Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
brIDGET
I try to throw myself into my work, which is not very easy when everything in my entire life basically involves the McCarthy family.
“I think I need to find something else to do,” I tell Erin one day, but then I have one look at my pregnant sister—who is my entire world at this point—and I shake my head.
“Ignore me. I don't know what I'm talking about.”
“Hey, why do you want to find something new? Are you bored, or are you…”
And of course I can't tell her it's because everything reminds me of Declan.
That I'm dying a slow death, pining away while I'm carrying his baby.
I know I can't. “No, I like it,” I say. “I just feel very dependent on you. You and Cavin have done so much for me, and I need to be on my own a little bit, more than just having my own flat, you know?”
“I do know. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
I don't answer her because the real question is: How long can I hide this pregnancy? I’ve always been absolute shite at keeping a secret, and now I feel like I’m going to burst at the seams. I'm going to have to lie at some point, or leave, and I don't know which is worse.
I wish things were different. I wish I could delight in being pregnant at the same time as my sister—what are the odds? But I can't. I know I can't.
“It's just that everybody's lives are changing but mine, you know?
You're having a baby. Bronwyn's graduating, then she's going traveling. Kyla’s got that serious boyfriend now. You and Cavin are married, Ashland and Bianca…” My voice catches when I say the last name. “And Declan’s getting married and all.”
I turn away from her because I'm a serious fucking wreck.
“I understand,” Erin says, but the little divot between her eyebrows tells me she isn't sure she does. “Maybe… go on the apps. Date or something?” she suggests. “Bronwyn found the man she's seeing on one.”
“What's that?” Cavin says as he rounds the corner. “What did you just say?”
“Oh, nothing. Mind your own damn business,” Erin says, her face going pink, as if she's said something she wasn't supposed to let anyone hear and now regrets it. “You weren’t supposed to be home already.”
“Honest to Christ, Erin, if you're hiding something about my sister—”
“Not everything is for your ears, Mr. McCarthy.” She draws herself upright, arms folded across her chest, glaring at him. She’s the cutest pregnant woman I've ever seen in my life.
I look away. I haven't given myself the space or grace to think about what it really means that I’m carrying Declan's baby. Because it’s not just Declan's baby… This child being knit together in my womb, with every second that passes, is mine.
A lump rises in my throat, and I swallow it hard.
“I'll think about your idea,” I say as Cavin and Erin continue their staring match. He's obviously not pleased. “I'll have a look around.”
And just for the hell of it, I open the app store and download the top three. Highest star ratings. Most popular. I'm not exactly the most eligible bachelorette in Ballyhock, but it can't hurt to try.
My phone vibrates with a text. I stand up and let Erin deal with her husband. I feel a little bad for her, but I suspect that if I waded in right now, it wouldn't help her case much anyway.
I check my messages.
The text isn't from the one person I both hope and dread to hear from, but from Dr. Rosenberg.
Dr. R
I'm back in the UK. I need to see you as soon as possible. We need to go over the particular prenatal care you'll require while in remission, Bridget. You'll be fine, but we do need to make our choices deliberately. When can you come in?
My work is flexible. Whenever you want me in.
Dr. R
How is tomorrow afternoon? Three o'clock?
Excellent. See you then. Anything I need to know in the meantime?
Dr. R
No, just the usual. No alcohol, no recreational drugs, don't do anything a pregnant woman wouldn't do in ordinary circumstances. We want to check your hormone levels, and I have a colleague I'm going to recommend for your prenatal care. Do you know, roughly, the date of conception?
Rough date? Ha. As if there were multiple opportunities to confuse. No. I know the exact night, of course, because I’ll never forget that night. Through all of this, I'm not even quite sure I regret it now.
If I could push a button and undo it, I don't think I would. I've tried to examine that honestly, and I keep arriving at the same answer. The thought of a baby with his eyes…
Maybe I'm romanticizing things again. But for now, I have a job to do.
I'm going to see Dr. Rosenberg. I'm going to be sensible and present and fine.
I am absolutely not going to think about the hospital. About the way he looked at me before he kissed me.
The nerve of him, after everything. The nerve of me, for letting him.
I'm going to forget it ever happened.
I'm grand.