What Lovers Do

Even if I have kids of my own, this will always feel different. Not more special, just … selfless.

“Nausea?” Dr. Munson asks.

“No.”

“None?” She lifts an eyebrow.

“None.” I shrug.

“Is that alarming?” Chloe asks. “I read that nausea is a sign of a healthy pregnancy.”

“Twenty to thirty percent of women don’t experience it. That doesn’t mean they don’t have healthy pregnancies. Is everyone staying for this?” She glances at Mason specifically, as she dons her gloves.

“We’ll stay at Sophie’s head.” Chloe pulls Mason toward her as I recline back, my lower half covered.

Even though Mason can’t see my naked body, it’s a little weird watching him witness this: the internal ultrasound wand that will go inside of my vagina. Is it weird for him? If it is, he’s not showing any sign of it.

“There’s your baby.” The doctor points to the screen. “And we have a heartbeat.”

The room falls silent except for the rhythm of that tiny heart. Such a miracle. I’m not immune to the emotions in the air.

Mason kisses Chloe’s head as her eyes fill with tears. She grabs my hand and says, “Thank you” with a frog in her throat.

I can’t talk at all. I just nod.

My life is perfect.

My life is messy.

My life is a million miles from any destination I ever imagined.

I guess that’s the purpose. Where’s the fun in knowing where you’re going and how you will get there?

“Do you need anything?” Chloe asks after the doctor and Mason exit the exam room to let me get dressed.

I need Jimmy out of my house. That’s not a request I can make when she has no idea that he’s still living with me. She only knows we broke up—way before we actually did. I swear I’m protecting her more than she’s protecting me, and I’m the pregnant one.

“Vitamins? A spa day? Do all of your clothes still fit?”

I laugh. “The baby is the size of a sweet pea. I’m good. Thanks.”

“But you might have bloating.” Her nose scrunches. “I read that.”

“No nausea. No bloating. All of my clothes fit. I’m eating well and not drinking any alcohol.”

“And you’re not working too much or under any unnecessary stress. Right?”

If she only knew. “Nothing I can’t handle.” I slip on my panties and lower my cotton skirt before sliding on my sandals.

“What about cravings? I can bring you anything you want, any time of the day. If it’s two in the morning and you’re craving something that you don’t have, promise you’ll call me.”

“Chloe.” I press my palms to her face, brushing my fingertips along the short hair by her ears. She’s always had a pixie cut for as long as I can remember. “I know you wish this were you. I know you feel indebted. I know you worry about me and what may or may not happen in the coming months. But I’m good. Your baby is good. If I need anything, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Gah! Such a lie. I need Jimmy out of my house and Shep out of my head. I have imaginary sex with him at least a dozen times a day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Shep texts me the time and place. I go through six outfit changes, three hair styles, and five shades of lip gloss. After settling on a gold shift dress with a lace hem and lace neckline, I bolt past Jimmy, ignoring his “where the hell are you going in that” comment. Arriving at the restaurant twenty minutes early, I request a table for two.

The waiter brings me a lemonade and an order of caramelized brussels sprouts with garlic and honey pistachios. After a few minutes of taking small bites followed by a swish and swallow of water to ensure I don’t have anything green stuck in my teeth, Shep and his parents pass my table as the hostess leads them to their table.

“Sophie?” Shep stops.

I stiffen and smile, making a quick glance at his parents who have turned to look at me. “Hi.”

“How are you?” he asks in a well-rehearsed tone, perfectly infused with inflections of surprise.

My gaze continues its nervous ping-ponging between Shep and his parents. “Fine.” I’m really good at one-word answers because we didn’t work out any specific dialogue.

“Sorry … Sophie, these are my parents, Hillary and Gordon. This is my friend, Sophie. I met her at the store. And it just so happens that she’s a really skilled golfer. Had her dad not suffered injuries from an accident, he would have qualified for the PGA.”

My smile gets faker with each passing second. This is too weird. Why did I agree to this? Can we go back to our exclusive little bubble?

Gordon perks up. “Is that so?”

I nod. “It is.”

“What’s his name?” Gordon asks.

“Dalton Ryan. It was many years—”

“Oh yes. I’ve heard of him. I remember the accident. It was in the news. He was a very promising player. So tragic. How is he now?”