“I’m ready,” I whispered, feeling small for the first time in my life.
He spoke slowly and carefully so I could hear him. My hand shook on the pen, forming shaky strokes until the full name and number was on the page.
“Hang in there, Jada,” he said. “I know you’ll make the right next steps for you.”
Once he hung up, I lowered my phone to my side, numbness washing over me. Something was seriously wrong with me. Something bad enough to give me a false positive... or a child to come that would rely on me fordecades.
I curled my hand over my stomach. My waist had never been small, but now I knew there was something under my skin besides an extra layer of fat.
Shame washed over me. I couldn’t even know who the father was without knowing how far along I was. There was no father to call. No one to tell.
Except for Glamma.
My stomach sank. What would she think of me being a single mom? All her prayers involved a husband first. I couldn’t blame her. The rare occasions I allowed myself to dream of a family, a baby always came with a husband and a home with a nursery I could decorate just for my child. There would be a gender reveal and baby showers. An obnoxious amount of baby clothes shopping with Glamma. Not a surprise positive and paternity tests and custody schedules—if I could find the father at all.
A heavy ache formed in my chest as I stood there under the rustling oak tree and tapped out the number Dr. Martins gave me. Within a few rings, a receptionist answered. “Hi, you’ve reached the New Hope Clinic. How can I help you?”
I swayed, feeling faint, and then leaned up against the tree. Lowering my voice, I said, “I had a positive pregnancy test, and Dr. Martins referred me to this clinic for a follow-up.”
After years of navigating the medical system for my grandpa’s oncological care, I hadn’t expected things to happen so fast. But here I was with an early morning appointment for the next day, thanks to a last-minute cancellation. The receptionist said it like that was great news, but as I walked the rest of the way home, I couldn’t help fearing the answers I got tomorrow morning would change my life forever.
“You’re leaving early,” Glamma commented, glancing up at me as she took a sip of her coffee. She always sat at the table in the morning, reading her fashion magazines.
“I have a doctor’s appointment,” I told her. The amount of times I’d practiced this conversation was concerning, especially at my age. But she was my last living family member—I cared what she thought. Deeply.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Just getting a checkup. It’s been a little while.”
“Do you need cash? I know you don’t have insurance...” She was already reaching across the table to the pretty pile where she’d stashed her billfold.
The worry in her tone was palpable. But it wasn’t like she had tons of money to spare either. I knew because I handled the bills. It was the one request Grandpa had made before he passed.Take care of her. She’s never had to worry about the bills before. I know it’s asking a lot but–
I will,I’d promised him. It was an easy promise to make when he always provided, never asking for anything.
Guilt washed over me for not having my health insurance under control. I was supposed to be helping her, not the other way around. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “I found a free clinic.” A little white lie while I waited to see what the damage would be.
“Good.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I’ll see you tonight for supper. I found a roast on sale at the grocery store.”
Roast and potatoes was my favorite meal, but my stomach was unsettled with nerves. “Thanks, Glamma,” I said anyway. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you, baby girl.”
My smile held for all of a second after I went outside to catch the bus. Acting like everything was okay had been exhausting, and I had a feeling there was a lot of that to come.
The ride to the New Hope Clinic felt likehours. Even longer was the walk from the front door to the reception desk. This early in the day, the lobby wasn’t super full. Only a young couple with an infant carrier sat in the waiting area while I went up front to check in.
In a haze, I brought my paperwork with me to a chair and filled it out while the nervous pit in my stomach grew heavier. Surprise pregnancy was something that happened to other people. Not me. Not when I’d been told all my adult life that I was infertile.
“Jada?” a low voice rumbled.
I looked up to see a man in butter-yellow scrubs with tattoos up and down his arms. Any other day I might have ogled his arms, the way the blue-and-red ink contrasted the light yellow of his uniform and danced over toned biceps. I could barely spare them a glance, I was so on edge. “Ready to head back?” he asked me.
No.“Sure.”
He gave me a warm smile and led me farther into the building. He took my vitals, got blood and urine samples from me, and then led me back to a room with an ultrasound machine. “You can change into this gown.” He gestured to a light-green square of papery fabric on the counter. “Leaving on a bra is fine, but no bottoms just in case you need a transvaginal ultrasound.” He waited for me to acknowledge I understood and once I did, he added, “Dr. Blake will be right back.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
