“It’s not terribly busy today.” I’m trying to make small talk to calm my nerves. I hate the doctor office. You’d think with all the dozens, if not hundreds, of hours I’ve spent in them over the past three years it wouldn’t bother me.
It does.
“This time of year is usually slow. Especially this week, the week of Christmas.” Kimberly offers a friendly smile at Brynna.
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is my cousin, Brynna.”
“Nice to meet you. Okay, have a seat, the doctor will be right with you.”
“This place gives me the heebs,” Brynna remarks after the nurse leaves. She shivers and looks at a plastic vagina. “What the fuck do they put these things out here for, anyway? I don’t want to see a plastic model of the jay-jay.”
“It’s to scare us into not having sex anymore.”
“It’s working.”
There’s a brief knock on the door, startling Brynna and then the door swings open, and my handsome doctor, Dr. Delicious Wilson briskly walks in the room.
“Thanks for coming in, Stacy.”
“Sure. This is my cousin Brynna.”
“Brynna.” He automatically shakes her hand, not looking up from the chart in his hand. Bryn catches my eye, her own big brown eyes wide and mouths, Holy shit!
I know! I respond.
“So, Stacy, I know we discussed yesterday that the headaches are most likely due to stress, and not related to the minor gestational diabetes that you had in the latter part of your pregnancy.”
“Right,” I nod.
“And that may still very well be the case because your labs are perfectly normal in regards to your blood sugars.”
“Good.” I smile and drape my handbag over my shoulder, expecting to leave with the results of my test.
“However,” he continues and I halt my movements. “You’re pregnant.”
“The fuck?” Brynna mutters and then breaks out into hysterical giggles.
Chapter Nine
I stare at Delicious for a few seconds, my mouth gaping, my eyes wide, and then Brynna’s giggles break through the fog surrounding my brain.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You’re pregnant.”
And just like that, just as the giggles were under control, Brynna lets loose again.
“Has she been drinking?” the doctor asks.
“No. This is just crazy. You might want to double check those lab results, doc. I’m not pregnant.”
“Uh, yeah, you are.”
I’m stunned. I blink at him.
“Only you, Stacy.” Brynna takes a deep breath and wipes a tear from her eye. “Only you would struggle through infertility treatments for three years, finally have a baby, and then get pregnant again right away without even trying.”
“I’ve seen it before,” Doc responds. “Sometimes a woman’s system sort of ‘resets’ itself after a pregnancy, and she’s able to get pregnant right way.”
Huh.
“When was your last menstrual cycle?” he asks.
“I don’t remember. Probably before I got pregnant with Sophie. I just thought my hormones hadn’t leveled out from the pregnancy yet.”
“So you probably got pregnant a couple months ago.”
“Tahiti?” Brynna mutters.
Tahiti.
“Shit, I’ve had alcohol! I wasn’t breast feeding Soph, so I’ve had drinks here and there since Tahiti.”
“More than a few on a daily basis?” he asks.
“No, more like a few a month.”
“You’re fine,” he smiles reassuringly. “You know the drill. Call your OB and set up an ultrasound and consult.”
“So, everything else is okay?” I ask.
“Yep, you’re great. Best of luck to you.”
I stare at Brynna for a minute, my mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water.
“Lunch,” she says and takes my hand, pulling me out of the office. What is it with everyone pulling me all over the place lately?
“I have to take my groceries home and get Sophie.”
“We’ll take your groceries home, put away the perishables, and then go to lunch. Your mom is enjoying Sophie.”
“Okay.”
“Can you drive?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because you’re trying to unlock your car with your lip gloss rather than your key fob.”
I look down at the lip gloss in my hand. “Shit.”
“I’ll drive, we’ll leave my car here, and I’ll have my dad come get it later.”
“Okay.”
“How do you feel?” she asks as we pull in the driveway. I’m still staring numbly ahead in shock.
“Not pregnant.”
“Come on, let’s do this so we can go.”
We quickly unload the bags of groceries from the car to the kitchen and stow all the food that belongs in the freezer or fridge away, and before I know it, we’re back in the car and pulling into a nearby Mexican restaurant.
“We’re getting margaritas.” She grins over at me. “We’ll make yours a virgin.”
“Fuck, no alcohol for another year.”
We’re seated and I greedily dig into the warm basket of tortilla chips and salsa.
“Nothing wrong with your appetite,” Brynna states dryly.
“Shut up.” I eat two more chips and take a sip of my virgin margarita. “This is no margarita.”