Chapter 2
TWO
DARCY
Early mornings should be illegal. In general, I avoided them as much as I possibly could, but sometimes, like today, when I had a session with a client at nine, they just couldn’t be helped.
Not if I still wanted to have my morning routine and be pleasant by the time I showed up at the gym.
So when my alarm went off at six, I fought against the bone-deep exhaustion and the urge to snooze it, got dressed, threw my hair into a ponytail, and headed out for my run.
My feet pounded against the sidewalk, every inhale of the frigid morning air spurring me on to go just that little bit faster.
The sun hadn’t yet started its ascent into the sky, and maybe if I was more of a morning person, or if this run was taking place in the evening, I’d be able to appreciate the peace of my surroundings more because it was beautiful.
Birds were only just waking up, their chirps mingling with the lingering sound of crickets, and the wind rustled through the last of the fall leaves that were still clinging to the trees as I ran beneath them.
The houses on my eight-mile loop were a mix of well-loved but maintained colonials, and more modern craftsmans, each with manicured lawns that screamed New England suburbs.
It was the kind of morning people visited Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to experience, but the awe of it all had worn off for me.
By the time I got back home—feeling a strange mix of both sweating and chilled—the exhaustion I’d woken up with had increased tenfold.
Usually, my morning runs were what finished waking me up, but I guess not today.
In the shower, I let the hot water cascade over my aching muscles, standing under the spray several minutes longer than was necessary. I changed into a different set of workout clothes for work, brushed some mascara over my eyelashes, then made a quick breakfast of eggs and toast.
“Shit,” I muttered, glancing at my phone. I shoved the last bite of toast into my mouth, chewing as I hurried to put my sneakers on. As a rule, I tried not to be late, and I technically still wasn’t if I headed straight to the gym, but I wasn’t going directly there.
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot, the coffee I’d made a quick pitstop for in hand.
I was just opening the doors, when I heard Diane call my name behind me.
I smiled and held the door for her. Showing up at the same time as my client wasn’t ideal, but it was better than her standing around waiting for me.
“Good morning! You ready to get your butt whooped?” I teased lightly. She was one of the clients that could take some humor, and I loved her for it.
“If I don’t leave here limping, make me do it all again.” She laughed.
***
“Quality over quantity. It’s more important that your form is perfect for each rep than it is to do a bunch of them.
” I stepped up behind Diane, placing my hands under her dumbbells, and guiding them up over her head.
“And if these are too heavy, we’ll drop the weight a little bit.
I want you to get all of the reps in if possible. ”
She nodded with puffed cheeks, blowing out a big breath as she heaved the weights above her head again, this time with much better form.
She finished her set and let the weights fall to her lap. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, a smile on her face. “Thank you. Workouts with you feel like I’m actually getting somewhere.”
My answering smile was genuine. “Good. I love to hear it. And how are you feeling about the meal plan? Are you still hungry after meals, or are you not able to finish them?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, they’re honestly perfect! And I found a really good recipe for the salmon that I’m obsessed with. I’ll share it with you. You’d love it!”
My gut roiled at the mention of fish, and I felt dizzy all of a sudden, like I might pass out.
“Diane, I’ll be right back,” I uttered in a rush, the nausea intensifying with each passing second. I bolted to the gym’s locker rooms.
Making a beeline for the nearest open stall, I barrelled through the door, not bothering to lock it behind me, and proceeded to vomit up my breakfast.
I threw up twice more before my stomach settled again, the nausea subsiding as quickly as it came.
What the hell was going on?
“Darcy?” Diane called out from behind me.
I quickly flushed the toilet and stood, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before exiting the stall.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me,” I gushed, feeling stupid for having been caught puking at work by a client. At least it was Diane. Diane was a sweetheart.
“Are you sick?”
I shook my head but followed it up with a shrug, because I didn’t think so, but what else could it be?
That was three times in the matter of five days.
Well, technically more than that because I threw up a few more times when I got inside my parents’ house after the wedding, but I figured that was the food poisoning running its course, and I was fine the next day.
I’d been fine every day since then too, albeit fighting to get my appetite back to what it should be.
“I don’t think so. I had food poisoning last week, but I swear I was fine today.”
Diane nodded, then turned on her heel and headed to her locker.
Shit. I’d scared her off, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. She had a newborn at home and here I was, with yet another stomach bug.
“Diane, I’m so sorry. We can cancel today’s session and reschedule it, free of charge. I feel so bad, I—“
I was cut off by her return, but she wasn’t holding her gym bag like I’d thought she’d be, prepared to take off because her fitness coach was sick. Instead, she returned with a pink foil package, holding it out to me.
I took it from her, pinching the offending plastic between my thumb and pointer finger, shock at what she was implying rendering me speechless and immobile. It was heavier than I thought it’d be. Though, maybe that was due to the magnitude of what she was suggesting.
“I’m not—“ I started, but she interrupted me.
“Maybe you’re not, but speaking from experience, nausea doesn’t just come out of nowhere multiple times a week because of food poisoning.”
I hated that her tone didn’t sound judgemental or preachy, she simply sounded empathetic. And to make it worse, Shayna had said that she was fine, so it couldn’t have been the hotdogs.
“I can’t take this. Aren’t they kind of expensive?”
She laughed. “It’s leftover from my own public restroom reveal, and being that I’m only three months postpartum, I hope I don’t need to take one of those.
” Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh my god, not that having to take one is a bad thing! I mean that I just birthed a watermelon-sized human, and am so not ready to repeat that.”
“You’re fine, and I don’t blame you. But I-I really don’t think I’m pregnant. I’ve got an IUD.”
Diane shrugged. “You don’t have to, but maybe rule it out? Then you’ll know for sure.” She motioned with her thumb back toward the gym. “I’m going to finish up the workout, and then take off. Good luck. I hope it comes back exactly how you want it to.”
Staring down at the pregnancy test in my hand, I felt like throwing up again, but for a whole different reason this time.
Anxiety and dread had my hands shaking, as I opened the door to the handicap stall I’d just come out of, and slithered my leggings down my hips before sitting down on the toilet.
“Shit, okay. Just pee on the stick, Darcy.” I blew out the breath I’d been holding and tore open the foil.
How long was I supposed to pee on it? I knew you blew on a breathalyzer for about seven seconds.
Was it longer or shorter than that? The mere fact that I compared a pregnancy test to a breathalyzer should be evidence enough that I wasn’t ready to be a mom. That I shouldn’t be a mom. Period.
It was all irrelevant though, because it turned out I really had to pee, and in my panic I forgot to count. The little clock icon began blinking up at me, and it hadn’t been doing that before, so it must have been working. Either that or I broke it.
I paced around the stall, coming back to it, what felt like, every hour, but was most definitely every few seconds.
These kinds of things should be instant—pee on the stick, five seconds later, get an answer.
Waiting was giving me too much time to think.
To spiral. A thousand questions bombarded my mind.
What if I really was pregnant? How could I be pregnant? How would I do my job? What would my family say? What would I do?
And perhaps the most important question above all the others, and the one that had me freaking out the most, was: Who was the father?
Once that question pinged to the forefront of my brain, I felt like I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I had no idea who the dad was.
It’s not like there were a lot of men, but I wasn’t in a relationship either, and we were no longer living in times where women had to hide their sexuality.
I mean, people definitely still tried to shame women for being promiscuous, but I was of the mindset that people could go fuck themselves.
Or don’t, if they were a prude. Regardless, for the most part, my vibrator and I were best friends, but there were times when purple silicone just wasn’t enough.
Where simply getting off wasn’t enough. There were times when I needed a man.
At this moment, I was regretting each and every one of those instances.
But then the wait was over.
Mid-stomp back to the toilet, I saw the clock had been replaced by a word on the flashing screen, though I couldn’t read it from where I stood. I walked closer, picking the test up, still not looking at the result, and tried to psych myself up to read the stupid thing.
“It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.” My voice was a quiet whisper that was as shaky as my hands.
I forced myself to look down at the test.
YES+
Turns out, it wasn’t fine.
Holy shit.
I let myself panic in the restroom for five more minutes, and then I pulled myself together, shoved the test in the waistband of my leggings, and left the gym.
In my rush, I didn’t say goodbye to Diane or any of my coworkers.
I shot Diane a text from my car, letting her know that we’d reschedule.
She responded with a heart emoji as I was pulling into the parking lot of the nearest drug store.
When I got home, I went straight to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, I was staring at six more pregnancy tests, all of them different, and all of which were, in fact, stupidly expensive for being tiny wands of plastic. They all said various versions of the same thing.
I was pregnant.