Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
PAIGE
Josh is searching my face for something, staring at me. I blink out of my haze and recognize that his hands are reaching toward Cassian, the bottle already on the table next to him.
“Oh, shoot. Sorry.” I hand over his little one and start searching my mind for what I can do instead. I stand to leave to give them some privacy, but he stops me with a quick whisper, so as not to disturb the sleepy, eating baby.
“Hey, hold up. I work from home, and you, Cass, and Jacob are my only interactions on any given day.” He gestures to the seat next to him. “Sit. Stay awhile.”
“Yeah, of course.” Jacob is playing basketball with the Brights’ hoop and our ball, so he’s fine. No need to check up on him when the rhythmic dribbling against the concrete and the clang of it hitting the backboard is such a clear indication that he is fine.
“Were you aware that we went to school together? You and me?” Josh’s voice is quietly conversational as he feeds a heavy-lidded Cass. “I was a sophomore when you came, so you may not remember.” That baby is going after that bottle. I wonder if he misses his momma.
I wonder if I’ll be able to breastfeed, or if I’ll be bottle feeding again. I look up from Cass to see that Josh is staring at me, and his words finally register.
“No. I’m sorry, I—wait. Why hasn’t anybody said anything? There are like, twenty-seven people who live here!” How did I not know this?
Josh chuckles, eyes sad, a contradiction of emotions. “I didn’t graduate here. I left the end of your first year here, actually. When my father passed away, my mother took us to live with her sister for a while down near Edgewood. You know the place?”
“I shop there sometimes.” Cassian is already done with the bottle, having powered through it in no time.
Maybe we need to move up to eight ounces and a larger nipple.
Josh also notices that his son has finished, so he rearranges him to his shoulder, his hand patting Cassian gently on the back.
Doubtfully doing much beyond soothing him deeper into sleep.
I surreptitiously check the time to make sure it’ll work for him to nap so early, or if I need to intervene to avoid a messed-up schedule for the rest of the day.
Josh’s eyes go distant for a second, like he’s visualizing. “That’s where I met Carri.”
Oh, no. I eye Cassian, already asleep in his father’s arms, and will him to wake up. I do not have the capacity to deal with his emotional turmoil on top of my own today, but the baby has the nerve to remain sleeping.
“She was always the most beautiful girl, then woman, I’ve ever known. We …”
I actively zone out as he talks. It’s self-protection at this point.
I nearly called in sick, not wanting to do this, but instead, I thought of needing to provide, to save, to do my part to make sure our family is safe, fed, housed.
My family will not become homeless. They will not be hungry.
I will work. I will provide. I will show up when all I want to do is wallow, cry, and sleep.
If I could cut out last weekend with surgical precision, I would, but I also wouldn’t. I recognize now things that I was allowing to happen to my son and me. No more.
“You know what I mean, Paige?”
I shake my head, and the room comes back into focus. Josh is staring at me, waiting for me to respond to—something. “Yeeees?” I draw out the word, and his lips twitch.
“You have no idea what I’m saying to you.”
My shoulders raise and fall in a small shrug. “You just kept talking.”
His eyes grow wide, and his jaw drops, then he throws his head back and lets out a hoot of laughter. “You are such a shit! You have everyone fooled, Paige Whitaker.”
A corner of my lips pulls up in some semblance of a smile when my phone begins to ring. I ignore it, and it goes to voicemail. “Have you heard from her yet?”
His humor fades fast, and a shadow crosses over his features—a jarring contrast to the open joy of a second ago. Josh leans back, baby asleep in his arms, and stares at him. “Not exactly.” I wait for more information, but I get nothing. I check my phone to see a voicemail from my Ob-Gyn.
“Give me a second, yeah?”
“Sure, sure.”
In the other room, I lean against the wall and listen “Hey there. It’s Steph from the clinic on the Ridge.
Dr. Lee had a cancellation and wanted to see if you would like to come in today at twelve-fifteen.
She would like to see you sooner because of a note she received from another doctor’s office about this weekend.
Call us back as soon as possible to let us know. Thank you.”
Do I tell Trevor? Do I want him there? My stomach drops at the idea of him being there, wanting to touch me or comfort me. I couldn’t handle it. No. I don’t want him there.
I creep into the next room. “Josh, hey. I have a doctor’s appointment that just came up. It’s important that I go. I’ll take Jacob or see if his aunt can watch him, alright?” I speak softly to him, and his tired, anguished face looks up from his sleeping baby.
He nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope the appointment goes well.” He’s quiet in his response and goes right back to watching his baby sleep.
“We have a lot to talk about with multiples, honey. On a scale from one to brutal, how straightforward do you want me to be?”
“Are you asking me how I want my coffee?” Dr. Lee lifts one corner of her mouth. I’m actually getting the impression that she is completely relaxed with this unexpected new series of events, which makes me relax in turn. “Black with an aftertaste of sugar, please.”
She smiles outright with my coffee order. “So total, transparent honesty, no dancing around the topic, but ending on a high note, not a warning.”
I love this doctor. “Yes, please. Exactly like that.” I had to creep across the hallway to an examination room.
We’re doing a Pap smear to check and make sure everything is healthy and ready to grow two whole humans at once.
My heart races and my stomach drops. I have an unbearable mix of fear, excitement, dread, and joy.
My hands clench where they sit empty in my lap, and I force myself to avoid looking at the vacant seat beside me.
“Perfect. So, you are pregnant with Dichorionic/Diamniotic, or di-di twins. This means that they have their own sacs and placentas. The other options include a Mono-Mono, where they share everything, and the most complicated, and mono-di, who have their own sacs and a shared placenta. We are very happy with these results, but there are still some complications that can occur. Would you like to discuss those now or later?”
“Later, please. Maybe—do you have a pamphlet? I’d love a couple for—to take home and read over.”
“Of course, Paige. Now, at best, we will make it to thirty-seven weeks of gestation. However, considering your history with preeclampsia and the nature of your previous incision, I highly encourage you to schedule a cesarean somewhere around three to four weeks before your due date.
“Which is?”
“Oh, yes. We missed that in all of the excitement.” She checks the chart, then plugs in a couple of things into the computer. “It looks like it will be mid-February, on the fifteenth.”
“Valentine’s babies.” My voice is wistful.
“If you went to term, which is very unusual for twins. You are a small woman. Plus, you have a history of difficult pregnancy. I hate to tell you this, but I firmly suggest we schedule you for mid-January or earlier. This means that your children will likely spend some time in the NICU.”
My breath catches in my chest. No. I open my mouth to object, but Dr. Lee raises her hand.
“However, I hope you understand that does not mean their stay has to be anything like Jacob’s time in there.
We will need to cut it a little short to ensure your health and the babies’ health, but you have every chance to have a normal, healthy, and three-trimester-long pregnancy.
” She looks at me, nothing but professional honesty in her gaze.
Well, maybe some compassion and understanding.
She reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a small squeeze.
“This is far from my first multiple pregnancy, and, for our sweet ending, this is the lowest risk type for identical twins. A baby is still a baby, even when there are two. Everything is going to be okay. I have your health and safety, and the health and safety of your babies in mind with all of these choices.”
“I-I understand.” I squeeze her hand, then pull mine from her hold. “That was a perfect cup of coffee, doc.” I attempt a smile, but I’m overwhelmed.
“Okay, great to hear. Let’s do the Pap smear. I have some questions that are protocol. I’ll ask as we proceed, and Steph here will mark your answers. Alright?”
“Yes. Alright.”
“Okay, Paige, assume the position.”
I laugh, follow the instructions, and zone out, much like I did during my conversation earlier.
I barely hear the heavy intake of her breath when she gets to my breast exam, but I don’t even consider the reasoning until she asks me a question I’ve been asked at checkups for years.
“Are you safe? At home?” The hesitancy in her voice alerts me, along with her motionless hands.
“Yes.” When she doesn’t continue, I start to feel a little uncomfortable. Then it sinks in. “Oh, God, the bruises. I was in an accident! The hospital—”
“Oh, yes. They sent those. How scary that must have been for you.” Her honest concern is comforting.
Dr. Lee is a compassionate doctor and a good woman.
She settles back into her work, and I continue to answer the questions without much thought until she says, “We will test for STIs. It’s necessary and just part of the process, but we will be checking for—”
Shame, followed swiftly by anger, burns under my skin. He cast a shadow over every part of this incredible news to the point where I have to question my own sexual health.
This is too much.