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I shot Birdie a warning look that told her to behave as I sat up straighter in my chair and clutched my purse against me.
“Would you mind getting on the table?” the doctor asked as she looked over my chart and typed in some notes.
I did as she asked, and she went about the process of lifting my shirt and applying some goop to my stomach, explaining that she was performing an ultrasound. Naturally, I assumed that I must have had a tumor or something equally nasty growing in there, and I was so tense I couldn’t relax even though she’d told me to several times.
“Did you find anything?” I wheezed.
A whooshing sound filled the room at a steady interval as she paused. “Yes, I did. Congratulations.”
“Excuse me?”
She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and glanced at me briefly. “You’re having a baby.”
A dry cough got lodged in my throat when I tried to process what she’d just said. “Inside me?”
“That’s usually where babies grow,” she mused.
I looked at Birdie, who had gone white as a sheet, and I could only imagine that I must look the same right now.
“When?”
She moved the wand around a few more times, pausing over the grainy image on the screen before she formulated an answer.
“I’d say you’re about two months along at this stage, which would explain the dizziness. It’s very common in the first trimester.”
“Oh.”
It was the only thing I could manage to get out as she cleaned me up and instructed me to sit up. I felt like my head was underwater when the doctor explained the follow-up appointment and blood tests and all the things that happened next when you were diagnosed with having another human growing inside you.
I barely heard a word of it until she sat down and examined me from her stool. “The other symptoms you described initially could be pregnancy related,” she said. “But they sound more like anxiety. Do you have any history of anxiety?”
Only every second of every day. And now more of a reason than ever, though it felt like my anxiety was about to bleed into a full-on panic attack. My heart pounded against my chest in time to the word.
Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
All I could think about was Lucian’s face at that picnic. The kid with the toy gun. He told me how he couldn’t look at children anymore because they reminded him of Dawson. My heart was sinking in my chest as I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to hold it together.
He didn’t want a baby. He’d been down this road before, and it all ended so horribly, I couldn’t blame him. But I had to wonder why he’d never even mentioned birth control. It gave me another reason to hate him, which I’d been carefully storing up in my arsenal for the inevitable moment when he would tell me our marriage was over and it was time to say goodbye.
But I didn’t want to hate him. And I couldn’t hate this situation, no matter how much he might not like it. I was irresponsible too. We both were. And this was what happened when you played with fire.
We both got burned.
“Gypsy?”
I looked at the doctor and tried to shake myself out of it, but Birdie was the one to answer.
“She’s always been anxious. She has panic attacks sometimes, and she worries too much. She imagines every worst-case scenario, and she’s overly protective—”
“All right, Birdie.” I glared. “She gets it.”
The doctor nodded and scribbled down some notes before returning her gaze to me. “We have several options to cope with anxiety during pregnancy. There are some low-risk prescriptions available, but I’m hesitant to write you a script if it’s not necessary. I’d prefer that you see a therapist first to employ some behavioral therapies instead.”
“I already have a therapist,” I told her.
Birdie arched her brow at me, doubtful, but it was a half-truth. Father Hawk was like my therapist, and even if he wasn’t medically qualified, he did help to ease my anxiety. I already knew that when I had a spare moment to speak with him, that was the first place I’d be going.
“Great,” the doctor answered. “I’ll just need their name.”
“Cristian Hawk,” I replied quietly.
Her eyebrows pinched together as she scribbled down the name. “All right. I’d like you to see him on a weekly basis for the time being, and we can go over any additional treatment plans at your follow-up visit.”
I nodded, and it felt as though cement weighed me down against the table.
“Any other questions?” the doctor asked.
I offered her a pacifying smile. “Nope. I think we’re good.”
“YOU CAN’T TELL LUCIAN.”
Birdie looked at me from the passenger seat. “I thought you weren’t having sex with him.”
I did not want to have this conversation with my sister. We didn’t have the normal introduction to the birds and the bees, and it was a topic we’d both avoided at all costs for most of our life. At least with each other.
