SEVEN
EMMA
What a turn of events.
I had mixed feelings about attending Paul’s birthday party and seeing Jack again. While I feared it would nurture my silly little crush, I looked forward to socializing. And socialize I did—talking and laughing and meeting more of Paul’s friends. Including Jack.
Did it nurture my silly little crush on him? Did his smile do wicked things to my hormone balance? And did the sporadic eye contact over the crowd make me giggle internally like a teenage girl?
Yes, to all of that, and instead of fighting the feeling, I relished it.
If only I could enjoy the aftermath of getting closer to Jack, laughing and talking with him, getting to know him better.
But the day ended sooner than I had hoped. As the afternoon drew on, weird sensations surfaced. A mixture of tired, dizzy, and achy made me say goodbye to everyone earlier than I wanted. I hated to cut an enjoyable time short.
And now, I’m back at my apartment. For the past fifteen minutes, I’ve been sitting on the toilet lid in my bathroom, staring at what I’m holding in my hands.
On my way home from Paul’s party, I realized a few things.
First, I’ve been so damn tired the past couple of weeks .
Second, my body has been aching in the weirdest places. My lower back, which has never given me any trouble so far, felt stiff. And an occasional headache almost made me forget about the sporadic nausea.
Third, I’ve been feeling off, not like my usual self. Something I held my crush on Jack responsible for.
And last but not least, I’m late. I haven’t even noticed that I should have gotten my period a while ago. I did have a slight bleeding, but nothing more.
So I stopped at a pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test. Because although those are pretty sure cues for my personal nightmare, a slim chance remained that I might have been wrong.
But now I’m staring at the little stick in my hands, and I can’t fucking believe it. The result is obvious.
I’m pregnant.
Ten days pass. One and a half weeks of restless nights and distressing days. I have no clue what’ll happen next. I’m a pathetic, emotional mess. Rational thinking is an impossible task. Just one thing is certain: I can’t have a baby. A baby that resulted from a drunken night of careless sex with some stupid moron.
Ugh, my mom would kill me if she knew.
I had to take a few days off work because I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and I’m still struggling. Seven hours into today’s shift, I sit at the computer, staring at the screen, once again lost in thought .
I need to tell someone about this soon. It’s eating me alive. Someone needs to tell me what to do because I sure don’t fucking know. I do know, though, that I have to see a doctor.
The ringing phone interrupts my internal monologue, and when I pick up and Rob’s voice greets me, I cringe. I haven’t even told him.
“Hey, Em,” he says, “can you help out on the maternity ward for a few hours? We’re understaffed.”
“We’re understaffed here, too, Rob.” I huff and roll my eyes, although he can’t see it.
“I know, but I already asked Ted, and he said they’d manage.” The cheerfulness in his voice makes me cringe even harder.
“You talk to the doctor in charge before talking to me?” I rub my forehead and press my lips together to hold in a deep sigh. I avoided Rob most days this past week because I was sure he’d pick up on my strange behavior and call me out, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation.
“Yeah, sorry. So will you come? Pretty please? And we need to talk,” he adds. “You’ve been acting weird for a while.”
Damn, there it is. I let out a slow breath. “And you think we’ll be able to talk during work?”
“No, but I’ll take you out tonight.”
I need a moment to answer him—to tell myself there’s no way around this. “Okay. I’ll be there shortly.”
After ending the call, I draw in a deep breath, plucking up as much courage as possible.
Time to confess.
One hour later, I’m on the verge of a crying fit, and it’s only four p.m. Two hours to go.
Helping out in the maternity ward wasn’t my best idea. I’d even say it was one of my worst ideas ever. I’ve helped before, and it wasn’t a problem. But seeing all those moms-to-be with their significant others turns out to be pure torture. They’re all ecstatic when they look at their unborn child on the ultrasound screen. While they experience total bliss, my misery increases with every little beating heart I see. While pregnancy is a joyous and wonderful state for them, it’s a state of dread and consternation for me.
I’ll never be able to handle this on my own. I can’t be a good mom. I’m not ready. With my mom being like she is, the wish to be a good mother to my future children has always been my priority. Whatever that means. I haven’t figured it out yet.
All these thoughts occupy my mind for the rest of my shift. I clean up after today’s last patient while Rob takes down some notes on a file. At least that’s what I thought he was doing until I turn around and notice his stare on me.
I stop in my tracks and grimace. “What?”
Rob lets out a heavy sigh. “Emma, you need to talk to me. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I furrow my brows, struggling to keep the stupid tears from falling. All I manage is a nod .
He closes the file with a thud and attaches the pen to it. “Grab your things. We’re going to your favorite restaurant, and you’ll tell me everything.”
We don’t talk while leaving the hospital or on our way to this cute Italian restaurant I love so much. When we walk inside, I wait for the familiar, pleasant sensation to settle in—the joyful anticipation of great food, delicious wine, and good conversation. But it won’t come—not when Rob and I sit down at a table in a quiet corner or when the waiter hands us the menu, asking for our drink order.
“The usual?” Rob asks, fixing his gaze on me.
I swallow the big lump in my throat and shake my head. The usual would be that excellent red wine. “Just a Coke, for now, thanks.” I smile at the waiter.
Rob furrows his brows before ordering a Coke for himself.
We choose our food, and the waiter takes our order and the menus before leaving us in a heavy silence. Rob studies me and asks, “Emma, what’s wrong?”
Letting out a long breath, I hold his gaze. “I’m pregnant.”
Rob’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but no words come out. I should have broken the news to him a little more gently.
“You’re pregnant,” he finally says.
I nod.
“How? When? Who’s the father?” He gasps. “Shit, don’t tell me that was your one-night stand from Abby’s wedding.”
“I suppose it was. Unless this is a case of immaculate conception. ”
Rob blinks at me. “Damn, Emma. I would congratulate you, but judging from your state, this isn’t joyous news for you.”
I grimace. “No, not really.”
“How are you? Physically, I mean.”
“Not too bad. That’s why I haven’t realized it sooner. I mean, that was like, what? Two and a half months ago?”
“Gosh, Emma. I would have expected many reasons for your odd behavior … but this …” He rubs the back of his neck, blowing out his cheeks. “What are you gonna do now?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know, Rob. I don’t know.” Our gazes meet, and his soft features and the gentle smile on his lips ease some of the tension in my body, but dread still sits in the pit of my stomach. “How is this going to work?” I ask. “How am I supposed to care for a child by myself?”
“You’re not alone. You have Brad and me. And I’m sure even your mom would support you. Your dad will be thrilled to have a grandchild, no matter the circumstances.” He places his hand on top of mine and gives it a delicate squeeze, his piercing gaze fixing on me. “Em, we’ll figure it out. Promise.”
The waiter interrupts our conversation, serving our food. We take the first bites in silence until Rob asks, “Have you seen a doctor yet?”
I shake my head and fix my gaze on the pasta I’m shoving back and forth over my plate. “I wouldn’t even know which doctor to go to.”
“Don’t you have a gynecologist you see regularly? ”
“I do, but only if I can’t help it. I don’t like her.”
He narrows his eyes. “You want me to do it? Just the ultrasound to check how the baby is doing?”
I consider his offer and wait for any unease to kick in, but it doesn’t feel weird when I look at him. So I nod.
He smiles. “Okay. Finish your food. We’ll go to the hospital.”
On our way to the maternity ward, we don’t run into many people. Rob tells the ones who wonder what the heck we’re doing here at this time of day that he just forgot something on his desk. With his charming smile, no one questions us further, not even the night shift nurse who sees us walk into one of the exam rooms with an ultrasound device. But she—like everybody else—suspects us to hook up, anyway.
I let Rob talk me into coming with him here tonight pretty quickly. At first, I told him it could wait until tomorrow. But he insisted, and in a way, I’m glad. At least I’ll know soon if a baby is growing inside my uterus.
He gestures for me to lie down on the examination table. “I’ll do an abdominal ultrasound now, but we might not get the best images. This means you’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk to Susan. She’ll do the full examination. Agreed? ”
Susan is one of the other doctors in the ob-gyn department. I can trust her. She won’t ask questions or start any gossip. So I nod. “Agreed.”
I lift my shirt and push down the waistband of my pants so Rob can apply the ultrasound gel to my belly. I flinch when he spreads the cool gel on my warm skin with the ultrasound transducer. But I flinch even more when I fix my gaze on the screen, where I see my worst fears confirmed.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Rob glance at me as if he was trying to read my reaction. When I bite my lips and breathe in deeply through my nose, it should be answer enough.
“All right, there it is,” he says just above a whisper. “As far as I can tell, everything seems good. If I calculated correctly, you’re eleven weeks pregnant, and the embryo is as big as it’s supposed to be for its gestational age. Do you see it?” He smiles at me when our eyes meet. His enthusiasm makes me smile, too, but only for an instant. Because when I look back at the screen—just as I’ve done so many times this afternoon—what I see is the same as all the other times. And just like all the other times, tears well up in my eyes.
But this time, I let them fall because I’m not looking at someone else’s baby’s beating heart.
This time, it’s my baby.