“Were you guys living in Chicago at the time?” I ask, remembering he said he was originally from there.
“Yeah. My dad was actually getting his PhD and just graduated when my mom got pregnant. They had zero money and were living in student housing when dad got a job as a TA at his college, and when he graduated, he did get a full-time teaching job there, but it was barely enough to cover the bills.”
The barista calls our names and I pop up to go grab our drinks.
“They didn’t mean to get pregnant with me, actually. After my mom’s last miscarriage, they’d planned to let him finish school and get a job—save up and all that—but it didn’t happen that way. Anyway, dad had a few jobs to make ends meet, and after I was born and a few years old, he ended up getting a professor position at the University of Chicago, which was his dream.”
“Teaching linguistics?”
He nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeah. But then my mom got into a horrible car accident in which she almost died.”
“Oh God,” my hand goes to my chest. “I had no idea.”
“Dad was obviously beside himself, basically being a single dad to a toddler at this point—teaching and trying to be at the hospital as much as possible. My mom broke several major bones, including her pelvis. Several of her organs were also lacerated, including her uterus, which is why I’m an only child.”
I choke down the huge lump in my throat. I’m just imagining what it would be like to see my own mom go through that, and it has me almost in tears at the thought.
“Is that why you became a doctor? Because you wanted to save people?”
He nods his head slowly as if he’s contemplating his response. “I think so. I knew from a really young age that I wanted to go into medicine, and honestly, that desire never wavered. Even though my dad had a good job and health insurance, the medical bills were astronomical, and because he insisted on getting her the best care and rehabilitation services, they only continued to compound. My dad made good money, but we never lived like it because we were so in debt from the accident.”
“Could you have sued? I know that’s not always the answer, but at least to cover medical expenses?”
“No, she hit black ice in Chicago and went over one of the bridges, so no one was technically at fault. We lived very conservatively, because he didn’t want to leave either of us with any debt from that accident. When he passed, his life insurance covered the remaining balance and even left a nice nest egg for my mom to live off of. She paid off that townhome and she gets his retirement and social security.”
He takes a deep breath before continuing and I squeeze his hand in support.
“Anyway, my dad got offered the chair of the linguistics department here in Denver just before my 10th birthday, so he accepted and we moved out here and the rest is history. We spent so much time camping, hiking, fishing, hunting—you name it—in these Rocky Mountains. Dad’s favorite thing to do was to go moose and elk spotting in the fall in Telluride.”
Tears sit on the brim of his eyes but they never fall. He chuckles, shaking his head.
“What?”
“He always taught me something new on those trips. Sometimes it was about a moose we’d see or a tree or different river currents. I swear, that man was a walking textbook. He lived and breathed knowledge and learning.”
“I bet he was crazy proud of you then.” I smile up at him, resting my hand on his chest.
“Yeah, he was. When he was diagnosed with dementia, it was an immediate death sentence for him.” A crease forms between his brows as he relives something in his head.
“It was like overnight, he was somebody I didn’t know. That was probably the hardest thing: seeing a man who was always so sharp and academically gifted turn into a shell of himself.”
Silence settles between us for a while as we sip our coffee and stare out the window watching one rain droplet run into another on the glass.
“That’s what I want to do,” he says, breaking the silence.
“What?” I’m confused.
“I want to take my kids out, show them all the things my dad showed me. Teach them all the things I still remember from him.”
“I know you’ll be an amazing father just like him.” I lean in and kiss him softly. His eyes fall from mine down to my belly, his hand reaching out to rest against it.
“Speaking of which, did you ever put your birth control back in?”
Panic grips me. “No, actually,” I say, a little shocked at my lack of attentiveness to that detail. “I guess I got so busy with the opening of the studio after the night of the soft launch that I just completely forgot.”
“Have you taken a test?”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t think about it. My period was all messed up after the miscarriage. I had a few days of spotting here and there.”
He removes my legs from his lap, standing up and reaching a hand down to grab mine.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To get a pregnancy test,” he says matter-of-factly.
I pull my hand away, startling him.
“No.”
He looks at me questioningly.
“I’m not . . . ready to know.”
He steps toward me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Sweetheart, I know you’re scared to go through that again, but you’re not alone and you never will be. I’m here with you through this, okay? If you are pregnant, we need to know so we can be proactive about it this time.”
I nod my head slowly. I know he’s right, but I’m just so scared to get my hopes up again. I put my hand back in his and we walk across the street to the drugstore.
“How many do I need?” I ask, almost to myself.
Grant grabs one of each brand. “Just to be sure,” he says. “Plus if this one isn’t positive, we’ll need backups for the future.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Still on the ‘getting Leigh knocked up as soon as possible’ train?”
He stares at me then his eyes drop down to my breasts and he narrows his gaze.
“Be a little more obvious.” I pull my jacket closed, but he shoves the tests in my hands as he opens my jacket back up. “What are you doing?” I glance around, making sure we’re alone in the aisle as he cups my breasts.
“They feel fuller. You have any tenderness?” he asks, squeezing them softly as he runs his thumbs over my nipples.
“Uhh, umm . . .” I can’t focus thanks to the sensation shooting between my thighs right now.
“Sorry,” he chuckles, realizing what he’s doing to me before removing his hands from my breasts and taking the tests from my hands.
“I am a doctor, sweetheart. I notice things.”
“Okay, you’re not an obstetrician. Calm down; you can’t sniff out pregnancy,” I whisper as I shove him down the aisle.
We make our way back to Grant’s condo, my mind racing the entire way. He reaches across the console and places his hand firmly on my thigh, my anxiety palpable in the car.
I feel like the echoes of our steps through the parking garage are too loud, and even our breathing in the elevator feels louder than normal. I can feel my pulse racing in my neck.
I rush to grab a glass of water the moment we’re inside, my hand shaking as I bring it to my lips. I look over at Grant, who’s standing on the far edge of the kitchen by the hallway, waiting for me. I walk over to him and he places his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward his room, the bag of tests in his other hand.