I arrive with three minutes to spare, my hair escaping its ponytail, with a light sheen of sweat on my forehead despite the air conditioning.
Tucker's already in the waiting room.
Of course he is.
He's sitting in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, dressed in khakis and a navy polo that brings out the color of his eyes. His hair is neat, like he actually made an effort instead of just rolling out of bed. And there's a small bag at his feet—fabric, reusable, the kind of tote bag someone's mother would give them.
He stands when he sees me, his expression somewhere between nervous and hopeful.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi." I clutch my purse strap, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look compared to his put-together appearance. “I guess I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
“I told you, Sloane. I’m stepping up.” He picks up the bag. "I,uh, brought some things. My dad said they helped my mom when she was pregnant. Also, I told my dad.”
I peer inside the bag as he holds it open. Ginger ale. Shortbread cookies. Small packets of lavender candies. A tin of peppermint tea.
"I wasn't sure what would help," he continues, his words coming faster now, nervous. "So, I just got everything Dad suggested. The ginger is supposed to be good for nausea, and the lavender is calming, or something? And the shortbread is just... I don't know, easy on the stomach?"
The gesture is so unexpectedly thoughtful that I don't know what to say. Josh would have shown up empty-handed, irritated by having to rearrange his schedule. I really need to stop comparing Tucker to Josh. Or thinking about Josh at all.
"Thank you," I manage. "That's... really thoughtful."
"Sloane Campbell?” A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand.
Tucker looks at me. "Is it okay if I come back?"
I want to say no. Want to keep this boundary firmly in place. But something about the bag of ginger ale and cookies, about the effort he clearly put into being here, makes me nod.
"Okay."
The exam room is small and sterile, with motivational posters about prenatal vitamins and the importance of hydration. The nurse takes my vitals and asks routine questions about my last period and any symptoms I've been experiencing.
"Nausea, fatigue, food aversions," I list off, very aware of Tucker sitting in the corner, listening to every word.
"All completely normal for early pregnancy," the nurse assures me. "Dr. Patel will be in shortly. Go ahead and undress from the waist down, and you can put this sheet over your lap.”
When she leaves, Tucker and I sit in silence. The exam table crinkles every time I shift position. The clock on the wall ticks too loudly.
He clears his throat. “Should I step out while you …” He twirls a finger at the sheet.
I shake my head and toss the cloth on my lap as I wriggle out of my pants and underwear. No sense trying to be modest with the man who is deeply familiar with my anatomy at this point. But it’s easy enough to cover up with the sheet.
"Are you scared?" Tucker asks, finally.
"Terrified," I admit. "I don't know how to do this. Any of this."
"Join the club."
I look at him, really look at him. He seems smaller in this medical office, less like the confident hockey player and more like... just a guy. A scared guy who has no idea what he's doing.
“I have never even met my father," I say quietly. "And my grandma did her best raising me, but she was exhausted all the time. I remember her falling asleep at the kitchen table, still in her work uniform." I twist my hands in my lap. "I don't know how to do this without becoming her. Without sacrificing everything until there's nothing left of me."
"You have resources she didn't," Tucker points out gently. “Me. Money. Support. You're not alone in this, Sloane. Even if you don't want me romantically, even if we're just co-parents—you're not alone. This baby has a family.”
"I don't know what that looks like," I confess. "My whole life, it's just been me and my grandmother until she died. Then Josh and I, but that was just... him making decisions and me going along with them. I've never had people. A network. I don't even know what that means."
Tucker leans forward, elbows on his knees. "It means my mom will probably show up with casseroles. It means ten Stag cousins will be so excited to play uncle, they'll probably drive you crazy. It means you'll have so many babysitters you won't know what to do with yourself."
