I walked up to the receptionist, who sat behind her organized desk, busily typing on her computer. She looked up and gave me a warm smile that I tried to return even though I had a queasy feeling creeping over me.
Don’t throw up on her. Don’t throw up on the doctor.
“Hello there. How may I help you?” she asked with a slight Southern drawl.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Spellman at one-fifteen,” I said, chewing the inside of my cheek nervously.
“Ahh, here you are. Gabriella, is it?” she asked, her eyes on the computer screen.
“Mhmm.”
“Perfect. I do have some new patient paperwork to give to you.” She slid over a clipboard with several pages. “You can just take a seat and fill it out, please.”
I thanked her and took the clipboard from her, plucking a pen from a glass jar. I settled into a chair and began reading over the paperwork. It was the usual new patient form, providing my name, address, age, insurance. Then it becamereal.It asked questions about my current sexual situation. I wished there wasa check box for ‘it’s complicated.’ I answered as best as I could, skipping over the part that asked about the father.
A few minutes later, I handed the receptionist the clipboard of filled out paperwork and was soon called back by a nurse practitioner in pink scrubs. The next twenty minutes were a blur of peeing in a cup, getting my blood pressure taken, stepping on a scale, and anything else she asked of me. The whole time I felt like I was on the verge of throwing up, but I wasn’t sure it was nerves or morning sickness.
Finally, the doctor came in. She was a short woman with dark hair cut into a pixie cut that suited her small face. She wore a smart white blazer and black slacks, and was carrying my clipboard of missing information. I swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn’t ask questions.
“Gabriella, it’s so nice to meet you.” She held out her well-manicured hand. “I am Dr. Spellman.”
I shook her hand and mustered up a friendly “hello.”
“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you because you are, in fact, pregnant.” She smiled warmly, giving my hand a squeeze before glancing down at the paperwork.
“H-how long?” I asked.
“About six weeks,” she said.
Six weeks. I had been pregnant for six weeks already. I did the quick mental math and realized it must have happened the night of the gala, the first night we had sex. I cursed Chandler for having such strong swimmers, and I cursed myself for being so reckless. In our fit of rage and passion, we didn’t use protection, and this was where it had gotten me. I felt hot tears forming in the backs of my eyes over my total lapse of judgment that night.
Dr. Spellman put her hand gently on my shoulder, and gave me a reassuring nod. “I know it can be a lot,” she said softly. “But I’m here if you have any questions.”
“Thank you,” I said, wiping a tear away.
“Do you have a good support system?” she asked. “I have resources if you need.”
She must have seen the blank section of the paperwork.
“I do,” I said, nodding. I had my friends, and they were really the only ones I could turn to right now. My family was out of the question, and I hadn’t decided how or if I was going to tell Chandler.
“Good. Now, I’ll need to see you back here in two weeks so we can do your first ultrasound and see how things are progressing. You can set up your appointment up front.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice hardly above a whisper as my world felt like it began to close in on me with the promise of ultrasounds,sonograms, heartbeats, and more appointments. This was just the beginning. A beginning I wasn’t sure I wanted.
“Well, I’ll let you be. Take as much time as you need in here,” said Dr. Spellman, heading for the door. When she slipped through it, I quickly gathered my things, eager to get the hell out of there.
Down on the curb, I hailed a cab and told him my address. I couldn’t go back to the office. I didn’t care how pissed off Chandler would be. I needed time to process everything. The ride home was thankfully fast and soon I was curled up in a ball on the couch with a large bowl on the floor next to me in case I needed to hurl.
Feeling numb, I stared out at my living room. I couldn’t believe I was pregnant, and with Chandler’s baby of all people. Becoming a mother wasn’t something I was anticipating until much later, after I had accomplished everything I had been working toward. It certainly wasn’t something I had planned on happening now with a man who could hardly stand me, and vice versa. It was a heartbreaking thought.
I didn’t want to bring a baby into this world when its parents could hardly ever be in a room without tearing each other’s heads (or clothes) off. That wasn’t healthy. I didn’t see a world where we learned to be nice to each other, even if it was just to co-parent. The whole thing seemed so surreal. I couldn’t believe I had to even think about these things.
How was I supposed to work with him when I was carrying this big of a secret?
How was I supposed to keep this from my father?
I shuddered at the thought. He would have questions, and he sure as hell was not going to like my answer. If he found out Chandler and I had been secretly hooking up, my chances of being CEO would be gone with a snap of a finger. Even worse, my father would never trust me again. I didn’t even want to know what it would mean for Chandler.
