I send my mother a text. If I know her, she’s probably still up, wondering what’s going on.
Me:
Where the hell did you find this woman? At a walk for women’s rights?
Maman:
Haha. She’s good at what she does. Trustworthy. Doesn’t put up with any nonsense. She’s Louisa Myles’s daughter. You remember her?
Me:
Ahh.
Our family medic for years before my father passed away and she retired.
“Well, folks,” the doctor says pleasantly, holding up the test. “That’s a pretty clear positive.”
Cosette smiles victoriously.
I blink.
“Are we keeping the baby?” the doctor asks.
“Yes,” we say in unison.
I glare at Cosette. She glares back. We’re not supposed to be on the same team.
Keep the baby.
Keep the baby?
As if that’s even a question.
Wait. I haven’t even gotten the paternity test back yet and I’m already jumping to the assumption the baby’s mine.
Whose else would it be?
I’d have to find him and kill him.
“Congratulations, Mr. Gerard. Your mother will be thrilled.” She beams, holding up the test.
She goes on about things like prenatal care and vitamins and checkup visits, but I hardly hear it.
“Lyam?” Cosette asks. I ignore the smug look on her face.
For now.
I look at Cosette. “Did you hear what she said? She asked if you want her to take care of my prenatal care here or elsewhere?”
“Here but I want an option for an office visit if necessary. This changes nothing.”
Cosette flinches but quickly recovers and turns back to the doctor. They talk about nausea and hydration and a bunch of other things I barely listen to. My mind races with questions and possibilities.
“That’s it then for now,” the doctor says, rising as she gives me a smile. “Again, I tell no one else any more details. Good night, Mr. Gerard. I’ll see myself out.”
She’ll do no such thing.
“I’ll see you out, but first I need to know, how far along is she?” I ask.
