Making Up (Shacking Up 4)
“How does everything look?” I ask, awestruck by the image of my son with his thumb in his mouth, curled up inside Imogen’s body.
“So far everything looks okay. The spotting sometimes happens at this stage, particularly with cases of placenta previa.”
“So everything is okay, then? I can go home?” Imogen makes a move to sit up, but the technician puts a hand on her shoulder.
“At thirty-three weeks you could safely give birth anytime, but ideally we’d like to keep him in there for another month at least, to give him more time to develop.”
“Imogen is thirty weeks,” I correct.
The technician glances at me. “Based on the chart and her previous ultrasounds, growth and development puts her a few weeks ahead of that.”
“That can’t be right. You must have the wrong file.” Imogen’s voice is high and flustered.
A horrible sinking feeling takes over as I do the math and go back to when Imogen conceived. Three weeks earlier I was still in China with Linc. “How accurately can you predict a due date?” I ask.
“Usually within a day or two, give or take.”
“So it’s not possible to be three weeks off?”
“Occasionally we can be off by a week, but at this stage the markers are all there and I can confidentially say your baby will be here in about seven weeks, if he stays put. I’m sure the doctor will suggest bed rest until then to be safe, of course. I’ll send her in shortly.”
“Thank you.” I don’t feel like I’m attached to my body as the technician leaves the room.
“Griffin.” Imogen pulls my attention away from the image of the baby on the monitor that, based on this new information, isn’t mine. Her expression is panicked, and she grips my hand tightly.
I say nothing, letting this new reality set in. Not only was she planning to lock me into a loveless relationship, but she made me believe I was going to be a father, got me invested, and then tore it all away.
I make sure we’re alone before I speak. “You cheated on me and tried to pass the baby off as mine. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You were always away on business trips.”
“Which you could’ve come on with me. Your job is flexible. That was a choice, Imogen.”
“I work best at home, and you know that.”
“You know what, it doesn’t matter, does it? The why is irrelevant because I wasn’t in the country when you got pregnant, which means you were fucking someone else while we were still engaged. You knew that baby wasn’t mine, and still you made me believe I was the father. Do you get how much of a mind fuck that is? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? I broke up with someone I love so I could do the right thing by you, and I find out it’s one lie after another.”
“I made a mistake. I felt guilty afterward. That’s why I broke off the engagement. I was lonely and I needed someone—”
“Stop! I don’t want to hear it, Imogen. I’m going to call your mother and ask her to meet you here because I don’t think you should be alone, but I can’t stand to look at your face for another second.”
“Griffin, please don’t do this!”
She grabs for me, but I step away and hold up a hand. “I didn’t do anything, Imogen. That’s the problem. This mess is yours, and I feel sorry for that baby because his mother is a liar and a cheater and a manipulator. With you as a role model, you’re either going to raise a serial killer or the next president.” I leave her in the ultrasound room and call her mother, as promised.
Then I call Lincoln and ask him to meet me at a bar because we’re getting seriously wasted this afternoon.Chapter Twenty: Get the GirlGriffin
The hangover from finding out Imogen is not only a manipulator but also a cheating liar lasts two full days. My dad offers to give me some time to get my head sorted out considering the circumstances, but the Vegas hotel is a go, so I obviously jump at the chance to get the hell out of New York and back to Cosy. I’m probably setting myself up for even more disappointment by doing this. Being near Cosy but not having her is going to be an even worse torture than the entire Imogen fiasco rolled together, but I’m clearly a glutton for punishment. My flight leaves at eight tomorrow morning.
I’m currently sitting on my couch, drinking Grape Crush because that’s what Cosy likes, watching some ridiculous vampire teen drama—also something Cosy likes—flipping through pictures of her on my phone.
“Just call her. What’s the worst that could happen?” That Lincoln is willingly sitting here with me, watching TV better suited to teenage girls, speaks to his dedication as my best friend. Also, he’s been staying with me the past few days and is flying out tomorrow as well. Except he’s headed back to Guatemala to start another new community outreach project.