“You look,” she stammers, nervously. Keeping her eyes diverted to the test on top of the vanity, she draws her lip between her teeth again. With a nod, I swallow the lump in my throat and turn. Lifting the test in my hand, I hear Lacey exhale sharply behind me.
“Well, what does it say?”
I hear her and when she wraps her arms around my waist, I feel her too. But I don’t look at her and I don’t answer her question.
“Blackie?”
All I can do is stare at the two pink lines.
Two.
Pink.
Lines.
The smile she brought back many years ago, creeps across my lips and I turn to her, blinking away my own tears as I stare into her hopeful eyes.
“Bl—”
“It’s positive.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lacey
From the second those two pink lines appeared, I was on an emotional rollercoaster and for the first time in my life, none of it had anything to do with my maker. There was a new conductor on the crazy train, and it went by the name of hormones. As weird as it sounds, realizing I wasn’t falling into a depression, that the exhaustion and nausea I felt weren’t repercussions of my meds not working, made me feel free.
I was just a normal expectant mother fielding morning sickness and hormones. One minute I was throwing up, the next I was laying in bed with my husband trying to imagine if our baby would have his eyes or mine. Sure, I was upset over losing my job, but I chose to look at the brighter side of things and not working would give me more time to prepare for our baby. It would also allow me to spend more time with Blackie before the baby got here. I suppose there’s a reason they call babies, bundles of joy.
They change everything.
They make the sadness slip away and the consuming doubt disintegrate to dust.
For me, the moment I found out I was pregnant my every happiness became centered around the miracle growing inside of me. My heart felt so full, I feared it might explode and I knew Blackie felt the same.
The way he looked at me—well, it was nothing like anything I’ve ever experienced before. I’ve always felt his love for me, but this was different. It was more intense. I was the mother of his child and he didn’t just love me; he cherished me.
Life hadn’t always been kind to us, but here we were, recipients of one of God’s greatest blessings, living a dream we weren’t sure we deserved. I think that’s why we decided to keep our pregnancy to ourselves for the time being. It wasn’t so much that we were anticipating something would go wrong but more that we wanted our happiness to remain unscathed by our daily lives. If no one knew, no one could poke our blissful bubble.
At least that’s what we thought.
Four days after I took the test, the bubble burst. Life started to push through, stampeding on our happiness as it often does. There was something going on with the club and I knew better than to ask about the drama. Not only would it be a waste of time, but I really didn’t want to know. Whatever was happening had Blackie stressed and gone for the greater part of the last three days. With my rock and voice of reason not around to filter out the seeds of doubt my maker planted, I began to lose my mind a little.
I assumed the cramps I was feeling were signs of a miscarriage and not implantation and went as far as buying a dozen pregnancy tests. Every morning I woke up alone, I took a test just to confirm I was still pregnant. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself and I started counting down the days until my doctor’s appointment, hoping once my pregnancy was confirmed I’d stop acting like a crazy lady.
Sadly, that was just the beginning of my downward spiral. This morning, I called Blackie to remind him of our doctor’s appointment and he didn’t answer. Instead of drawing a logical conclusion, I assumed the worst.
He overdosed.
He had an accident.
He’s dead in the street somewhere.
Every horrific scenario played out in my mind until he called me back, assuring me he would meet me at the doctor’s office. I didn’t tell him I was having a breakdown and after we hung up, I forced myself to recall the moment he turned to me and told me I was pregnant.
I let the memories of that happiness and the excitement of today’s appointment carry me through the rest of the morning. Not only will the doctor confirm my pregnancy, but we’ll also learn just how far along I am and depending on that, we might even be able to see our baby for the first time.
Exciting stuff.
Or it would be if Blackie was actually here. It was taking everything in me not to think of those morbid scenarios again. Every. Fucking. Thing.
“Mrs. Petra?”
Tearing my eyes away from the ticking clock, I focus on the nurse calling my name and force a smile.
He’s fine.
He’s just running late.
He will be here.
Rising from the chair, I take a deep breath and follow the nurse into the examining room. She tests the sample of urine I gave when I first checked in and moves it to the side before logging my weight and blood pressure. Next, she hands me a paper gown and tells me to remove everything from the waist down. Once she leaves the room, I reach into my purse and call Blackie. It rings six times before going to voicemail and I leave another message.
“Hey, it’s me….again…They brought me into the exam room so I’m just waiting for the doctor. I hope you make it in time.”
Please don’t be dead.
I hear something shuffle outside the door and I quickly end the call, shoving the phone back in my purse before changing into the gown as instructed. After I figure out how to tie the damn thing around my waist, I hop onto the exam table and cross my legs.
I try to distract my overactive mind by staring at a poster on the wall that explains the woman’s reproductive system. Of course, that doesn’t do the trick and I find myself playing with the stirrups at the end of the table.
I’ve never been a big fan of doctors, especially gynecologists. I mean, let’s be real, it’s embarrassing as fuck to have a man you hardly know make small talk while his head is between your legs and his hand is up your vagina.
How’s the weather?
Great, how’s everything down there?
Yeah, awkward…
A knock sounds on the door before it opens. Expecting the doctor, I’m surprised when my husband enters the room. The sight of him should flood me with relief but as I take in his ragged appearance, all I can do is worry.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says.
Pushing his hair away from his face, I notice the few days growth that covers his handsome features and the dark circles plaguing his eyes. He leans in to kiss me and the scent of motor oil wafts past my nose.
“I didn’t miss the doctor, did I?” he questions, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as he searches my eyes.
“No,” I reply, shaking the grim thoughts from my head. “Is everything okay? I tried—”
“Yeah, baby, everything is okay,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine. Lifting my hand, he brushes his lips across my knuckles. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home. There’s some shit that needs my attention,” he mutters, pausing to draw in a deep breath. “It’ll all be over soon.”