“I wasn’t your doctor before, so I can’t speak to that, but with your medical history we can try to stay on top of this.” She stands, rounds her desk and takes the seat next to me, her hands grabbing hold of mine. “I can’t promise everything will go smoothly, but I can’t promise any of my pregnant patients that. The pills I have in the bag are your prenatal vitamins and the extra folate you need to take.”
It feels like a vise is constricting my chest and I can’t speak for a moment past the lump in my throat. After what feels like forever, I voice the secret I’ve kept to myself for the past five years.
“I thought there was no way I could carry a baby?” I practically whisper.
Her hands squeeze mine. “We’re going to stay on top of it. Give you the extra folate your body needs.”
I want to believe her. I really do. Could the thing that destroyed us, solidify us five years later? I’m just not sure.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dean: Okay, I need the live version of my girl tonight. I’ll order Chinese.
I flip the phone over so it’s upside down on my couch and I can ignore it a little longer. The ultrasound picture lay next to it. The little bean. My hand falls to my stomach. The only plus is I don’t have to tell him that we have to use protection. That ship has sailed. A while later my phone pings with another text and I reluctantly reach for it.
Dean: I’m coming over.
Shit, I knew he wouldn’t keep his distance.
Me: Sorry, I’m with Skylar. A week before the wedding is a hectic time for a bride.
Dean: That’s why we made the right decision to do it in Vegas.
I shake my head and smile.
Me: Well, we were drunk. I’ll call you when I’m done with her.
Dean: No need to call. Just come over. No matter the time.
My gut tells me to trust him with the news. No way it will turn out like it did before. He has changed. But still, that small amount of doubt inside is spreading like a bad rash.
“Not yet.” I touch my stomach. “We’ll tell him when it’s safer. Stay strong little one.”
I rise from the couch, grabbing my computer and search up statistics of successful pregnancies with the MTHFR Mutation. For the rest of the night, I read as much information as I can. I read about women who suffered numerous miscarriages before finally successfully carrying a baby. I read about women who never even knew they had a problem until their second pregnancy. I’m obsessed with getting as much information as I can about my situation. At the end of the tearful, hopeful, and devastating stories it looks like I’ve got a fifty-fifty shot of being able to carry this child to term.
A knock lands on my door and I slam my laptop lid down like the person can see through my door and I’ve been caught watching porn. Standing up, I head to the door and glance at the time on my entertainment center, finding it after ten already.
Through the peephole I see Dean, his hand already positioned to knock again.
“Dean?”
I look around my apartment seeing the ultrasound picture on the couch. Running over, I shove it into the first thing I find, my purse.
“Chelsea,” he says, knocking once more.
“I’m coming.” I take the bag of pills from my doctor and drop them behind my couch.
When I open the door, Dean walks in without an invitation—like usual—his gaze taking in every inch of the room.
“Are you okay?” he asks, staring at the pile of Kleenex on my end table.
Shit, I forgot about that.
“Yeah, just reading a sad article online.”
Not a complete lie.
He nears closer to me, his hands running down my arms. “What’s going on with you? I feel like you’re dodging me.”
I shake my head.
Tell him. Just tell him.
“I think I know what this is about.” He smiles like he’s the most brilliant detective there is.
“You do?”
No way he does.
“I know you want your family to like me and with it being Skylar’s wedding it makes you remember us and how horrible it was after we announced our marriage.” He pulls me into his arms, his hands holding my head to his chest. “Don’t worry baby, eventually it will all turn out okay. They’ll accept me. It might be fifty years from now, but it will happen.”
I say nothing, letting him think the assumption he’s made is correct. My mom’s approval can stay shoved up her ass.
My arms tighten around his middle, needing the comfort of his arms. I pray things turn out differently this time around.
“Come on, you look exhausted.” He shelters my hand in his, locks my front door and guides me down the hall. “I’ll even keep my hands to myself tonight.”
We enter my bedroom.
“What about Grover?” I ask.
“He can stay by himself and I’ll run back home before work.” He strips down to his sweatpants, leaving him stark naked.
“Are you going to be able to keep that thing away from me tonight, too?”
He slides under the covers. “I’ll try, but you know he’s got a mind of his own.” He winks, and the news sits at the tip of my tongue.
“Come.” He pats the bed next to him, his hand propped under his chin and holding his head up.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say.
I take off my clothes and pull back the covers. When I slide in, his arm drapes over my stomach, pulling me flush to his chest. “I’m not going to let you hide from me. We face this together.”
My body loses the fight and I sink into his hold, his one hand flat on my belly.
He should know. I should tell him.
Somehow, I just can’t get the words out.
His other hand grabs hold of my breast and I flinch.
“What’s the matter?” he asks. He massages it with his hand and I resist the urge to pull away. “Were you too hard on yourself last night?”
“What?” I ask.
“When I told you to pinch yourself? Are you super sore today?” His voice is low like he doesn’t want to disturb someone else in the apartment.
“A little.” Another lie slips out and more guilt piles on top of me.
His hand falls down and releases my breast. “Sleep baby,” he whispers, his thumb running a small circle around my stomach as though he knows our little bean is in there and he’s soothing it to sleep, too.
Oh Jesus, when did I get so emotional?
Oh yeah, when my hormones went into overdrive to grow a baby inside me.
At least I hope that’s what it’s doing.
The next morning, I’m at my desk. Early because I made up the excuse to Dean that I had an important meeting and I just didn’t have time to have breakfast.
I hear Victoria enter, her footsteps clicking down the hall.
“When I call you, I’d like an answer.” She sits down in the chair across from me.
“Sorry,” I respond, pretending to write down something important.
“What did the doctor say?”
Fuck me. Why didn’t I prepare an answer for her? No way it’s fair if I tell anyone before Dean.