“Girl, it’s July! You sure you're board-certified?”
Sucking my teeth, I stared at the screen—the little pink dots marking the week in March when I had my period. Nothing after that. My stomach dropped straight to my ass, and my chest tightened.
“Maybe I forgot to mark the next one,” I said weakly.
“And the three after that, too?” Amber asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Amber, please! I’m already freaking the fuck out. How the fuck could I be so fucking stupid? Iknowbetter. Iknewbetter. Oh fuck.” The words tumbled out in rapid breaths, each one sharper than the last. If my head wasn’t already hurting, the shit wasthrobbingnow.
“Aye. Look at me,” Amber said, standing and closing the space between us and taking both of my hands firmly in hers. Her voice lost all the jokes, all the theatrics—just warmth. “I was joking, okay? Is this a scary situation? Yes. But is it one we can handle together? Absolutely. Whatever happens, we figure out what’s best for Mahasin. Don’t beat yourself up. I got you.”
I exhaled hard, but my chest still felt tight.
“Yeah… you’re right. I’m fine.” I lied.
I moved through the rest of the afternoon on autopilot. Every time I measured a belly, checked a cervix, or shared myBeethoven’s Baby Geniusplaylist—because who didn’t want their unborn listening to the genius that is Beethoven—I found myself clenching my eyes shut. Would this be me soon? Watching my belly grow, putting headphones on my stomach tosoothe my unborn with classical music, and praying somehow it made him or her a genius? And was it even physically possible for me to check myowncervix?
“Dr. St. James?” My client’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You were saying?”
I cleared my throat. “Oh, right—sorry. The baby is completely turned, so it’s time for you to start modified yoga,” I said, regaining my composure. “Take your time getting cleaned up, and while you’re scheduling your next appointment up front, grab a pampering brochure to pick your complimentary luxury service for months eight and nine.”
“Thank you, Dr. St. James. I’ll see you next time!”
I smiled and waved goodbye before heading straight to my office. The second the door shut, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath all day—because honestly, I had. Looking at myself in the full-length mirror, I unconsciously rubbed my small yet slightly protruding stomach.How did I not notice the difference in my body?
Was I ready to be someone’s mother? Hell, I’d had unprotected sex with a man I barely knew, failed to track my period, and didn’t feel one single change in my body. Clearly, I wasn’t even capable of being a responsible adult, let alone someone’s parent. No. God wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t give me the dating track record of Taylor Swiftandmake me a baby mama from a one-night stand. Would he?
My chest tightened, and I started hyperventilating at the thought. My grandma always said God had a sense of humor—but she never saidI’dbe the punchline. "Calm down, Mahasin", I told myself. You don’t even know if you’re pregnant yet.
Before I could catch my bearings, Amber came bursting into my office. “The last charts signed, and the center is now empty,” she said, running down the checklist. Then her eyebrow arched. “Are we off the clock?”
“Yes, Ambs, we’re off the clock,” I said with a smirk. Knowing her, that “off the clock” clarification was my warning—something ridiculous was about to follow.
Sure enough, she waved a digital pregnancy test she’d clearly swiped from the supply closet. “Well, get your little fast ass in the bathroom and dip this in some of that luxurious piss that comes from that vagina,” she teased. “You already know we arenotgoing home without an answer.”
“Girl, ain’t Creed waiting on you to go to dinner tonight?” I asked, hoping she’d take the hint and leave me—and my pending meltdown—alone.
“Yeah, he is. But a bitch ain’t never been on time any other day. I like to keep my shit consistent.” She whispered the last line like we were conspiring, pushing me—digital test in hand—into the bathroom. “Go on, Ms. Board-Certified. Drop them pants like I’m Gage and tinkle in that cup.”
I sighed. “You’re relentless.”
Amber didn’t take her eyes off me the entire time I peed in the cup. If we weren’t inspecting vaginas all day together, I’d have found her watching me downright weird. She was in her second year of medical school, well on her way to becoming a phenomenal OB-GYN. I mean, she did have the best as her mentor. And now she could label me her test dummy.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this shit at work,” I muttered.
Amber cackled. “You right—maybe we should’ve gone toRYZE, where your night of slutdom began and my little niece or nephew was conceived. And what better place to find out you’re pregnant than thebirthing center you own?”
“Amber, please.”
I finished peeing in the tiny cup and placed it on the floating steel counter. After fixing my clothes and flushing, I felt like my feet had turned to cement. Slowly, I made my way to the counter, removed the test’s plastic cover, and dipped the strip into thecup for the required five seconds. Placing it down gently, as if it might break, I flushed the remaining urine, tossed the cup, and washed and moisturized my hands.
“Why the fuck are these two minutes feeling like twenty?” I huffed, leaning against the wall.
Amber stood by the counter, lips tucked behind a smirk, playfully shaking her head. Before I could curse her out for seeming way too amused, her timer went off.
“I’m going to give you the respect to look at it first before I trot my ass over there,” she said, that smirk still plastered on her face.
I inhaled deeply. Exhaled slowly. Then I peeled myself off the wall and stepped toward the counter. My eyes fell to the digital screen.
