I’ve been trying to outrun. A heartbeat.
Eric’s eyes go to the screen and stay locked on it.
He doesn’t speak as his smile softens, but his fingers twitch, as if they each reach for the screen.
I can’t tell if the flicker in his gaze is fear, awe, or something else entirely.
With his hand on me, my worry about asking him what he’s thinking tells me that he’d share more than I’m willing to hear.
“Everything looks good so far,” the doctor continues. “Measurements read that you’re about eight weeks and two days pregnant. This gives you an estimated due date of November 17th.”
Lina gives me some napkins to clean my stomach, and I sit up with Eric’s help. He still hasn’t let go of my hand.
Dr. Matthews adjusts her stool, settling into the space across from me. Her expression is steady, the kind of practiced calm that comes with years of navigating delicate conversations. Beside me, Eric still doesn’t say a word. I don’t know if it’s intentional or if he’s just as lost as I am.
“Alright, Amanda,” Dr. Matthews begins, her voice gentle but clear. “Now that we’ve confirmed you’re about eight weeks along, I’d like to take a moment to walk you through your options.”
Options. Even though I knew this was coming, the word sinks into my chest, heavy and unrelenting.
I made up my mind days ago. Eric shifts.
I catch it from the corner of my eye, the faint crease in his forehead.
He doesn’t look at me. His touch on my hand is stiff, shoulders taut, holding himself steady against something he can’t predict.
“I know this can feel overwhelming,” Dr. Matthews continues, her eyes steady on mine. There’s kindness in her voice, not the scripted warmth.
“I’ve thought about it a lot. This was not exactly the plan.” Or the plan at all. “I want to continue the pregnancy. I want to have this baby.” My voice barely rises above a whisper, but it doesn’t waver.
Eric’s hand shudders. I feel the smallest shift. There’s no outward reaction otherwise, just a quiet, unreadable stillness.
Dr. Matthews says, “That’s absolutely okay. We’ll take this step by step. First, we’ll get your labs done, check on your iron levels, and get you started on prenatal vitamins, if you’re not already taking them.”
It’s practical, grounding. Something to focus on. I nod again, my fingers twisting in my lap.
“And if anything changes, that’s okay too. This process can bring up a lot of emotions. You’re not alone in this.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. I mean it. For the calm. For the kindness. For not asking questions she has no right to. “Could you add an STD panel to the labs?” My voice is steady. Lina’s breath stills for a moment before she recovers.
Dr. Matthews offers another small smile, rising to her feet. “Of course. You’ll have to strip from the waist down. We’ll step out so you can have some privacy.”
As the door closes behind them, Eric’s fingers fall away from mine. Now, he flexes his fingers against his thigh. His jaw ticks once. Rising to his feet, just like he’s done twice before today, he leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek. It’s soft, fleeting, before he faces me.
“I’m going to step out to the waiting room.” He rubs the back of his neck and straightens a little, a small movement to steady himself. “Let me take you to dinner. I’d like for us to talk.”
He leaves the room before I can say anything. The air feels charged in his absence, his energy lingering. The warmth of his lips clings to me, settling beneath my skin.
I’m left alone. With three facts.
I am going to be a mom.
Eric is not as in denial as I am.
I’m going to have to make another choice.