The Pregnancy Plot

by Paula Roe

  “What time is it?” she finally asked, then suppressed a shiver.

  He glanced over to the entertainment unit at the glowing DVD clock. “One. Why?”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting some rest before your early flight?”

  “I can sleep on the plane.” He looped his arms around her waist to gather her close but stilled when he felt her gentle tug of resistance.

  Okay. That was odd.

  Smothering a frown, he eased back, then slowly, regretfully, slid from her.

  Whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t good, given the prolonged silence while he gathered up his clothes.

  When he’d dragged on his pants and turned back to her, she’d fixed her clothes and was now sitting demurely on the couch, knees pressed together, staring thoughtfully at her hands. Almost as if by meeting his scrutiny she’d inadvertently divulge something she’d rather keep private. And judging by her expression, she’d rather make a swim for the shore than tell him what she was thinking right now.

  Steady on. This isn’t some kind of race. And this was AJ—a woman who heated up his bed, gave herself so completely to their lovemaking, yet managed to keep a part of herself untouched.

  The desire to break down her walls had never been as intense as it was right at this moment.

  “You know,” she finally said, meeting his eyes. “I never did get that dessert.”

  His sudden bark of laughter made her lips curve in response, and the tension leeched out.

  “Then we shall have to fix that.”

  He offered his hand and she took it without hesitation.

  Eleven

  AJ awoke slowly in her darkened room, checked the time—nine—then rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She’d left the curtains open last night and now the gathering storm clouds were obvious. A perfect start to a dingy day.

  Matt had been gone for hours and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

  At six she’d heard him turn on the shower, then turn it off barely five minutes later. He’d moved around in the kitchen, then she’d finally heard the front door gently close at half past.

  He was under no obligation to say anything, even if she was his houseguest. Even so, his absence of manners nettled her.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop with all this emotional stuff,” she said sternly in the cool silence. “This is what we want, right? Matt to remain work-focused and you to concentrate on making a baby.”

  A baby. Her hand slipped down to the flat plains of her belly. It was way too soon, of course. She wasn’t even ovulating yet. Still...she gently palmed her stomach, forbidden excitement rising as she glanced down. “Just don’t take too long, okay?” she whispered. “Because I’m really not sure how much of Matt I can handle when he gets all focused and intense.”

  She lay there for a few more minutes, bathing in last night, flushing at certain memories and grinning at others. Finally she sighed, tossed off the covers and headed for the shower.

  Today was the perfect day to move back into Zac’s apartment. And no doubt Matt would be happy to reclaim his space, too.

  * * *

  Two hours later she shoved the key in the door to Zac’s apartment and stumbled through. Everything about this twenty-fifth-floor penthouse suite drew her in, from the huge panoramic view of Potts Point, Centrepoint, the Harbour Bridge and Rushcutters Bay to the vibrant sunflower yellow interior walls, sleek blond furniture, colorful cushions and tangerine rug in the center of the polished wooden floor. But it was the massive living room that drew a smile every time.

  Zac had framed and strategically hung her paintings along the huge feature wall there. She remembered every gentle, colorful mark of her watercolor pencils, the damp brush strokes that brought the scenes to life—Coogee Beach with its beach towels, umbrellas and crashing azure waves. A Sydney cityscape bathed in an orange and purple sunset. And Circular Quay, complete with busy ferries and peak-hour commuters against a Harbour Bridge backdrop.

  “Hello, gorgeous things.” She grinned as she dropped her bags inside the door and kicked it shut. “Miss me?” She cocked her head, her gaze going from one picture to another. “Of course you did. Well, the good news is, I feel like painting. The bad news? No paints.” She dug around in her shoulder bag and plucked out her sketch pad, then a pencil. “Still, better than nothing, right?”

  After fixing herself a cup of Earl Grey, she dragged the blanket off the couch arm, wrapped it around her shoulders, then padded to the patio doors. With a whoosh and blast of cold air, she walked out onto the balcony, settled in a comfy chair and began.

  * * *

  AJ formed a routine of sorts for the next few days —she rose at eight, swam a few laps in the heated rooftop pool and lifted weights for half an hour in the fourth-floor gym. Then she had breakfast, followed by sketching, and lunch from one of the many restaurants that occupied the ground floor. After lunch she went walking, undeterred by the weather’s sudden return to midwinter temperatures. She made her way down William Street, poking around in the funky boutiques and secondhand stores, admiring the baubles and handmade clothing, then crossing over Crown Street and heading toward Hyde Park. Turning right on College Street, she headed east, toward the New South Wales Art Gallery.

  She spent all afternoon soaking up the rest of the amazing art and doing a few sketches before heading back, only detouring for her usual Starbucks grande latte and a chicken sub.

  On Tuesday night, Matt called.

  “So what have you been doing the past few days?” Just hearing that low, cultured voice in her ear was enough to make her body quiver.

  “Oh, you know, living the life of luxury. Sketching, walking. I missed the Van Gogh exhibit at the art gallery by a day.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah. He’s one of my favorites.” She started to sharpen a pencil. “When are you back?”

  “I fly in late Wednesday night.”

  “Okay.” She added the finishing touches to her drawing—a view of the sunset-strewn Queensland hinterland from the seventy-eighth floor of the Q Tower. “Oh, by the way, I’m at Zac’s apartment.”

  A small moment of silence passed, way too long to blame on the time delay.

  “Why?” Matthew finally said.

  She paused and stared out the window, watching a slow-moving ferry glide along Botany Bay. “Because that was my plan, remember? Besides,” she added lightly, “I make a lousy houseguest, leaving my wet towels on the floor and hogging all the bathroom bench space.”

  Another too-long silence. “I wouldn’t know. You never stay long enough for me to notice.”

  Her breath came out sharp. “Wow. That was a bit harsh.”

  She heard him sigh down the phone. “Sorry. Look, it’s been a long trip and I just want to get home. I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow and I’ll meet you at Saint Cat’s for our appointment.”

  “Matt—”

  “I have to go. See you on Thursday.” And he hung up.

  She slowly clicked off her phone, head churning. What on earth was that about? Again he’d brought up their past, which meant it must be bothering him more than he cared to admit.

  It’s just not working for me, AJ.

  Despite the passage of time, that statement still made her wince. He’d made the decision to break up and there was nothing more to be said. So of course, retreat had been her best course of action. She’d simply nodded, risen on unsteady feet and left.

  And he’d let her go.

  But she needed to stop analyzing this and focus on her appointment. Emily was the deep thinker of their little family; her endless pros and cons list was something AJ ribbed her about all the time.

  Sadness bloomed for one second, making her sigh. God, she missed her sister, missed her overwhelming optimism, her unique outlook
on life. Her logical advice.

  What would she say about this arrangement?

  AJ scowled. Eventually she’d have to tell Emily what was going on. That is, if Zac hadn’t already.

  At any rate, she had a two-week reprieve to practice before they returned. With that thought, she picked up her abandoned pencil, turned the page and began a new sketch.

  * * *

  True to Matt’s word, a car arrived at eight-thirty the next morning and took her across the Harbour Bridge to Saint Catherine’s Hospital, set in the exclusive north shore suburb of Kirribilli.

  The hospital still looked shiny and new even though it was almost twenty years old. She’d read about the amazing leaps in medicine and research they’d made there throughout those years, along with all the other achievements: best heart surgery team in Australia, a crack cancer research facility. And of course, the addition of a new wing, opened by the Prime Minister herself—the Alicia Cooper Neurosurgical Unit.

  Matt met her at the entrance with a smile, and before AJ could steel herself, her heart did a little skip. Then he removed his sunglasses. “Hi, Angel. How’ve you been?”

  “Nervous.” It was the truth. She’d been riddled with worry all the way across town, and a lot of it had to do with Matt. Despite all that inner talk, all that “this is just a deal, nothing personal” stuff, she was genuinely elated to see him again. Giddy almost.

  “Don’t be,” he said, laying his hand gently on her elbow as they walked to the bank of elevators. “Dr. Adams is the best. Which reminds me, I have to tell you something before we go in.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s going to come up in the consult. I had leukemia when I was seven but I’ve been in remission for close to thirty years. Don’t worry,” he added, misinterpreting her shocked expression. “This strain isn’t hereditary.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.” Holy crap. He had cancer? She paused, searching for something, anything, to say. “Are you okay?”

  “Never better.”

  “Good.” He’s okay. No reason to panic. Then in the next moment she felt a small stab of hurt—why hadn’t he told her this before? Still, her expression must have given her away because he glanced at her and frowned.

  “Don’t look at me that way.”

  “What way?”

  “It’s not a big deal. I don’t need your pity.”

  “It’s not pity.”

  He said nothing, just reached into his jacket, checked his phone and shoved it back.

  It’s okay, AJ. He says he’s clear. She fiddled with her hair, tightening the knot at her nape. Leukemia was serious. Should she ask how—?

  “AJ? Are you listening?”

  Not when you drop that bomb in my lap, I’m not. But just as she was opening her mouth, he shut her down.

  “Look, it’s over, I’m healthy and let’s just move on, shall we?”

  He wanted to move on. It’s what she did, right? It’s what she was an expert at. With a sigh, she shifted gears, her mind reluctantly clunking into second as she focused on the long corridor, her loud footsteps as they made their way to the elevators dragging her away from the scary thought of Matthew’s mortality. He’d put his hand on her back, and the contact was reassuring. Almost natural.

  Of course, there was nothing natural about this arrangement, but she didn’t want to dwell on that. All her nervous anticipation took a backseat when they were given forms and she had to switch her focus to the barrage of personal questions: about her parents, their parents, Emily, their health, her health, allergies, drug use. A vague feeling of disquiet rose until a door opened and Dr. Adams arrived to take them through to her office.

  As the doctor talked, AJ felt herself warming up to the friendly, middle-aged woman sporting a shock of closely cropped white hair and a wonderfully calming disposition. She skimmed both their forms, then went through the list of tests AJ needed, including an ultrasound and laparoscopy. Then she did the same for Matt.

  Dr. Adams had just booked AJ in for her tests when Matt’s phone rang. He excused himself and went outside to take it, leaving AJ with the doctor. She didn’t mind, not when she had so many questions. She was only halfway through when Matt walked back in.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his brow dipping. “I have to leave.”

  “Everything okay?” AJ asked.

  “Auckland was hit by another quake. I’m flying out in an hour.” He turned to Dr. Adams and they shook hands. “Email me the report, Sandi, and let me know when I need to schedule my tests.” Then he turned to AJ, leaned down and, to her surprise, kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back on Saturday.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was pointless to feel cheated but damn it, she couldn’t stop herself from going there. Then Matt was gone and she was left with a vague feeling of loneliness congealing in her belly.

  “Well.” She turned to Dr. Adams with an overly cheerful smile. “Where were we?”

  Twelve

  When Matt returned on Saturday, AJ had given herself a serious talking-to, boxed up all those stupid fears and returned them to their dark corner. She’d spent Friday being poked, prodded and scanned, having blood drawn and being quizzed endlessly about her medical history. Then she’d spent the rest of the night researching the drugs Dr. Adams had mentioned, downloading a fertility schedule and checking her favorite boards and forums for updates. Her situation was not unique: lots of women were forgoing the “fairy-tale family” scenario to embark on single parenthood, and she’d connected with a few via a private chat room months ago. She’d read so many incredible stories and felt such wonderful support from these women that she was almost tempted to go into more detail about her own situation. But something always held her back, even when she’d met up with one of the mothers from the chat room for a long lunch in the Queen Victoria Building earlier that day.

  As they’d said their goodbyes on the Town Hall steps at four, AJ’s phone rang.

  Matthew. Her heart did a weird little skip and suddenly, their evening on the boat came surging up again. It’d been foremost in her dreams the past few nights.

  She stopped in her tracks, George Street commuters flowing around her. “Hello, Matt.”

  “Hi, Angel.” His voice caressed her, made her all crumbly inside.

  She squinted into the slowly spreading sunset and tried to rein everything in. Her first fertility injection had kicked in, creating havoc with her emotions.

  “Hi,” she repeated.

  “Where are you?”

  “Town Hall.” She glanced around at the bustle and scurry of people. So serious, so focused on their phones, their destination, their purpose. “Where are you?”

  “About twenty minutes away. Wait there—I’ll pick you up. I want to show you something.”

  “Is it dinner again? Because I’m not dressed for it.”

  “Not dinner,” he replied. “See you soon.”

  She hung up, anticipation quickening her pulse. He was back and she felt like doing a little jig right there in the middle of the street.

  It’s just the hormones. Her chat room friends had been brutally honest: increased desire was one topic that always cropped up. Her body ached for Matt like he’d been gone for months, not days, and she could acknowledge that fact and proceed accordingly, or make herself crazy worrying about the emotional implications.

  Except the doctor had advised against sex, so that avenue of release was no longer a consideration.

  She growled under her breath and glared at the passing people as irrational anger swelled inside.

  Last week had been wonderful but also incredibly tense, leaving her with way too many raw emotions. Not a good thing. On the scale of importance, she ranked well below his career. She certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with
him, not when she would never come first.

  But what—?

  No. She needed to focus on the plan, not poke holes in it. Provided they still had a plan. Given the doctor’s recommendation, Matt could very well decide to change his mind.

  She adjusted her scarf and shoved her hands deeper into the pockets. Well, she’d know soon enough.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, she spotted Matt’s car approaching. When the lights changed and the traffic stopped, she quickly threaded her way through the pedestrians and got in.

  “Hi,” he said with a grin.

  “Hi, yourself.” She slammed the door and buckled up, trying hard to ignore the giddy catch to her voice. “So, how was your trip? I was watching everything on the news.”

  “It went well. We recovered most of the missing and worked out a long-term rebuilding plan with the local services.” His gaze returned to the road as the lights changed. “How did the meeting with Sandi finish up?”

  “Did you get the report?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Right.” She tipped her head as he pulled to a stop at the lights at George and Bathurst. “So you don’t know Dr. Adams said we should—mmmmph!”

  He cut her off with a rough kiss.

  It was unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. He just put a hand behind her neck and pulled her in, the move shockingly arrogant yet incredibly sexy.

  She’d missed him. Despite the stern talking to she’d given herself, she’d actually missed him.

  Or maybe she just missed this.

  When he palmed her cheek with his other hand, her breath stuttered.

  Yeah, that was it.

  Finally—regretfully, it seemed to her—Matt pulled back, gave her a lingering look then returned his attention to the lights. They changed a second later and he turned into Bathurst Street.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Hot.”

  His mouth curved, teasing out the dimple. “I meant that as an inquiry into your general well-being.”

  “Oh. Still hot.” And excited. Aroused. Wanting to—