NINE
BLAIR
Baby is the size of a horseshoe nail
“What do you mean you’re not telling him?” Chelsey squawks.
I groan and flop back against the back of the couch. Wrong choice. My head swims in protest.
“I didn’t say I’m not telling him ever , I just said not yet.”
Stephanie takes a seat next to me and from the corner of my eye, I see her hand reach out for my knee, but she pulls it back at the last second. I appreciate it. I’ve never been a very touchy person, but it’s been especially grating lately. “Why wait?” she asks gently.
I puff out a breath of air and stare at the ceiling. “Well, I figured it’d be best to wait until I got the results from that blood test in case anything’s wrong. And online it says I should wait to tell people until after the first trimester is over.”
“I think that’s for, like, friends and family though, not the father of the child,” Chelsey quips.
Probably so, but it’s not like I was being honest with my reasoning here, so I didn’t really appreciate her pointing that out. I sniff, my nose scrunching.
“Still, I think it’s good advice. Besides, we don’t even know that he’d want to be involved. I can’t imagine he would.”
“That’s still his choice to make though, Blair.”
“I’m aware, Stephanie,” I snap at her. In the quiet of the room, my words echo in my mind and I realize how bitchy I sounded. It’s been a real issue lately. I’m trying to be better about it. At least now I know why. “Sorry.”
“You know, it’s sort of fun to see this snappy side of you. You’ve always been so quiet and polite.”
I cut my eyes over at Chelsey, who’s grinning at me like she’s purposefully trying to annoy me while simultaneously giving me an out.
“I’ll tell him in a few weeks.”
Stephanie sighs, and I can tell she still doesn’t agree, but she doesn’t push either, which I appreciate.
The blood test results take way too long to come back for my liking.
I’m not sure why I want them so badly. It’s not like I’m expecting certain results or am even fully certain what they’re testing my blood for.
Still, I even contemplate bugging one of the girls into calling the doctor and pretending to be me so they can see if maybe the doctor has my number wrong or I missed a call somehow.
Luckily, I don’t have to stoop to that level because a nurse finally calls while I’m walking back to the apartment on Friday.
“Hi, is this Blair Marshall?” an overly chippy voice asks when I answer the phone.
“Yes, hi. Can you hear me? ”
“Perfectly, Miss Marshall. I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Woods with the results from your blood draw. Is now a good time?”
“Just ‘Blair,’ please,” I correct her, turning down a side alleyway in hopes that I can be alone for this conversation. There aren’t many people out walking since it is after the lunch rush, but still. “But yes, now’s fine.”
I take a deep breath. I’m used to being alone for big things. I’m used to being a bit of an island. Even with how quick Stephanie and Chelsey are to support me, it still feels odd most of the time. It’s easier to just handle things on my own, and this doesn’t feel any different.
The nurse reads off the results, but it’s all foreign to me. I start to wonder why I was even worked up about getting this call when she says, “Were you wanting to know the baby’s sex?”
Everything stops again, just like when I read the positive result on the pregnancy tests. Like I’m the only person in the world and most definitely the only one receiving news like this.
“Miss Marshall? Blair?”
“You can tell the sex already?” I find myself asking. Stalling, perhaps. I thought I’d have to wait until I was much, much further along.
“Yes, with the NIPT test results, the fetal DNA in your blood is analyzed for male chromosomes with 98% accuracy, but I can keep that information to myself and mark on your chart that you don’t want to know, if you’d like.”
“N-no,” I stutter out. Now, I’m wishing I wasn’t alone.
I wish the girls were by my side, but even more than that, I wish the curly-haired cowboy was too.
It’s a ridiculous thing to want, all things considered, but it doesn’t stop me from getting that melancholious ache in my stomach. “I want to know.”
“Congratulations, Blair. You’re having a baby girl.”
I think I must hang up on the poor woman.
At the very least, I autopilot my way through the remainder of the conversation because when I get back to the apartment, I’m no longer on the phone.
Instead, I’m standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the palm trees swaying in the distance when the girls get home.
“Blair? Are you feeling okay, babe?” Chelsey asks, interrupting Stephanie’s rant about the final tribal council on Wednesday’s Survivor episode.
Stephanie drops her bag on the couch and makes her way over. “Blair?”
“It’s a girl,” I finally say, throat thick with tears that make their way down my cheeks at finally saying it aloud.
A girl.
A little baby girl.
A mini me.
Only this baby won’t live like I did.
I won’t let anything—or anyone—hurt her.