In other words, I’m off my game, and that’s both frustrating and a little nerve-wracking. I’m hardly ever sick, but what if this time there really is something wrong with me? I’d told Damien I was fine, but that was more because I wanted it to be true, not because I’m certain. A walk-in clinic wouldn’t make me hang around for something like cancer. They’d let me go home, call with the bad news, and tell me to make an immediate appointment with a doctor in LA.
I stand, propelled off the couch by the warring forces within me. One side telling me to stop worrying, that everything I told Damien about me being fine is absolutely true. The other side arguing that I’ve felt off for weeks, and that, obviously, something is wrong, and I shouldn’t have been so snippy with Damien since he’s obviously right.
I scowl at my phone, not sure if I want it to ring so that I get the bad news, or stay silent so that I can hold onto the fantasy that all is well for just a bit longer.
Then again, maybe I should toss the thing off the hotel balcony, because clearly I’m turning into a raging hypochondriac, and that really can’t be good.
Since none of the options sound appealing, I’m about to head into the kitchen to scope out the mini-bar. At home, I have an emergency stash of frozen Milky Ways, but I’d be happy for even the thawed kind at the moment.
I don’t even get one step before my phone vibrates on the table, signaling an incoming call. I snatch it up, then sag onto the couch when I hear Dr. Cray’s voice asking for me.
“This is Nikki,” I say. “Am I—I mean, is there something wrong with me? Am I sick?”
“Actually, Mrs. Stark, you’re quite healthy.”
I draw a deep, grateful breath, then immediately frown. “Are you sure? The dizziness. And I’ve been so tired lately. Nauseous, too.”
“Your dizziness was caused by the rapid drop in blood pressure, as I—”
“Exactly,” I say. “But why’s my blood pressure off? Please. If something’s wrong, just tell me and get it over with.”
“Slow down. All the symptoms you’ve reported are perfectly normal.”
I shake my head. “No. No, they’re not. Believe me, Dr. Cray, I know how I usually feel, and this isn’t right. I’m not someone who falls asleep in front of the television before nine o’clock, much less just after noon. And dizziness? That’s just weird. Trust me, this isn’t normal. I’ve never felt like this before.”
“I imagine that’s because you haven’t been pregnant before.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Congratulations, Mrs. Stark. You’re going to have a baby.”
5
You’re going to have a baby. Dr. Cray’s words fill my head, random sounds that I can’t quite process and that leave me shaky and confused. I reach for the arm of the couch and hold on, trying to steady myself.
“A baby?” The word feels thick on my tongue. Heavy and unfamiliar. “But that can’t be right. I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.” I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen and got slammed with debilitating cramps.
“I’m sure you know that not every form of birth control is one hundred percent effective. You’re walking proof of that now, Mrs. Stark, because I assure you that pill or not, you are definitely pregnant.”
“How far along am I?”
“Nine, maybe ten weeks based on the level of HCG in your blood.”
“HG—what?”
“A hormone. After an ultrasound, your OB can give you a better idea of how far along you are. Since you gave permission, I spoke with your family doctor, and he’s set you up with an obstetrics appointment next Monday.”
I blink and nod, trying to process that information. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way it usually works, and I can only assume that Damien’s clout is behind this elevated level of medical service. “Um. Okay. Who—”
“His nurse is going to email you all the information. In the meantime . . .”
He continues to talk, but it’s all just noise. Pregnant? How can I be pregnant? I try to think back to my last period, but the truth is, I’ve never paid much attention. I’ve always just dealt with it when it showed up.
Now I wish I’d tracked the days religiously.
Pregnant.
That word rattles around in my head some more.
I’m really going to have a baby? How can that be? I can’t be a mother. I mean, I don’t have the slightest clue how to be a mother.
“Mrs. Stark?” Dr. Cray’s voice breaks through the chatter in my head. “I understand this is a surprise. Do you have any more questions for me?”
“I—” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “No. No, thank you.”
We end the call, and I toss my phone on the couch, then just stand there staring at the cushion as I take deep breaths and try to wrap my head around this unwieldy new reality.
“Nikki.”
Damien’s voice is soft, barely audible, but it’s strong, and I cling to that as I lift my head and turn to face him.
He’s standing in the doorway between the living area and the hall to the suite’s three bedrooms. There’s no expression on his face at all, and I have no idea how long he’s been there, or how much he heard. “What’s going on? Was that the clinic?”
He takes a step toward me, and I see the worry break through the mask of control. “Are you okay?”
Am I? I honestly don’t know. But all I say is, “I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, he remains completely still, his eyes unreadable. Then a wild joy colors his face as he takes a step toward me. “A baby,” he says, his voice filled with awe and wonder. Another step, then another, until he is right in front of me. I expect him to pull me into a hug. To kiss my face, my mouth. To hold me so tightly in his embrace that there’s no room for fear or doubt.
But he does none of that.
Instead, he drops to his knees in front of me and presses a kiss to my belly. His shoulders rise and fall as he draws in deep breaths, obviously trying to control himself.
For a moment, he simply clings to me. Then he tilts his head back to look at me. “A baby? Really?” His voice is so thick with emotion that it chips away at the numbness that has overwhelmed me. “We’re seriously having a baby?”
I stand, propelled off the couch by the warring forces within me. One side telling me to stop worrying, that everything I told Damien about me being fine is absolutely true. The other side arguing that I’ve felt off for weeks, and that, obviously, something is wrong, and I shouldn’t have been so snippy with Damien since he’s obviously right.
I scowl at my phone, not sure if I want it to ring so that I get the bad news, or stay silent so that I can hold onto the fantasy that all is well for just a bit longer.
Then again, maybe I should toss the thing off the hotel balcony, because clearly I’m turning into a raging hypochondriac, and that really can’t be good.
Since none of the options sound appealing, I’m about to head into the kitchen to scope out the mini-bar. At home, I have an emergency stash of frozen Milky Ways, but I’d be happy for even the thawed kind at the moment.
I don’t even get one step before my phone vibrates on the table, signaling an incoming call. I snatch it up, then sag onto the couch when I hear Dr. Cray’s voice asking for me.
“This is Nikki,” I say. “Am I—I mean, is there something wrong with me? Am I sick?”
“Actually, Mrs. Stark, you’re quite healthy.”
I draw a deep, grateful breath, then immediately frown. “Are you sure? The dizziness. And I’ve been so tired lately. Nauseous, too.”
“Your dizziness was caused by the rapid drop in blood pressure, as I—”
“Exactly,” I say. “But why’s my blood pressure off? Please. If something’s wrong, just tell me and get it over with.”
“Slow down. All the symptoms you’ve reported are perfectly normal.”
I shake my head. “No. No, they’re not. Believe me, Dr. Cray, I know how I usually feel, and this isn’t right. I’m not someone who falls asleep in front of the television before nine o’clock, much less just after noon. And dizziness? That’s just weird. Trust me, this isn’t normal. I’ve never felt like this before.”
“I imagine that’s because you haven’t been pregnant before.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Congratulations, Mrs. Stark. You’re going to have a baby.”
5
You’re going to have a baby. Dr. Cray’s words fill my head, random sounds that I can’t quite process and that leave me shaky and confused. I reach for the arm of the couch and hold on, trying to steady myself.
“A baby?” The word feels thick on my tongue. Heavy and unfamiliar. “But that can’t be right. I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.” I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen and got slammed with debilitating cramps.
“I’m sure you know that not every form of birth control is one hundred percent effective. You’re walking proof of that now, Mrs. Stark, because I assure you that pill or not, you are definitely pregnant.”
“How far along am I?”
“Nine, maybe ten weeks based on the level of HCG in your blood.”
“HG—what?”
“A hormone. After an ultrasound, your OB can give you a better idea of how far along you are. Since you gave permission, I spoke with your family doctor, and he’s set you up with an obstetrics appointment next Monday.”
I blink and nod, trying to process that information. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way it usually works, and I can only assume that Damien’s clout is behind this elevated level of medical service. “Um. Okay. Who—”
“His nurse is going to email you all the information. In the meantime . . .”
He continues to talk, but it’s all just noise. Pregnant? How can I be pregnant? I try to think back to my last period, but the truth is, I’ve never paid much attention. I’ve always just dealt with it when it showed up.
Now I wish I’d tracked the days religiously.
Pregnant.
That word rattles around in my head some more.
I’m really going to have a baby? How can that be? I can’t be a mother. I mean, I don’t have the slightest clue how to be a mother.
“Mrs. Stark?” Dr. Cray’s voice breaks through the chatter in my head. “I understand this is a surprise. Do you have any more questions for me?”
“I—” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “No. No, thank you.”
We end the call, and I toss my phone on the couch, then just stand there staring at the cushion as I take deep breaths and try to wrap my head around this unwieldy new reality.
“Nikki.”
Damien’s voice is soft, barely audible, but it’s strong, and I cling to that as I lift my head and turn to face him.
He’s standing in the doorway between the living area and the hall to the suite’s three bedrooms. There’s no expression on his face at all, and I have no idea how long he’s been there, or how much he heard. “What’s going on? Was that the clinic?”
He takes a step toward me, and I see the worry break through the mask of control. “Are you okay?”
Am I? I honestly don’t know. But all I say is, “I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, he remains completely still, his eyes unreadable. Then a wild joy colors his face as he takes a step toward me. “A baby,” he says, his voice filled with awe and wonder. Another step, then another, until he is right in front of me. I expect him to pull me into a hug. To kiss my face, my mouth. To hold me so tightly in his embrace that there’s no room for fear or doubt.
But he does none of that.
Instead, he drops to his knees in front of me and presses a kiss to my belly. His shoulders rise and fall as he draws in deep breaths, obviously trying to control himself.
For a moment, he simply clings to me. Then he tilts his head back to look at me. “A baby? Really?” His voice is so thick with emotion that it chips away at the numbness that has overwhelmed me. “We’re seriously having a baby?”
