“Any chance you’re pregnant?” Dr. Layman asked as I sat on the exam table.
I quirked a brow. “Not if the birth control works.” God. If I was pregnant, I don’t know what Dylan would do.
She looked at my information on the EMR system. “But you’ve been having sex.”
“I have, but not in a while.”
“We should do a pregnancy test.”
What? “I’m on the pill to not get pregnant. Isn’t the effectiveness nearly a hundred percent?”
“Yes. But if you missed one—”
“I haven’t.”
“Or had sex before its full effectiveness, you could be pregnant. It’s best to get the most likely and easiest to test reason out of the way.” She studied me. “I take it a pregnancy wouldn’t be a good thing.”
“No. Not at this time.” Or any time where Dylan was concerned.
“Well, let’s test, and if it’s not that we’ll explore other options.”
I nodded, but I had a sickening feeling what the results would be. She handed me a pregnancy test stick and sent me to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, she entered the exam room, and I could tell by the look on her face that my life was about to get even more complicated.
My eyes filled with tears.
She looked at me with sympathy. “There are options.”
I looked at her in surprise. “I’m going to have it.” There was no question of that. My tears weren’t over what I’d do. They were over all the potential me and this baby could have with Dylan, but wouldn’t because he was adamant that he didn’t want me or a baby.
“The father will be upset?” she asked.
“I don’t know actually, but he … well …” I didn’t know how to explain the complicated relationship with Dylan.
“Stop taking the pills—”
A worry grew. “Will they have hurt the baby?”
“Chances are, no. From now on, you’ll take prenatal vitamins. You can have normal activity, although avoid anything too strenuous. Sex is fine.”
I scoffed. Like that was going to happen. “How far along am I?”
“Based on when you reported your last period, it appears you’re six or seven weeks. We’ll schedule a sonogram to get a better sense.”
I was in a daze when I left the doctor’s office. I knew I needed to tell Dylan, but didn’t know how. A part of me was angry that he’d probably not be happy. This child was his and deserved to have all the love Maisie did, even if I didn’t. As I thought that, a new concern arose; what if he fought for sole custody of this baby? I knew he was a good father, and I wouldn’t ever keep the baby from him. But watching him deal with Veronica, I learned what he was willing to do to get his way. He’d hired a PI to get dirt on his ex. I had no dirt in my past, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use things in my life against me. I didn’t have money or a job. I hadn’t finished my graduate program yet. He could even say I seduced him or tricked him.
When I parked the car in the driveway, I put my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes, feeling the ramifications of how much more complicated my life was now. All because I loved my neighbor and his daughter. I was starting to see why Dylan was so love-phobic. Love hurt.
I carried on that weekend, seeing my friends, having seltzer water that I led my friends to believe was spiked with vodka so they wouldn’t guess at my condition. The next day I had lunch with Mrs. Anderson, who encouraged me to finish school and not wait because of the custody suit.
“It’s wonderful how supportive you are of your husband, but I’ve taught a long time and I’ve seen many children go through that. Sometimes it takes years, and you don’t want to put off your degree that long,” she’d said.
Years? She was right. I couldn’t wait years. At the same time, if Dylan and I didn’t work out, I’d need a job. I could work as a teacher with my bachelors. I’d just need to take the test to get my certificate. I wouldn’t get paid as much as with my masters, but maybe that would have to wait.
I dreaded Saturday night when I had no plans, but Dylan texted me to say that he had to go to one of his out-of-town gyms to deal with something and wouldn’t be home until late. I wondered if he was avoiding me like I was him.
Maisie came home Sunday afternoon, and I still hadn’t told Dylan. With her home, I didn’t feel like I could say anything, because I didn’t want her to witness a bad scene if Dylan didn’t take it well. I’d even started talking myself into believing that the test was wrong. Until I had the sonogram, I wouldn’t know for sure, so I could wait. The test was scheduled the week Maisie would be at her mother’s. That wasn’t too long to wait.
As it turned out, the time came quickly. On Friday as I helped Maisie pack for the weeklong visit to stay with her mom, I worried about how I’d survive the weekend, much less the following week, with things strained between me and Dylan, and the stress of keeping my secret until I had the sonogram. I decided a visit to my parents for the weekend was the perfect solution.
I called Dylan, letting him know and suggesting that I could drive Maisie to her mother’s since I was going that direction. He agreed, and I wondered if maybe he was relieved that I wouldn’t be underfoot.
I called Veronica to let her know I could bring Maisie to Manhattan, saving her the trip.
“Oh, that’s perfect. I have some errands to run. Thank you, Tessa.”
By noon, Maisie and I were on the road, listening to her silly songs CD and singing at the top of our lungs. It made me think how Dylan would play
