Doctor Dearest

There’s no way I can pull off this secret for very long. Noah knows me. He practically raised me. He will take one look at my flighty gaze and sweaty armpits and immediately guess that I’m withholding information from him. He knows how much I love deli meat.

I pat his shoulder like there, there and then make my excuses so I can run out to the guest house and change. That’s the plan, at least. What I do instead is walk into the bathroom, pull up my shirt, turn sideways, and look at my stomach in the mirror. No bump. Nothing. No little baby hand pressing against my skin like it’s trying to bust out of me. Oh my God, that’s terrifying. I gag and drop my shirt so I can pace.

There’s no need to freak out. This is simple. I just need to get in contact with Connor. He’ll know how to handle this situation. I’m not alone.

I call him, and when he doesn’t immediately pick up, I leave an exasperated voicemail before shooting him a follow-up text.

Natalie: NOAH IS HOME. I REPEAT: NOAH IS HOME. Call me!Then I see Noah out in the garden with even more new arrivals. How many people are coming over?! Our eyes lock through the window and he mouths “Hurry up” with a great big smile.

The smile I give him in return is straight out of an insane asylum.

Oh God, this night is not going to end well.Chapter Twenty-FourConnorTwenty-four hours is all I can give Natalie. Yesterday, she requested space, and I magnanimously gave it to her. I feel like people should be clapping me on the shoulder and offering up compliments. I haven’t been happy for a single minute of the last twenty-four hours. Last night, I lay awake worrying about her. I had the most nonsensical anxieties flit through my head: Are there proper locks on the guest house door? Would I be able to hear her if she called for help? What if she miscarried and hemorrhaged and I was up here, totally oblivious? Naturally, I didn’t sleep well.

Now, it’s late and I’m done with work and I’m carrying a bouquet of flowers I picked up at a shop near the hospital. It’s one of those places that mainly caters to the sick and dying, so when I walked in and asked for the most romantic bouquet they had, the florist beamed from ear to ear. It’s a little overboard. I see that now. It’s got to weigh five pounds altogether, and it’s roughly twice the size of my head.

I don’t know Natalie’s favorite flower. I don’t even know if she has one, so we put as many in there as the florist could fit: daisies, roses, hydrangeas, sunflowers. It looks like I just robbed a flower shop, and I’m nervous Natalie won’t like it.

I laugh out loud. I’m actually nervous to walk up these steps at the townhouse and put my heart on the line for Natalie. It’s not like it will come out of left field. She has to know. Still, it has to be said. Oh, Natalie, by the way, I’m crazy about you and I’d be absolutely insane if I didn’t fight tooth and nail to convince you that you and I are a perfect fit. We’re meant to be in that sort of way people like to claim, though actually they have it all wrong because no one has what we have. Cupid is sitting back and wiping his hands at a job well done. I’ve never really believed in that sort of thing before—soulmates—and I’m still not sure I do, but does it really matter? We’ve seen inside the human body. We’ve seen the heart serving its utilitarian purpose and still, I can’t completely write off its mysteries.

I’m rambling, even in my head, and the truth is…Natalie, it’s simple. We should grow old together. I think it sounds fun. I can see us now, just like that couple we saw walking in the park the other night: two crotchety Bostonians groaning when people add an S on to the end of Boston Common. It’s singular, you fools.

We get it, you and I. Please say you feel the same.

I walk into the townhouse with that bouquet of flowers, convinced I’m making the right decision.

I drop my keys and phone in the bowl near the door, noticing an unread text from Natalie as music and voices carry down the hall. Odd. My first thought is that Natalie invited Lindsey over, but then I look up in time to see Noah making his way down the hall toward me, smiling. Just a friend who’s glad to see me.

“Connor! Finally!”

I register everything in slow motion: the music behind him, the chorus of voices, the fact that Noah is here when he should not be here.