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Apparently these are all hormones and she has a lot of them because of the twin pregnancy. But there’s apparently nothing to worry about because the worse you are, the better your pregnancy is going.
Her doctor’s words, not mine.
Fuck her.
Fuck all the doctors.
In fact, fuck anyone who said pregnancy is a joyous thing.
It’s not. It’s fucking torture.
And the worst part is that it’s not even a torture to me. It’s torture for her and I can’t do anything other than rub her back, buy her oranges and hold her hair when she empties her stomach.
I’ve been so angry about all this that when they tell us — at our week ten appointment — that if we want we can know the sex of our babies with a simple blood test, I refuse.
I tell them I don’t want to, much to my Firefly’s shock.
Because sometimes I feel like I’m angry at them too. At our babies. For making their mommy so sick.
It’s fucking irrational; I know that.
I don’t mean it either.
Because as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I’m left with crippling guilt and remorse.
But the thing is that I can’t see her like this. I can’t see my wife dimmed and dulled out.
Hurting.
Which I know is ironic because when she finds out that she indeed is my wife and her own husband is lying to her, she’s going to get hurt worse than any pregnancy hormones.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I’m fifteen weeks pregnant today.
And today’s the day I’m going to tell my fiancé that I’m having a baby.
Two babies, actually.
Two girls.
Although it hasn’t been confirmed yet. Because we’re choosing not to know.
Well, he is choosing not to know.
The daddy.
Why, I don’t know. When I asked all he said was it doesn’t matter. Which confused me but then later I realized that he was right. It actually doesn’t matter what we’re having because I’ll love them no matter what.
He will too.
In fact I think it’s more fun this way.
We’ll have something good to look forward to in the future. Well, apart from the whole meeting the babies thing. Because we have plenty of bad things happening in the future already.
Or at least I do.
Including this meeting.
A few days ago I got the text that I’ve been dreading for weeks now. It was from Ezra, telling me that he was finally, after months, heading back. And that if I had some time this week, we should meet.
Of course I said yes.
And of course immediately after, my father called me and told me that he was counting on me to bring it home.
So that’s what I’m here to do.
To bring it home at this swanky restaurant in midtown Manhattan. And tell him that what we’d talked about before he left for Korea is actually coming true. Meaning I’m pregnant and we could definitely spin this in his favor and get everyone, including his father, off his back about his sexuality.
That the father of my babies is also going to be involved down the line is not something that I’m going to tell him today. I also understand that there will be press coverage for this, our wedding and my pregnancy etc. But we will figure it all out later and well, that’s why we have PR people, don’t we? I need to first secure my father’s plan and thereby my brother’s future before I rock the boat again.
So with bated breath, I wait for him to arrive.
Only he doesn’t.
At first I think he’s stood me up. But then in a very strange turn of events, there’s a very no-nonsense brunette who seems to have approached my table and taken a seat right across from me before I can even realize what’s happening. In her tight bun and glasses, along with her very formal satchel that she sets down at the table and fishes out a thick file from before putting it on the floor, she looks like someone’s secretary.
A very efficient and capable secretary.
I open my mouth to ask her who she is when she looks up and gives me a curt smile. “Hi, I’m Alice. Mr. Vandekamp’s assistant.”
So bingo.
She is an assistant.
I blink a couple of times before remembering my manners. “Um, hi.”
Before I can even think to ask her what she’s doing here, she tells me, “Mr. Vandekamp has had something urgent come up so he won’t be able to make it. He sends his regrets. But he didn’t want to break the date with you, his fiancée,” she throws me a small formal smile, “so he sent me instead.”
Double bingo.
She is efficient.
I mean, she explained everything to me without me even having to ask.
The only problem is what we’re going to talk about when Ezra is not here.
“Okay,” I say, confused. “I’m not really sure what we’re going to… do though.”
“We can discuss logistics, of course,” she says as if it should be obvious to me.
