“I’m a very vocal person, Owen. It’s rare for me to be speechless.”
He nods. “Good or bad speechless?”
Lifting my shoulders, I swallow. “I don’t know. This is a deeply personal time in my life, clearly something unexpected. Being blunt, you’re not exactly the first person I would think to call, let alone tell. It’s a lot.”
“Okay, well then, I’ll go.” He runs his hands along his jeans, his movements reeking of hesitancy.
“Okay,” I reply, still unsure what else to say.
“But before I go, I just have one question. Are you okay?”
I pause, his words catching me off guard. It’s the first time I’ve been asked that. Well, obviously, because I haven’t told a soul. I don’t have it in me yet. And I think that fact alone tells me all I need to know. So, in a moment of utter surprise not only to myself, but also to Owen, I open my mouth and answer honestly.
“No, Owen. I don’t think I am.”
“It’s okay to not be okay, Lottie. Everyone needs someone every once in a while.”
He moves of his own accord, each step drawing him closer. Once he’s in front of me, toe to toe, his arms coil around me and pull me into him.
It isn’t remotely romantic, and despite not knowing him too well, I sink into him. His fresh T-shirt smells like laundry detergent, and it’s comforting, peaceful almost. I want to crawl inside whatever has made him so calm while I can’t seem to stop the storm brewing inside of me.
His hands tighten around my back, not so much that he’s hurting me, but enough for me to feel a level of safety in his grip. Like the first few times I met Owen, I get that familiar sense of ease and familiarity that accompanies his presence.
It’s those feelings that I use to convince myself to let Owen stay for another two hours. We don’t discuss anything baby-related. We simply sit and watch Star Wars. And honestly, it’s one of the best times I’ve had in months.
“Are you ready?”
I look up at Owen, because he’s just about a foot taller than me, before nodding. The big white building looms in front of me. People walk in and out, some carefree, others crippled with fear. I think I’m stuck at that in-between phase of just feeling royally fucked, and not in the fun way.
“I guess I don’t really have a choice, puppy,” I admit. “I can’t keep ignoring this. I need to woman up, and this is the first step.”
He eyes me thoughtfully, the deep depths of blue swirling around like a torrid ocean. He’s like a Ken doll, I think to myself, but I refrain from saying that aloud. I’m sure that would only piss him off.
Over the past few days Owen’s been keeping a close eye on me, offering to help at any small inconvenience. And he’s the one who has been pushing that I see a doctor and get this confirmed.
“I can hold your hand if you want,” he offers, trying to lighten the mood. He knows that isn’t my style.
I look up at him and he’s grinning, so I shove his side. “Fuck off.” I laugh and he chuckles as we walk into the doctor’s office.
We check in, and I can’t help but scan all the patients in the waiting area, my eyes locking onto a young mother, her stomach protruding, clearly about to burst any moment. Her partner sits beside her, the two of them holding hands.
Other couples sit together, too, their arms touching and voices hushed as they speak. A small pang of jealousy pricks my heart at the sight. I won’t get those moments. The moments of being together, comfort filling every word.
But that’s okay. Lots of women do this alone. I won’t be the first or the last.
Owen and I sit down on the hard plastic chairs, his long legs hanging into the walkway despite how hard he tries to pull them in. I laugh and he glares at me, only making it all the more hilarious.
“Ms. Knight.” My name is called out after twenty minutes, and we are ushered into a waiting room. It’s stark white and sanitized, smelling of antiseptic wipes. Not too different from parts of the pharmacy, so oddly, I feel at home here. Owen too seems surprisingly comfortable, but then I remember he’s done this before. With his mum.
The door opens and a petite woman sticks her head in. Her deep brown hair sits just upon her shoulders while her coat seems to swallow her. I’d assume she’s in her late forties, maybe early fifties. A huge diamond sparkler sits on her ring finger, glaring at me when the sun hits it.
“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Estelle Montgomery,” she introduces herself, and I’m quick to do the same. Having seen enough movies that I know she will assume Owen is the father, I beat her to the punch by telling her he is a friend.
She doesn’t waste any time, moving around the sterile room, her steps barely audible as she brings over a machine twice her size. “Now, it says here we’re thinking we’re pregnant?”
I nod. “I took a test and it came back positive. I’ve had all the symptoms, so I just wanted to get it confirmed. I’m also a pharmacist, so I used all the tells I know to self-diagnose. I get that’s probably the wrong way to do that, but I’m also assuming I’m around ten weeks along.”
She looks at me for a moment, taken aback, before schooling her features. “And when did you suspect?”
“A little over a week ago.”
“Okay, well, usually we would do a blood test to confirm, but since you’re assuming you’re at least two months along, we might as well use the ultrasound machine. Let’s lift up your top a little. Now be aware, this will be cold, but nothing painful.”
I
