So much better than my exes, for sure.
Setting my phone next to the kettle, I spend the next hour cleaning out the kitchen until I run out of trash bags.
The cupboards were filled with junk and packaging stuffed to the back rather than thrown in the trash, countless take-out containers, and there was stuff growing in the fridge that I could barely stomach to look at.
But just like the living room, the kitchen is like a different room by the time I finish and take a break with a bottle of water I brought with me.
As I drink, my phone rings again, but it’s an unknown number that flashes on the screen.
Cautious, I answer and wait a few seconds before speaking. “Hello?”
“Miss Montoya?”
“Mhm?”
“It’s Abby, the nurse you spoke to a couple of days ago?”
“Oh!” Tension bleeds from my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize your number.”
“No problem. I was waiting for you to call me but when you didn’t, I thought I should reach out.”
In a flash of horror, I’m struck by the fear that she’s found something wrong with me and sleeping with Xander has just become the worst mistake of my life.
“Call you?” My brow lifts faintly and I think back to that conversation in her office.
She told me everything was fine, and the follow-up wasn’t for a month. “I needed to call you?”
“Yes, didn’t you read through the results in the email I sent you?”
“Oh, yes!” I take a quick mouthful of water as once again, relief floods through me. “I did. I saw I was all clear on everything. I’m sorry, I didn’t think I had to call to confirm that?”
“It was more about the other results that I was concerned about. With your iron being so low and the lack of supplements that you’re on, the prenatal vitamins I recommended would get you back on track quickly.”
My blood runs cold and a soft scoff escapes past my parted lips. “I’m sorry, what?”
“They’re only available on prescription, but I already checked with HR and our insurance covers them, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’d really like you to come in and get a scan because I couldn’t find anything on file for you about your pregnancy, unless you went to a different doctor?”
“Hold on—I’m sorry, just give me a sec?—”
What on earth is she talking about?
My fingers tremble as I scramble through the apps on my phone to my emails, then scroll quickly to find the one she sent.
I’d only skimmed it when it came through and read everything I thought was important, but not once did I see something about apregnancy.
I find the email and as I stare at it, my heart pounds faster and faster until my chest is a blur of aching sensations.
There in black and white is the proof.
“You test for that?” I ask hoarsely, frozen in place.
“When someone is injured the way you were, we test for a lot of things because any given illness that you could contract needs medication that can affect other things going on in your body.
For example, if you were positive for HIV, then the medication we’d place you on would be dictated by your pregnancy.”
My pregnancy.
I’m pregnant.
