Epilogue
DREW
Eighteen months later
“I’ve been trying to convince Ally to give up tennis,” I tell Dr. Gordon.
For the past year and a half, Ally’s been teaching tennis, both privately and at the Somerset Club. It’s the perfect job for her—except, of course, when she’s thirty-five weeks pregnant.
“We’ve talked about this, Drew,” Ally says, before Dr. Gordon can answer. “Exercise is recommended in pregnancy. And I’m not actually playing tennis,” she explains to the obstetrician. “I just give lessons.”
“Gentle exercise is recommended,” I argue. “But you’re doing more than that, and you’re practically at term now.”
Dr. Gordon’s eyes dart from me to Ally. She’s not our regular OB—Dr. Tang’s on vacation this week—and I’m pretty sure she’s a recent grad. “I’m just going to step out to grab the doppler,” she says. “We can talk about the tennis question when I get back.”
“She wants to agree with me, obviously,” Ally says after Dr. Gordon closes the door to the exam room. “But I think she finds you a little intimidating, so she’s stalling.”
“I’m not intimidating, Ally,” I scoff.
“Well, you are the former chief of surgery,” she points out.
“The key word there is former.” My biggest mistake was staying in that job as long as I did.
Peter Tate hasn’t stopped donating to the hospital—apparently he didn’t really care if I was chief or not.
And my life has improved immensely now that I no longer have to deal with so much administrative BS.
And it means I have time to come to prenatal appointments, like the one we’re at now. The OB clinic is just one floor up from my office, so it’s very convenient. I love being able to see my wife in the middle of the day.
That’s right—Ally and I got married. I proposed six months after we met, and we got married three months after that. There’s no point waiting when you know.
And two months ago we bought a house, a couple of streets over from Luke and Melissa’s. It’s got a huge backyard that will be great for our daughter, and a newly renovated kitchen. Complete with a pistachio green KitchenAid mixer.
“But Drew, everyone knows you used to be chief,” Ally says. “And you are kind of intense.”
“I’m not intense, Ally,” I scoff. “It’s normal to be concerned about your wife when she’s pregnant.”
Her blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “You know some women run marathons while they’re pregnant?”
“Ally—”
“But I’m not planning to do that,” she says. “And I’m not overdoing it with the tennis, honestly. I mostly stand in one spot and give advice, sometimes hit some easy shots. It’s pretty clear that I’m pregnant, so no one expects me to run fast.”
“Hmm,” I say, and my eyes wander to her belly. Ally is indeed clearly pregnant, and it looks spectacular on her.
And while I’m staring at it, her belly moves. Our daughter is kicking. Or punching, maybe, but probably kicking.
I walk over and put my hands on Ally’s belly, and feel little flutters under my fingers.
“She’s really active today,” Ally remarks.
“Yeah.” With Ally’s genes, our kid will probably be an athlete. And beautiful and smart, just like her mother.
Whatever she is, she’ll be loved.
“Drew, she’s not kicking up there,” Ally says with a laugh, and I realize my right hand has wandered up to her breast. “Dr. Gordon could come back—”
“Right,” I say, reluctantly moving my hand.
I never thought pregnancy could be sexy until my wife was pregnant.
At first, she just had the cutest little belly, and I couldn’t keep my hands off it.
And now that she’s in her third trimester, she’s magnificent.
There’s the belly, of course, and she’s a little softer everywhere else. And she’s glowing.
Sometimes I look at her and can’t believe this gorgeous woman is carrying my kid.
“You know, Drew,” Ally says, “if you’re that concerned about strenuous activity, we’ll definitely have to give up sex. It’s a lot more vigorous than teaching tennis.”
“You’re right,” I say immediately, and she looks surprised. I think she expected me to debate the point, or at least look disappointed.
But the thing is, I know my wife, and the gleam in her eye tells me this is a negotiation tactic. She doesn’t really want to give up sex.
And now she’s realizing she’s made a tactical error. “Maybe we should ask Dr. Gordon about it,” she suggests. “If I remember right, the guidelines say it’s safe in low-risk pregnancies, even in the third trimester.”
She remembers right; I’ve looked it up, obviously. I’d give up sex in a heartbeat if I thought it was best for Ally and our baby, but everything I’ve read suggests it’s fine.
“We should probably err on the safe side, though, right?” I say.
Ally chews her lip. “Let me look it up,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Seems like it’s safe,” she says a moment later.
“Hmm. Well, I guess we’re okay, then.”
“Yeah,” Ally says, looking at me a little suspiciously.
“So about the tennis—”
“I know you’re anxious, Drew,” Ally says with a little smile. “I’m planning to stop after next week. Okay?”
I open my mouth to say I’m not anxious, then change my mind and decide to take the win. “Yeah. Thanks.”
There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Gordon reappears. She’s holding the doppler and a little bottle of ultrasound gel.
“Okay, this might be cold,” she warns. She squirts some gel on Ally’s belly and moves the probe around, searching for the heartbeat.
“It’s usually a little down and to the right,” I tell her. We have a doppler at home—you can order them on —and Ally and I listen most nights.
Dr. Gordon looks skeptical, but she moves the probe as I suggested. A moment later, we hear the rhythmic whooshing of our baby’s heart.
“Everything’s looking good,” Dr. Gordon says a minute later. “Do you have any questions?”
She’s clearly hoping we forgot about the tennis question. It’s a good thing we worked that one out ourselves.
“What do you think about an elective induction at thirty-nine weeks?” I ask. “I read about a trial—”
“Drew, I don’t want an elective induction,” Ally interrupts. “I’d like things to be as natural as possible.”
“I just want to discuss the pros and cons,” I say.
“I was actually thinking about a home birth,” Ally says, turning to Dr. Gordon. “Would that still be an option?”
Dr. Gordon’s eyes widen. “Well, uh, I’d have to refer you to a midwife to discuss that,” she says. “You’re already thirty-five weeks, so I’m not sure if they’d be able to take you on . . .” she trails off uneasily.
“Well, maybe we could start with the referral,” Ally says, turning to me. “And you could do my epidural at home, right Drew?”
“Oh, no,” Dr. Gordon says. “You can’t have an epidural at home. The baby would need to be monitored—”
“I think Ally means a natural epidural, right Ally?” I tease. “You want me to wave my arms around your back and chant something?”
“Yes, exactly,” Ally says, and she’s got that gleam in her eye again.
“Well, I’m not doing that,” I say. “You’ll have to deliver at the hospital.”
Ally raises an eyebrow. “But no elective induction, right?”
“Agreed.”
Dr. Gordon blinks at us. She’s not used to the way my wife and I negotiate. “So . . . you don’t want a referral to a midwife?”
“No, thanks,” Ally says with a smile.
“Okay. Because you’re close to term, we’ll see you every week until you deliver. Dr. Tang will be back next week.”
Dr. Gordon disappears, looking a little relieved to be done with us. Ally and I go at the desk to book our next appointment, then I walk her out to her car. She got her driver’s license a month before we got married, and I bought her a car as a wedding present.
“Drew,” she says as we head into the parking garage. “Could you actually do an epidural? Like, if I’m in labor and the anesthesiologist is busy with another patient?”
“Yeah, but it won’t come to that. I know all the anesthesiologists here, so if the person on call is busy, I’ll call someone else to come in.”
“They’d be willing to do that?”
“Sure. I’ve already talked to some of them about it.”
“Really?” Ally looks surprised, but she shouldn’t. I don’t remember much from my OB rotation in med school, but the one thing that stuck was the importance of an epidural. I mean, they used to do surgery without anesthesia too, but if you did that nowadays, people would call you crazy.
I nod. “Yeah, I’ve got the anesthesiologists on notice. I’ve talked to a couple of the obstetricians too, just in case. We’ve got good backup.”
“Thanks, Drew.” We pause by the door of her car. “Don’t forget, my mother’s coming for dinner tonight.”
Fuck. I had forgotten, and I try not to let my disappointment show. I want to spend the evening on the couch watching TV with my wife, not entertaining my mother-in-law.
To be fair, Ally’s mother’s not so bad, and we have her over for dinner every month or so. Usually without Ally’s dad, who prefers to stay home. Frankly, everyone’s happier when he does.
I know my father-in-law doesn’t like me very much, but I haven’t lost sleep over it. I’m happy to let Hayley’s husband Justin be the favorite son-in-law. Everyone should have an achievement.
“When’s your mom coming?” I ask, wondering if I can get out of clinic early enough for some time alone with Ally.
“Five-thirty, I think.” Ally laughs at the look on my face. “She won’t stay too late. She knows I need my sleep.”
“Yeah. We should probably try to get you in bed by six, at the latest.”
Ally grins. “You wish. I’m making chicken parmigiana for dinner.”
That’s a silver lining, at least. Breanna gave Ally her chicken parm recipe, and Ally makes it even better than Breanna does.
“I should get back to the clinic,” I say reluctantly. The sooner I get back to work, the sooner I can go home.
“Yeah,” Ally says, leaning in for a quick goodbye kiss. As I hold her against me, I can feel our daughter moving.
“I love you, you know that?” she says.
“I know.” I’m lucky that way; she tells me every day. “I love you too, Ally.”