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“That’s good. Does he understand the risks involved?”
“He does. We talked about my pregnancy history.”
“Okay.” She smiles softly. “This is something you’ve wanted for a long time, so I’m glad you have a supportive partner.”
“I’m aware this pregnancy will be my last,” I say.
“You are in great shape physically, Hanna, which is positive, so let’s make sure everything else looks good and we can start planning from there. I’m keeping an eye on your blood pressure, though, since it’s higher than I’d like.”
We spend the next half hour reviewing all the risk factors, setting up my ultrasound for the following week, and then I stop at the lab to have my blood work done.
I leave the office feeling slightly more hopeful, but I’m highly aware that the next several weeks are critical.
Reducing work stress might prove to be a challenge. Especially with my promotion on the table. Although this baby could impact that. It’s not easy to give a promotion to someone when they’re about to take a maternity leave. And I already know that my company only gives new mothers twelve weeks.
That seems woefully inadequate.
One thing at a time, though.
Schedule appointments. Record them in my shared calendar with Jake. Blood work. Talk to Jake. Then meetings. Then Paxton.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
So This Thing Happened
Hanna
ON THE WAY home, I call Jake and put him on speakerphone so I can fill him in on what the doctor said and reassure him that apart from slightly raised blood pressure I’m doing well so far.
“What’s slightly raised?” he asks.
“The low one-thirties over the high eighties.”
“What are the implications of that?”
“As of now? None. But I had a bunch of blood tests to make sure everything is normal. And I have an ultrasound scheduled for next Monday—”
“I saw that on the calendar. I’ve already scheduled a flight for Sunday night so I can be there. I’m going to book a hotel close to the ultrasound clinic.”
“Wow. Okay. That’s good.” I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised. Jake wants to be involved, and I appreciate that, as nervous as it makes me. “But you don’t have to stay at a hotel.”
“I didn’t want to make assumptions or make you uncomfortable.”
We had that nap on Sunday morning, and when I woke up, Jake was wrapped around me like he often was when we were sleeping together for all those months. I had to slide out from under him, not wanting to disturb him when it became apparent my bladder wasn’t going to wait for him to wake up. I’ve missed that, and I’m not sure how I’ll feel if he stays at my house in the spare bedroom. But having him in a hotel would feel worse, so I offer, but give him an out. “You staying with me wouldn’t make me uncomfortable, Jake. But if you think it’s better . . .” I trail off, letting the sentence hang.
“I want to do whatever is easiest for you,” he replies.
We’ll have more time to talk things through, and it would be nice to have the support, even if I struggle with wanting it. “Why don’t you stay here then? With me.”
“You’re sure?” I can hear the relief in his tone.
“I’m sure.”
We chat for a few more minutes and end the call with the promise to talk soon.
I spend my afternoon on calls with clients, my nerves building as I wait for Paxton to show up.
She arrives at five-fifteen with takeout from Franco’s, my favorite Italian restaurant. I’m grateful for the pasta Bolognese, because there is no way I can handle eating anything with cream sauce right now. “Sorry, they were out of the deluxe mac and cheese, which sounds unbelievable, but apparently an entire hockey team came through an hour before I ordered takeout and cleaned them right out.”
“I can see how that might happen.”
“I also brought a bottle of red to go with the pasta because I figured you’d only have white.”
“Also a safe call.” I take the bottle of wine from her and she follows me to the kitchen.
We plate our dinners, and she unscrews the cap on the bottle and grabs two wine glasses. I don’t stop her, mostly because I want her to be sitting down when I deliver the news. I even let her get as far as pouring me a glass. That I won’t be able to drink for a lot of months.
Paxton props her feet onto the coffee table and flips her long black hair over her shoulder, dark eyes alight with excitement. “How was the weekend? How were things with Hottie McDaddy?”
That nickname has new meaning now. I set my plate onto the coffee table. The good thing about Franco’s is that it’s even better the next day, so if I can’t eat it now, I can definitely enjoy it later. “I have to tell you something.”
