by Lauren Rowe
“Sounds good,” I say, even though the thought of anything fishy turns my stomach. “Okay, now spill, honey.”
Sarah launches into telling me every swoon-inducing detail about Jonas popping the question, stopping only to chomp on her salmon burger when our food arrives. And when Sarah’s done telling me every last thing about Jonas’ incredible proposal, we begin poring over the huge stack of bridal magazines I’ve brought, formulating ideas for the wedding of the century a mere twenty-six days from now (oh my God!).
“Okay,” I finally say after almost an hour of brainstorming. I look down at the lengthy list of questions and ideas scrawled on my notepad. “Do you want me to go with you to your meeting with the wedding planner tomorrow?”
“No, I know you’re busy getting your new business up and running—I’ll handle everything from here on out.”
My stomach clenches. God, I hate keeping anything from Sarah. It makes me feel even more like throwing up than I already do. “Sarah, I’m the Party Girl, remember?” I say. “I live for parties—and weddings are just the granddaddy of all parties. Plus, I’m the maid of honor, after all—let me help you pull it all together.”
Sarah beams a huge smile at me. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“I must admit I’m a bit overwhelmed. Jonas says he’ll pay for everything and show up, so I’m kind of on my own here.”
“I’m thrilled to do it. Anything you need, whatever it is, I’m your girl.”
“Thanks so much, Kat. You’re the absolute best,” Sarah says. She emphatically closes the bridal magazine in front of her on the table. “So enough about me, me, me. I’ve talked your ear off this whole lunch. Tell me what’s going on with you, you, you? How’s Golden Kat PR coming? When’s the launch date, you think?”
“Um,” I say. I bite my lip. “Hmm.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Sarah says. “What do you think about ‘Kitty Kat PR’? Too juvenile? It’s certainly memorable.”
I don’t reply.
“Yeah, you’re right. Probably too juvenile,” Sarah says. “So how’s the planning going? Are you having fun?”
I take a small sip of ginger ale, trying to figure out how best to answer Sarah’s seemingly innocuous questions without unleashing the kraken on her. Shit. I suppose I should tell Sarah about Colby, but I’m certainly not gonna tell her about my accidental Faraday, not when she’s in the throes of planning her dream wedding—plus, the sonogram at my doctor’s appointment later today might reveal the accidental spawn is smoking and losing altitude, you never know. And if I’m not gonna tell Sarah about my accidental bun in the oven, then I sure as heck won’t be telling her about Josh’s so-called marriage proposal, either, or about how I’ve been crying my eyes out ever since.
“So, come on—tell me everything,” Sarah says, sipping her wine.
“Well...” I begin slowly, my stomach in knots. “Um.” My lower lip begins to tremble. My eyes water.
Shoot.
I take a deep breath, trying to quell the despair rising up inside me—and then I burst into big, soggy tears.
Chapter 13
Kat
“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse says, taking the blood-pressure cuff off my arm.
I shift my weight, eliciting a crinkling sound from the wax paper underneath me. “I’m nervous,” I say softly.
“About what?” Sarah asks. “A sonogram doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“I’m not nervous the sonogram will hurt,” I say. “I’m nervous about, you know, what it might show—that something might be wrong.”
Honestly, I’m shocked at how anxious I am that something might be wrong with my little accidental Faraday. Two weeks ago, when I first peed on those pregnancy tests, the baby going bye-bye on its own was all I kept praying for. But with each passing day since then, I’ve surprisingly found myself more and more attached to the idea of having a baby of my own—perhaps a little boy who looks just like Josh? Despite myself, I keep imagining a dark-haired boy sitting at the Morgan Family Thanksgiving table in a little blue suit to match his sapphire eyes, or maybe throwing a football in the backyard with Colby, or learning how to play guitar with Dax? Or, craziest of all, I keep finding myself imagining Josh and me cuddled up in a warm bed with our cute little guy, giggling and whispering about how happy we are. It’s crazy, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
Sarah juts her lip with sympathy as only she can do. “Aw, don’t be nervous, honey.” She opens my dog-eared copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting and flips to a marked page. “I was just reading in your fascinating little book here that being a barf-o-matic is generally regarded as a great sign—that it typically indicates your hormones are at high levels, which is good.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” I say. “And thanks for coming to this appointment with me. I didn’t realize it would be so comforting to have someone here.”
“Are you kidding? I wanna come to everything. I wish you’d told me sooner—I would have hopped the next flight home from Greece to hold your hand.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” I say. “So, are you gonna tell Jonas?”
Sarah shakes her head. “I think Josh should be the one to tell Jonas he’s gonna be an uncle.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Just make sure Josh spills the beans really soon, okay? I don’t like keeping secrets from Jonas.”
I nod.
Sarah buries her nose in my pregnancy book again, but after a moment, lifts her head, smiling. “Hey, you wanna hear something crazy? I think with the time difference, Josh proposed to you before Jonas proposed to me.” She laughs. “Who would have predicted that?”
“Yeah, but Josh’s proposal doesn’t really count—he was just fulfilling an obligation. It wasn’t even in the same universe as what Jonas did for you. That’s like comparing a hamster to a racehorse.”
Sarah’s smile vanishes. “Aw, I’m sorry, Kat.”
I rub my face. “I keep thinking maybe I should have said yes—that maybe when I said no I was being selfish and not looking out for the bean.”
“What? No frickin’ way. You did the right thing—one hundred percent.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely. Regardless of marriage, Josh is gonna step up and take care of his kid—there’s no doubt about that.”
“True.”
“And it’s not like you need to get married to get onto Josh’s medical insurance or something—Josh can well afford to make sure you have the best medical care.”
“Also true. In fact, he’s already told me he’ll pay for all my expenses, medical and otherwise.”
“Of course, he will. Which means there were no practical decisions to make in response to Josh’s proposal—only emotional ones. And in that case, you did exactly the right thing: you followed your heart. Because, Kat, we both know you’d never be happy being married out of obligation. You’re a diehard romantic, through and through—and you need the fairytale.”
“Me?”
Sarah scoffs. “Yes, you. You’ve watched The Bodyguard and Pretty Woman like ten times each, for Pete’s sake.”
“Twenty.”
Sarah motions like I just proved her case.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I rub my forehead and sigh. “The funny thing is I totally would have said yes if Josh’s proposal had been even the slightest bit from his heart—just the teeniest, tiniest bit.”
“I gotta be honest, Kat, from what you’ve told me, I don’t really understand what was so horrible about it. I mean, you said he acted like he was doing you a huge favor, but maybe you just misinterpreted him? I’m sure he was just freaking out.”
I pause, choosing my words. “Remember Mr. Darcy’s first proposal in Pride and Prejudice? When he was like, ‘Oh, you’re so beneath me, Miss Elizabeth and I really shouldn’t do this because you’re from a disgraceful family and wanting to marry you goes against all reason and logic and will besmi
rch my good name—but, hey, will you marry me?’”
Sarah chuckles. “Yes, I remember it well because you’ve made me watch that movie, like, three times with you.”
“Well, it was just like that. ‘Oh, Kat. I have no desire to marry you whatsoever and I’m doing you a huge favor and I don’t want our child at all and you’re so lucky I’m asking you because I’m so rich and amazing, but, hey, will you marry me?’” I wave my hands in the air. “It totally sucked donkey balls.”
Sarah nods. “Sounds pretty shitty.”
“And not only that, he had the audacity to ask me if the baby is his.” My cheeks turn hot at the memory.
Sarah shrugs. “Okay, you just lost me. Why was that such a dastardly thing to ask?”
I’m appalled. “Sarah, he was basically calling me a slut.”
“Uh, no, he was asking if the baby is his. Not quite the same thing as calling you a slut.”
“Josh is the only guy I’ve been with and he knows it,” I say, full of indignation.
“Oh, well, then, you’re absolutely right: Josh should never have double-checked the baby he was about to support for the rest of his life, financially and otherwise, is definitely his.” Sarah shoots me a scolding look. “Cut him a little slack, honey—I’m sure Josh was just totally blindsided. Plus, you’d be the first to admit you’re no virgin. I don’t blame Josh for at least asking the question, Kat. I really don’t.”
I open my mouth to refute her, but then I shut it. God, I hate it when it turns out I’ve been wrong about something. “Why are you always so damned nice, Sarah?” I ask. “It’s really annoying.”
“I’m not that nice.”
“Please don’t say that. Because if you’re not really, really nice, then that means I’m really, really bitchy.”
Sarah laughs. “Okay, I’m really, really nice.”
The door opens and my doctor, a slender woman with brown skin and salt and pepper hair, enters the room.
“Hi, Doctor Gupta,” I say, shaking her hand. “This is my best friend, Sarah—soon to be Auntie Sarah.”
The doctor shakes Sarah’s hand and smiles at me. “Are you ready to see your baby, Kat?”
“Heck yeah. How about you Auntie Sarah? You ready to see your niece or nephew?”
Sarah squeals and claps.
After spreading some gel on my stomach, the doctor runs the wand of the sonogram machine over my stomach, and a swirling image of what might as well be outer space comes up onscreen.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing.
“One moment,” the doctor says, maneuvering. “Okay. This is your uterus, Kat. And right there? That’s your baby.”
“Wow,” Sarah says, putting her hand to her mouth.
“That’s my baby?” I ask.
“Yep. He or she is just about the size of a grape.”
I look at Sarah. “My baby’s a grape.”
“Grape Ape,” Sarah says.
I bite my lip, too overwhelmed to speak further.
“And do you see that bit of flickering right there?” the doctor continues. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat. Oh, it’s nice and strong—exactly what we like to see.”
Sarah makes a sound of wonderment. “Hey, we should take a video of this for Josh.”
“Oh, good idea,” I say. “My phone’s in my purse.”
Sarah pulls out my phone and aims it at the screen. “Okay, action. Doctor, will you explain what’s onscreen for the baby’s father?”
“Of course.” The doctor motions to the screen and explains everything, and when she’s done, Sarah pans the camera to me.
“Hi, Josh,” I say, waving. “Well, it looks like our accidental Faraday is a stubborn little thing—surprise, surprise! I guess he or she’s decided they’re not going anywhere, after all.” I try to smile but tears unexpectedly prick my eyes. Goddammit. Josh must hate me. I’m the one who missed my pill, after all, not him. He trusted me to protect him from the one thing that freaked him out the most and I let him down. I wipe my eyes. “I’m really sorry, Josh,” I squeak out.
Sarah turns off the video recorder. “I’m gonna edit that last part out. You have nothing to apologize for, Kat. It takes two to tango.”
“No. Leave it in. I forgot to take my pill—and now I’ve totally ruined his life. I owe him an apology.”
“You haven’t ruined his life,” the doctor interjects, her tone firm. “You’ve blessed it immeasurably. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Tears fill my eyes at these unexpectedly kind words from the doctor. “Thank you,” I say softly.
Sarah squeezes my hand. “Listen to the doctor. She went to medical school and everything.”
Doctor Gupta smiles warmly. “Kat, I’ve seen many women in your shoes. If you had a crystal ball and could see yourself a year from now, I think you’d be surprised in a good way.”
I manage a smile. “Thank you.”
The doctor turns back to the machine. “Now. Based on what I’m seeing here, you’re about nine weeks along, which makes your due date... December second, give or take two weeks on either side.”
“Oh,” I say, my mood instantly getting a lift. “December second is Sagittarius,” I say.
“Is that good?” Sarah asks.
I nod. “Same as Henny.”
“Oh, that is good.”
“It’s a fire sign. A Sag is adventurous, creative, and passionate. Loves to travel. Makes friends easily. Funny as hell. But also can be bossy and impulsive as hell—especially a female Sagittarius. A female Sag can be hell on wheels.”
Sarah raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like the grape isn’t gonna fall far from the vine.” She addresses the doctor. “Can you tell if the grape is a boy or girl?”
“Not yet. We’ll probably be able to determine gender at around twenty weeks.”
“Okay, I’m calling it right now,” Sarah says, putting up her hand. “You’re having a girl.”
“You think?”
“I know. And do you know how I know? Because I believe in God—and if there’s one person in this world who karmically deserves to wind up with a hell-on-wheels daughter, it’s you, Kat.”
“Hey, did you just insult me?” I ask.
Sarah laughs. “Not at all.”
The doctor takes the sonogram wand off my belly and cleans up the gel on my skin. “Do you have any questions, Kat?”
“A couple.” I take a deep breath, gathering my nerve. “Before I found out I was pregnant, I drank some booze—quite a bit, actually. I was in Las Vegas. When will I know if I gave the baby alcohol-fetus-whatever-whatever?”
“Fetal alcohol syndrome?”
“Yeah, that.”
“There’s no way to know for sure until later, but the odds are low. In the vast majority of unplanned pregnancies, the mother has consumed alcohol and there’s absolutely no ill effect. We’ll keep an eye on things, and if there’s any sign of a problem, we’ll do more testing later.”
“Okay,” I say, exhaling.
“At this point, I’d put it out of your mind and not worry at all—although, of course, I want you to abstain from alcohol for the remainder of your pregnancy.”
“And is it the same answer if I smoked pot once, too?”
Sarah looks surprised.
“Well,” the doctor says, doing a much better job of keeping a poker face than Bugs Bunny to my left. “There are no guarantees, yet again, but the chances of a problem are still low. We’ll know more at the twenty-week sonogram. Of course, you should swear off all controlled substances for the remainder of your pregnancy.”
“Yes, of course.” I clear my throat. “It was a one-time thing.”
“Any other questions?” the doctor asks.
“Yes. One more. I’ve had some pretty insane orgasms lately—like, really, really intense orgasms—some of them while sitting on an orgasm machine with the power of a jet engine, and—”
Sarah gasps. “What?”
“Long story,” I say. “But, anywa
y, is it possible I scrambled the baby’s brain or, you know, made it implode or something?”
The doctor lets out a surprised chuckle but then quickly pulls herself together. “Generally speaking, sex and orgasms aren’t harmful to the fetus during pregnancy—and, in fact, orgasms arguably provide a benefit because they’re stress-relieving for the mother.”
I shoot Sarah a smart-ass grin. “See? I was just being a selfless mother when I sat on that jet engine and almost passed out from sexual pleasure.”
Sarah blushes. “Just as all selfless mothers have done throughout the history of time, Kitty Kat.”
The doctor smiles. “At this stage, you need not limit your sexual activity with yourself or a monogamous partner, although I’d definitely advise staying off that jet engine for the remainder of your pregnancy, just to be on the safe side.”
“Okay,” I say, pouting. “Well, that’s a bummer—I like my jet engine.”
“Well, then here’s some good news to cheer you up,” the doctor says. “As soon as your morning sickness subsides, which I predict will happen in the next few weeks, you might very well experience a dramatic increase in your sex drive.”
“Whachoo talkin’ about, Willis?” I say. “An increase in my sex drive?”
“A dramatic increase?” Sarah adds, her eyes wide. “Is there a level of sex drive in existence above ‘Katherine Morgan’?”
Sarah and I share a laugh and the doctor can’t help but giggle with us.
“And here’s something else: when you do engage in sexual activity, you might also experience heightened pleasure,” Doctor Gupta adds, raising her eyebrow.
I throw my hands up. “Thank you, Baby Jesus in a Wicker Basket,” I say. “Finally, some fantastic news in all this. Thank you so much, Doctor.”
The doctor chuckles. “So, do you have any other questions?”
“Nope. I’m good. Thank you so much.”
The doctor touches my forearm. “You’re going to be fine, Kat. You’ll see.”
Chapter 14
Kat
Sarah and I settle into her car and fasten our seatbelts.
