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It was that “into the future” part that was particularly at play that night. Because it wasn’t just our relationship that we needed to discuss. I still had that piece of paper shoved out of sight in a drawer, and it needed to be brought out.
I hadn’t told a single soul about that piece of paper yet. The only ones who knew about it other than me were the nurse and the doctor. When I went in for my checkup to make sure I really was ready to go back to work and to talk about the symptoms I’d developed, my doctor brought up a possibility I hadn’t even considered.
It hadn’t gone through my mind for even a second. Not even a flicker at the corner of my subconscious. Not even a fleeting rumination while staring out a window or waiting in traffic or sitting through a boring commercial. Not once while I was dealing with the extra tiredness, the sensitive stomach, and the daily afternoon headaches did it occur to me that there was a simple explanation that didn’t involve coming into contact with any germs.
Pregnancy.
This didn’t feel anything like my pregnancy with Olly, and even more than that, I didn’t think there was any chance it could happen. I made sure to bring that up to the doctor, asking how it could be possible and underscoring the fact that I was on good birth control. She, of course, knew that because she had been the one to prescribe it to me.
We’d chosen a strong method because after giving birth to Olly, my periods came back with a vengeance. They didn’t even have the decency to wait until my checkup. I suddenly got hit with crippling cramps, horrible headaches, exhaustion, and weakness that were nothing like the periods I’d always had. The doctor told me pregnancy and childbirth change the body so much they can actually change a woman’s experience with her cycle.
After a few months without it settling back to normal, she suggested strong birth control to help regulate my body and keep the symptoms tolerable. It worked extremely well for making me feel better every month, but apparently not so much when it came to its actual, intended, clinical purpose.
How could I be pregnant?
How could the preventative have failed?
As it turned out, it all came down to my accident. Not that the tree hitting me created some sort of suddenly fertile moment, but it did cause a cut deep and gnarly enough the doctors at the emergency room decided I needed powerful antibiotics so I wouldn’t get an infection. I didn’t get an infection, but I also didn’t get protected from pregnancy for the rest of the month.
Part of me felt absolutely ridiculous that I didn’t know antibiotics essentially nullified birth control pills. That seemed like something I should know. I was a grown-ass woman.
Yet, I’d had no idea. Perhaps I should have read that little pamphlet included with my prescription a bit more closely. Perhaps I should have done a lot of things differently.
But none of them mattered now. The reality was I was pregnant. It wasn’t a hunch. The doctor didn’t just think there was a chance. She was completely positive, and the paper with the blood test results stuffed in the drawer was the evidence. I was carrying Finn’s child and didn’t exactly know what we were going to do about it.
That was supposed to be the focus of a big portion of our conversation over dinner that night. The plan was that I’d tell him about work, then transition into talking about our relationship. Once we’d hashed out how we felt about each other and what we thought might happen in our future, I’d tell him about the baby.
Only, the night wasn’t unfolding the way I thought it would. So, I didn’t tell him. I was too busy feeling like I was flailing around trying to save the shipwreck of a conversation we were attempting to have. Right from the moment he came inside, everything felt awkward and strained. Something was off. We couldn’t seem to find our stride, and that continued on through the conversation during dinner.
It never really got better, with each of us saying things that upset the other, nearly getting into arguments a couple of times, and just overall stumbling over each other. We ended the meal with a slice of pie served with a big dollop of funk.
We didn’t even finish them before Finn brought his plate over to the sink.
“I should probably head home. You should get some rest to gear up for heading back to work,” he said.
I didn’t argue with him. He gave me a quick kiss at the door, and that was it before he headed down the porch steps and climbed into his car. I watched him drive away and wondered if maybe I’d been wrong about him. Maybe he might have been like Trip after all.
